Worlds apart –
Jane handed her cousin, Babs, the old Flemish sword. She’d found it under the ancient floor boards of her home, a converted pub, during painstaking renovations. The Old Swan had been a flourishing inn and had been extended more than once in the three or four hundred years it had stood beside a country road winding between London and Newmarket.
Babs ran her fingers delicately along the flat sides of the sword. They were rough with a light patina of rust. The blade was surprisingly thin and about elbow to finger tips in length, with the handle and guard beyond that. There was the faintest tingle from it. Nothing much. [Read more…]