The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

There is a great debate that rages on in Marridon over the creation of a cream tea: those in the south where the capital is situated do it one way, and those in the north in the country do it another. Each boasts that its own recipe is best, but Bartleby has the final word on whether scones or round cakes wins : T he hatch opened, Bartleby emerged, his mind only half awake, and he stumbled clouterly across the deck, his subconscious led by the promise of a warm and familiar meal. “Mmff—round cakes…” he mumbled, davering about. He reached Rannig and clung to the giant’s legs, clawing his way toward the breakfast trey. “Tea—tea—“ he whimpered, “somebodygivemethetea…” He wilted against Rannig and held out his hand. “My boy…” he grumbled, “the tea!”                 A cup was put into Bartleby’s hand, it was filled from the pot, and with a semisomnolent pout, Bartleby soomed the entirely of the cup and slumpe...

A morning micturition was never so strangely interrupted: I t was here that Danaco roused himself from a short sleep, to stand on the main deck and welter in the quiet splendour of the early hours, that time during which all sounds are subdued save the stridulation of brave beetles, the dying chyrme of a distant nighthawk, the hirrient chutter of the finch and siskin, and the pobble of the water lashing under the pier. Another breed of nature, however, called the captain out of his cabin, and he meant to stand by the railing, to contribute to the marine ecology and scatter the neritic schools pooling around the ship.                   He opened the door to his cabin and turned toward the docks: a few crapulous fuddlecaps stumbling homewards from nocturnal taverns languished around the pier, the docksmaster dodging mysterious puddles on his way to his post, the shopkeepers and marketmen navigating t...