The Fading Twilight
Soloman is a skilled military engineer from Tunis
Thursday, April 29th (two days earlier) – François and Solomon
In the grey, pre-dawn light, the thick, dank mist makes it almost impossible to see any distance along the canal. You pull your cloaks closer around you, trying to keep out the chill of the early morning, as you wait patiently, your horses shifting occasilly under you until, finally, off to your right you hear the tell-tale creak of wooden spars, echoing dully in the cloying mist.
“Finally”, says François, wishing that he were in a nice, warm bed, perhaps with a nice, warm, well-endowed female companion.
“What I don’t understand Solomon, is why we can’t just buy these goods from a reputable merchant, instead of lurking at the side of a canal like a couple of dishonest rogues.”
Solomon looks at François and cracks a smile; “because”, he says in his strangely accented Dutch, “I thought we were a couple of dishonest rogues!”
“Me? Dishonest?” answers François with mock outrage. I think you’ll find that I am entirely upstanding, especially where the ladies are concerned….”
Solomon groans at François’s weak pun and seems about to say something, when he suddenly stops and holds up his hand. He sits stock still for a moment and then says, “Something’s wrong….”