the smuggler’s bible


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.