A Friar's Bloodfeud

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Simon Puttock, bailiff to the Keeper of the port of Dartmouth, sat alone in his chamber listening to the wind howling about the houses. Shivering, he sipped his spiced wine with a feeling of unfocused anxiety, thinking of death.

In part perhaps it was his loneliness. His wife and family were still in Lydford, almost a day’s journey across Dartmoor, and he missed them all dreadfully; the weather only served to add to his sense of trepidation and dislocation.

There was a storm blowing in from the south, and every gust made the shutters rattle alarmingly, while rain and hail splattered loudly against them. Indoors the tapestries and hangings rustled and shivered as though being shaken by demons who mocked him from the darker recesses of the room. Outside there was a wild shrieking and thrumming from the rigging of the ships, a sound he would never grow accustomed to. It was too much like insane creatures screaming and gibbering.

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