5/19/2023 0 Comments A master of djinn by p djèlí clark“All for king, country, and company,” he muttered. He should be settling down for the night with a stiff drink, not trotting up a set of ruddy stairs! It was shameful that someone of his years, having reached sixty and one in this year 1912, should suffer such indignities. He stopped to rest against a giant replica of a copper teapot with a curving spout like a beak, setting down the burden he’d been carrying. It was criminal in this modern age that stairs should be allowed to yet exist-when lifts could carry passengers in comfort. If these stairs had eyes to see, they would do more than snicker-watching as he huffed through curling auburn whiskers, his short legs wobbling under his rotundity. There were times, he thought, he could even hear them snickering. With their ludicrous lengths, ever leading up, as if in some jest. Archibald James Portendorf disliked stairs.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |