Post by Hugo Allbrass on Jun 2, 2015 13:54:05 GMT
Tendrils of mist curled like the tentative fingers of a new love and clung to the man as he walked through the woodland. It was still an hour before dawn, and it was cold. He was not happy, but rarely was. Calm resignation was Hugo Allbrass’ prevailing mood these days. There was a dim ghostlight ahead of him, showing him the way and he approached a clearing with habitual quietness. He didn’t even look at the body on the ground, not yet. He lit a cigarette and spoke to the other men there.
“My first leave,” he said, “and this is how I spend it. I was hoping to sleep in.”
“Needs must, old fellow,” said the younger of the two other men present, a well-scrubbed looking gentleman in a trenchcoat and trilby. Allbrass recognised him from the Ministry. Cooper, or Cowper or something. “What do you make of this then?”
Allbrass knelt by the body and examined it. A portly man, middle aged, wearing a dark green uniform. He touched the man and turned his head, examining the skin, lifted a hand and did the same.
“Frostbite?”
“Advanced frostbite. And some injuries to the legs too. Nothing major but we think he was running over hard terrain. Doesn’t look like he was fit enough for athletics, eh?”
Hugo grunted. Cowper or Cooper was right.
“Recognise the uniform?” the Ministry man asked.
Allbrass checked it over. It looked familiar but he couldn’t place it at once, and it was torn in places too. He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“We are ten miles outside Nottingham,” announced the third man, in defiant tones as though he was proving a point. He looked argumentative. Allbrass ignored him and turned the lapels of the uniform. Memories moved.
“Nottingham,” insisted the third man. “So explain this, will you?”
Allbrass stood up. “I can’t,” he said, “not yet. Surely this is something for the Aurors, not for an old war-dog like me.”
“You know the territory though,” said Cowper, or Cooper. “Why don’t you go and find out what a member of the Dutch green-police is doing here in England.”
Allbrass looked down at the body. It wasn’t doing much.
“Alright,” he nodded and pinched off the end of his cigarette, putting the remaining half back in its packet. “Alright.”
“My first leave,” he said, “and this is how I spend it. I was hoping to sleep in.”
“Needs must, old fellow,” said the younger of the two other men present, a well-scrubbed looking gentleman in a trenchcoat and trilby. Allbrass recognised him from the Ministry. Cooper, or Cowper or something. “What do you make of this then?”
Allbrass knelt by the body and examined it. A portly man, middle aged, wearing a dark green uniform. He touched the man and turned his head, examining the skin, lifted a hand and did the same.
“Frostbite?”
“Advanced frostbite. And some injuries to the legs too. Nothing major but we think he was running over hard terrain. Doesn’t look like he was fit enough for athletics, eh?”
Hugo grunted. Cowper or Cooper was right.
“Recognise the uniform?” the Ministry man asked.
Allbrass checked it over. It looked familiar but he couldn’t place it at once, and it was torn in places too. He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“We are ten miles outside Nottingham,” announced the third man, in defiant tones as though he was proving a point. He looked argumentative. Allbrass ignored him and turned the lapels of the uniform. Memories moved.
“Nottingham,” insisted the third man. “So explain this, will you?”
Allbrass stood up. “I can’t,” he said, “not yet. Surely this is something for the Aurors, not for an old war-dog like me.”
“You know the territory though,” said Cowper, or Cooper. “Why don’t you go and find out what a member of the Dutch green-police is doing here in England.”
Allbrass looked down at the body. It wasn’t doing much.
“Alright,” he nodded and pinched off the end of his cigarette, putting the remaining half back in its packet. “Alright.”