the smuggler’s bible

Lepidus

Lepidus winds the crank then scurries over to check the bucket. Pike, zander and burbot roll about on the floor of the dripping cage, as well as a pair of small river crabs pinching at each other in frustration.

“Nil,” he calls out to his scribe, waiting nearby.

“That’s thirty-five in a row.”

“I know the number.”

“Perhaps if the nymphs are shy it is a question of bait.”

When next Lepidus drops the cage into the river, his scribe (rather a handsome man, really) finds himself locked inside. And that’s the lesson or whatever, you know? Watch your mouth.