Chapter Seventeen
Marion and John waited behind a straggly, sick-looking bush high on the banks of the Rea. They sat upwind, but the river’s reek still reached them, mild day though it was.
The river Rea, too shallow for boats but wide and deep enough to need a ford. Brummagem had grown around such a crossing and used the Rea to wash away its leavings. The liquid waste, mostly night soil, travelled downstream or soaked into the banks. Bones, rotten meat and more solid sewage jammed against rocks, bushes and overhanging trees. These in turn blocked bigger pieces of rubbish on their journey to the Tame and then the Trent. Heavy rains periodically flushed the river clean, but for most of the year it was a stinking flow of offal, s**t and piss.
Marion hated this part of the river, but knew
