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Order Only: Leeds
Aug. 7th, 2010 09:18 pmI won't bore you all with stories of our horticultural studies here at York Gate, except to say that it is truly a lovely facility hard-by the undeniably dreary abandoned Muggle city of Leeds. One doesn't venture into Leeds these days. At least, that's the general wisdom handed out by the locals here. And yet, one cannot escape glimpses of the devastation even on the fringes of what must now be a vast wasteland beyond the fences and barricades.
I shall be very glad to move on tomorrow, though I will again be losing Pomona's company, as she insists that she must go pull weeds and trim vines and harvest her broom beans.
I do have a piece of intelligence for you, however. We decided last evening to walk over to Bramhope where there is a public house much touted for its mead and its meat pies. And it did live up to the recommendation, but we found its atmosphere odd in a way that's difficult to explain--but queer enough we've been talking about it off and on all day today.
The barkeep and serving witch reacted to us with equal measures caution and curiosity--both in higher than usual quantities--as though they were used to serving strangers and expected that some who passed through might be worth especial notice.
And it's just now hit us. The serving witch had a tattoo on her forearm that she made rather obvious to us as she brought our second round of drinks. I think she meant it to seem as though her sleeve had accidentally ridden up, but she made a definite point of jangling the bracelet she wore, and I'm certain she meant us to look. It's a rendering of a constellation that she has marked on her forearm, and although it took us both a while to place it, Pomona and I agree there's no doubt it's Canis Major. With Sirius marked large and black as pitch at its head.
And before you say it, we'd dismiss this, too, as merely the sign under which she made her engagement or bore her first child or cast her first spell, except for the barkeep. He stood out for a phrase he kept returning to, though at first we both supposed it was merely a local way of putting things. You've heard, I'm sure, the way young folk today use the word 'dead' as an intensifier? Well, this chap uses 'grim' in the same way. 'It's grim brilliant, that,' he said of news that one of his regulars is expecting a grandchild. And 'be careful going out there,' he cautioned several groups as they left, 'it's grim dark on the path until you reach the turning'. And I swear to you I heard one witch say, 'That's the truth, it is,' in reply.
It was all more subtle than this makes it sound, and spread over several hours, but it's been niggling at us and refusing to be dismissed, so we thought it best to tell you.
Now do understand: I'm not saying any of you ought to rush off up here to follow this up. It's only that I think there may be a group here, who are organised and resisting. I haven't any idea what they are about, but I'm rather glad we were slow on the uptake. I think it's entirely safer to leave them to it without our meddling or giving ourselves away to them.
Which is not to say I wouldn't stop back in a few weeks' time on my way back to Hogwarts.
Just to look in on them.
I shall be very glad to move on tomorrow, though I will again be losing Pomona's company, as she insists that she must go pull weeds and trim vines and harvest her broom beans.
I do have a piece of intelligence for you, however. We decided last evening to walk over to Bramhope where there is a public house much touted for its mead and its meat pies. And it did live up to the recommendation, but we found its atmosphere odd in a way that's difficult to explain--but queer enough we've been talking about it off and on all day today.
The barkeep and serving witch reacted to us with equal measures caution and curiosity--both in higher than usual quantities--as though they were used to serving strangers and expected that some who passed through might be worth especial notice.
And it's just now hit us. The serving witch had a tattoo on her forearm that she made rather obvious to us as she brought our second round of drinks. I think she meant it to seem as though her sleeve had accidentally ridden up, but she made a definite point of jangling the bracelet she wore, and I'm certain she meant us to look. It's a rendering of a constellation that she has marked on her forearm, and although it took us both a while to place it, Pomona and I agree there's no doubt it's Canis Major. With Sirius marked large and black as pitch at its head.
And before you say it, we'd dismiss this, too, as merely the sign under which she made her engagement or bore her first child or cast her first spell, except for the barkeep. He stood out for a phrase he kept returning to, though at first we both supposed it was merely a local way of putting things. You've heard, I'm sure, the way young folk today use the word 'dead' as an intensifier? Well, this chap uses 'grim' in the same way. 'It's grim brilliant, that,' he said of news that one of his regulars is expecting a grandchild. And 'be careful going out there,' he cautioned several groups as they left, 'it's grim dark on the path until you reach the turning'. And I swear to you I heard one witch say, 'That's the truth, it is,' in reply.
It was all more subtle than this makes it sound, and spread over several hours, but it's been niggling at us and refusing to be dismissed, so we thought it best to tell you.
Now do understand: I'm not saying any of you ought to rush off up here to follow this up. It's only that I think there may be a group here, who are organised and resisting. I haven't any idea what they are about, but I'm rather glad we were slow on the uptake. I think it's entirely safer to leave them to it without our meddling or giving ourselves away to them.
Which is not to say I wouldn't stop back in a few weeks' time on my way back to Hogwarts.
Just to look in on them.