7
Saxon
The scent of fresh bread fills my nostrils as I stumble out of the bakery. The crowd is thick and I jostle past each person going about their business. The old man still sits alone on the bench seat. Nobody is willing to stop and speak with him, except me.
‘Rudolph? You with us?’
‘Of course. What about you, young Saxon? Are you with us?’
‘Of course.’
Rudolph laughs. ‘Good lad. Come sit with a miserable old tinker for a moment.’
Talking with Rudolph never takes only a moment. His yarns always take much longer, often embellished for entertainment purposes—so I learnt as I grew up. But when I was younger, I believed every word he said.
I settle next to the old man. ‘I got a free rock cake.’ I hold it beneath Rudolph’s nose so the fresh, sweet smell wafts past and he cannot ref
