“They’re completely mad, of course; both of them.”
I heard the voices from the room next door as we huddled over our mugs of hot, sweet tea. I looked at Jock, who sat opposite, holding a grey blanket over his shoulders.
“I mean,” the voice continued, “wandering along the road in ragged old clothes mumbling about something called the Shee and talking about a farm called Kingsinch.”
I sipped my tea, finding it insipid, lacking flavour, far too weak. Strange furniture filled the room, and the light above was very bright, from some artificial source more outlandish than anything the Sidh had produced. Garish posters covered the wall, with pictures of clean-faced men and women in smart blue uniforms.
“Are you all right, Jock?”
Jock nodded, “Aye, I’m all right.” He smiled to me from under h
