…some work in progress from the Cazique of Poyais story…
Other than the vague idea that they had to head ‘West’ no one knew the directions to the Parsons Green property or the Fulham Palace. Only small details for the newly revitalised group.. Revitalised clearly being a stretch when considering they had sunk so low that any bounce looked impressive.
“So which way do we go then? West is that way, but it’s difficult to plot a path through the city in a straight line it seems. Have we actually walked back on ourselves?”
“We haven’t yet, Jose,” said Emma, allowing a small smile on her face in remembrance if their late night kiss, “though there isn’t a straight line through. The river runs through the whole city though.”
As they continued at a slow pace, asking for directions this way and that to find their feet, they discussed the letter that Sam had left out for them.
“What did it say?” Asked Emma.
Noemi threw her free hand which wasn’t carrying her bag up in the air, scowling, “Should it matter? I feel like anything intentionally put there by that man was done entirely on purpose in order to elicit a response. Why should we even bother to give it a second thought?”
“A fair point, which I think we all agree on sister, though we’ve had such a lack of information that we need to take whatever we can.”
“Based on what he told us, there’s a serious chance that letter is a complete fake in any event.”
That was t beyond comprehension, so they all considered it before Jose continued. They had reached the bank of the Thames by this point and had picked up the pace heading West.
“It was just a letter offering banking services to MacGregor,” said Jose.
“What!?” Emma said, infuriated by the mention of the man’s name.
“It didn’t seem as though it was in connection with the Poyais scheme, though it was some five years ago. Either he’s telling us he knows MacGregor or pointing out that he tried to offer him services, just not the ones that lead to all of the hardship of the sufferers.”
“Or he’s trying to show us how great a forger he is. Did he not say anything else in the letter,” chimed in Noemi.
“Either way, it gives us something.”
“In what way, brother?”
“Well, we know that he wants us to think about MacGregor. I’m not sure why, but it’s something.”
The day was clear, which made walking mildly pleasant at the very least. They all considered what Sam could want with them, how he might be manipulating them, as they wandered along to Fulham. To the home which was most surely not theirs and to the Palace where they might make enough money to last another day on this Earth.