the smuggler’s bible

Cremuel

The Burgrave goes often between the banks and the council chambers by carriage or in a ring of burly men who clear the street, calling, “Keep back,” and stamping on feet, swatting hands and shoulders with batons. Cremuel accepts a wage and stamps and swats also, but not so hard as the others.

At night, he clambers onto a ledge and peers for hours at the Burgrave’s manor. The gutters drench him. Water runs down his collar and drips from the end of his nose. He is motionless, a gargoyle. He thinks, it is miserable to be made of stone.