The Smell of Telescopes by Rhys Hughes Read Free Book Online Page B

down at a table in the kitchen while their host rattled pots and pans over the stove. “This is real living!” Edgar enthused. “Honest food and honest folk. They really know how to force agricultural labourers between pastry here! No corners cut; the whole labourer, with a cheese topping!”
    “Sounds grand.” Annabel licked her lips. She picked up the knife and fork before her. The knife was fully twelve inches long, a vicious blade encrusted with blood. The fork had a tongue impaled on each of its cruel tines. She tentatively licked one; it was a male tongue. Edgar glared at her and she blushed bright red.
    “Hussy!”
    The meal was astonishingly filling. It was washed down with glasses of Adam’s Apple Cider. While they were eating it, the thin man disappeared for some minutes to make a phone call. Edgar and Annabel could hear him mumbling something in the hallway. Edgar covered his smile with a grimace picked from the pie. Annabel shook hands with her meal. “Stop playing with your food!” Edgar roared. He belched a red belch. “Yum!”
    Eventually, the fellow rejoined them. “Well that’s settled then. Are you ready for dessert?”
    Annabel shook her head. “We’d better be off, really. We’re just passing through, you see; on our way to Stafford to visit relatives. We thought it would be nice to make a detour through Shropshire, rather than taking the motorway.”
    “Nice?” The thin man seemed confused. He pulled at his forelock, the one strand of hair that remained on his head. “Is that a foreign word?” He brightened. “The road between Impale My Dog and Heretic On Pyre is blocked. You won’t reach the border by nightfall.”
    Edgar reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “We don’t want to cause offence. Let’s just stay a little longer.”
    Annabel shrugged and assented to dessert. It turned out to be a type of Spotted Dick—though the thin man insisted it was called Diseased Tom. As she ate, she could not fail to notice the way Edgar and her host kept glancing anxiously at the clock on the mantelpiece.
    Edgar made a small cough. “Have some more, my dear.”
    “No thank you,” she replied, but the thin man had already ladled more of the crusty pudding onto her plate. He held up a jug within which something quite foul stirred sluggishly.
    “Clotted?” he inquired.
    She shook her head. After she had devoured this second helping, they sat in silence for a while. She rapped her fingers impatiently on the table. Edgar and her host cleared their throats and kept looking at the time. The thin man stood over by the window and peered through the grimy glass. “He should be here by now.”
    “Who?” Annabel demanded. She frowned at Edgar, who affected not to notice and pretended to be suddenly interested in the condition of his fingernails. “What’s going on?”
    “Perhaps he’s had an accident. Reverend Cleaver is a poor driver at the best of times. I told him not to fit those scythes on the wheels of his tractor. Won’t fit down the lanes, I said. Would he listen? Not on your life! I bet he’s mangled a cow.”
    “What’s going on?” Annabel repeated in a firm voice. She rose from her chair and moved towards the door. Without thinking, she kept the long, blood-encrusted knife in her hand.
    “Sit down.” There was desperation in Edgar’s voice. “Please don’t spoil things! We may never get another chance like this one. This sort of life is dying out. Heritage!”
    Annabel snorted. “Well you can stay if you want. I’m off.” She reached into her pocket for her car-keys and dangled them in front of him. His eyes grew wide with a sudden panic.
    “Wait for me!” he cried.
    As they left, the thin man turned his face towards them and nodded courteously. But there was bitter disappointment in his strange eyes. “Pleased to meet you. Come again some time. Visitors are always welcome at Applaud My Death. Well, farewell! Unsafe journey!”
    Annabel climbed into her car,