Next Book. Murder Mystery…

People who belong to Conwy (Conway if you’re English) like to think of themselves as true inheritors of the true Welsh. That is to say the Welsh who refused to bow to Edward 1 when he was rampaging through the principality. The castle is a tourist pull and statement of English intent. The walls, though, are far more serious. They go all the way back to Llewellyn The Great. If you’re Welsh, Llewellyn is a big name. Anyway, the people who are born inside the walls of Conwy like to call themselves Jackdaws. They call me a seagull.   

This errant spouse that I have been asked to investigate is one of the most important Jackdaws in the town. He has a string of small shops, newsagents and ice-cream parlours, and a few other places that do not bare too much scrutiny. Let’s say that in Conwy terms, he’s one hell of a big Jackdaw. Now birds like that do not go unnoticed. They have followers, lackeys, lovers and rivals. Alwyn Llewellyn was a blessed man; whatever he toughed turned to brass. People stood off him and let him have his way. The woman who worked for him put in extra shifts to keep the pennies coming in; he wasn’t a tight man. In that little seaside market town, the dye had been caste centuries ago and nobody had ever thought to change it. Llewellyn was King around Conwy but the times they were a changing. 

We tended to do most of our shared work after the sun had fallen. Old Leather seems to like it that way. It’s amazing what can evade notice in such a place as this. Imagine, if you will, a corpse strolling along any major high-street in any town or city in the UK, and then imagine the likely responses. Probably not a good example as I have a feeling that there are already lots of them out there, going about their business without anyone bothering to notice. That’s the thing folks, there are many more of these corpses walking our streets than we would care to realise. Many of them have been around for decades whilst a select few have been around for much, much longer. I personally believe that it was the Leather-vote that swung BREXIT.

Another reason why I preferred the evening to the day is because there’s a bloke who has taken particular exception to both me and Leather. He’s not an ordinary fellow, he’s a preacher. You know the type, Hell’s Fire, Jesus loves you…unless you’re gay or a non-believer. They guy doesn’t seem to harm anybody. Okay, his views are a little extreme (nothing compared to the ones I had in my previous incarnation), but the only people who are likely to get hurt by what he says are those that listen to him. Other people just take a wide-birth around him whilst some kids mock his Old-Testament delivery. What bothers me is the way that he watches us as we pass. His eyes narrow as if to focus them on evil. His voice becomes stronger and his finger begins to point. 

“In our world, there is evil walking amongst us. Even now, on this very street, walks an aberration. It is a witch and its imp. God will not suffer a witch. He says that we must burn them when they are found.”

He’s gone through this a number of times and I am grateful to the Lord above that we live in such secular times and that nobody pays attention to madmen who preach on the public highways.   

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