Threats and Beer

I heard it from a stranger passing by, while I was chasing ‘Three-leg’ the dog to give it a tasty bit of bread. It truly frightened me to hear such overt dislike spoken out loud, hatred even. It was a man speaking to a younger man on the road into Vairostai. He had heard of the flooding of the archive and he was furious about such wanton neglect of duty on the part of the Archivist. I heard such phrases as ‘hate him’ and ‘slow nitwit’ and ‘kill him’ though I could not extract from these phrases any purposeful evil plan.

I considered rushing down to the Archive to warn the Archivist. However, I am unregistered in this city, a voice that is not recognised. Who would hear me? The Archivist would laugh at me and turn me away. Perhaps he would simply look right through me, not seeing, not hearing one so thoroughly unregistered. Unregistered even to his senses.

A new beer was served at the Inn tonight. It must have come on a shipment that arrived in the harbour. The name was “Angels Oerin”. I laughed at the joke the producers had made. I can tell you, it tasted good and soon made me forget about the nasty conversation.

I am sitting on the edge of my bed writing this, feeling a bit dizzy. I think I want to sleep now. Goodnight.

Morron