whilst dropping to the ground and groping for his staff with the other. “D-don’t come any closer.”
He opened his eyes properly, then, for the ‘glare’ had decreased by fifty degrees; safe enough for him to lower the other hand. Within his eye line he could see a pair of dust-coated or sand-frosted knee-length obsidian boots - almost like the pair he wore when he had to be in the saddle. Above them ‘shone’ the reason he was on his knees near the side of the road in the first place; the most garish yellow trousers that he had ever seen. Even a lemon, or brimstone butterfly wasn’t that alarming and with the complementary sky-blue coat Hergewick could almost feel the drums picking up pace again.
“I’m not going to take your walking stick if that’s what you’re worried about,” the chap said, stopping as Hergewick got hold of his staff and ‘struggled’ to his feet. “Just expressing a note of ‘traveller’s concern’.”
“It is appreciated, Mr-”
“Pipcastle,” the lemon trousered fellow replied with a face barely the safe side of a tomato. “Earnest Pipcastle.”
“Fontarius Hergewick,” Hergewick said with a less than steady bow, and stopping short of the trousers.
The other man stepped back and looked at him as if he dropped off the face of the moon. “Not the Fontarius Hergewick who spent one afternoon remaking the Kildonsair Knot.”
Hergewick nodded.
“The Fontarius who tracked the Porcelain Stealers back to their Guard House hide-out then with lavender fumes knocked them all out.”
“The same.”
“And when not riddle-unravelling or sending crooks to Neyeshayes Prison, spends his spare time looking for the more ‘uncommon’ forms of wildlife?”
“Got it in one, Mr Pipcastle,” Hergewick said as he adjusted his hat.
“Lins-lavenders,” Pipcastle continued, taking off his own, felted hat and fanning himself with it. “I don’t think I can take another surprise.”