When he walked into the yard, there was a crowd around the well. He did not wish to wait and he never had to, for as soon as he was spotted, the cries began: “Why, look! Look! It’s Abel Strong!” In a moment, they were all pressing round him. They knew not to jostle him, but their hands hovered near his smock.
He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “It’s there, good neighbours,” he said. “Just inside the arch.”
He continued to the well as the crowd ran past. Behind him, the scrapping began for the bounty he’d brought. Meat fell from his cart to the ground but was snatched up, wiped down. Nothing ever went wasted in Carrier Court.
Strong smiled as he lowered the well bucket, hauled up the water. They loves a butcher in St. Giles, he thought. No one minds how much water I pours over me. No
