journey to the outer islands - VII

‘Are we speeding up, Ma’am?’ enquired Rogers, inquisitively. I realised my words were having an effect on him, as indeed they do on all who I address, and that the intimate machinations and rules of wider society were coming alive for this simple soul who, until recently, had merely been a kind of tree with a head and arms around the Lax property.

‘Never jump from a rapidly-moving vehicle,’ I went on, ‘unless (supposing it impossible to slip down behind) you see a precipice in front, in which case any risk of personal injury is preferable to remaining still.’

‘Oi’m sure we’re gaining speed, Ma’am’, Rogers insisted, insistingly. ‘And the closer things are going faster than the things further away – now, that’s a concern.’ He sat back and tapped on his pipe – he’d started smoking dried kelp since we came to the Outer Islands and pronounced it far superior to peat moss, peat and Emprote – content that I would look after him, as indeed I always had, though admittedly while subjecting him to appalling tortures purely for my own amusement or financial gain.

‘The worst accidents to coaches, Old Rogers,’ I continued, ‘arise from broke axle-trees, and wheels coming off on the road. The axle-tree should, therefore, be very carefully examined every time it is fresh greased.’

‘Exmained it moiself this mornin’, a contented Rogers mused, ‘huge – I mean huge – split up the middle, which Oi greased rather noicely, even if Oi do say so mesel’. Are those the horses what was pullin’ us?’ He pointed at a couple of drays who appeared to be running off in another direction from our own carriage.

‘Can’t be, Rogers,’ I foofed. ‘They’re pulling us now, and very swiftly if I may say so, towards our digs. Now, that axle tree should be removed every ten days, a string being put through the bolt that receives the linch-pin, to hang it up and cleanse it; the person doing this should then strike it with a hammer, when, if uncracked and sound, it will ring like a bell.’

‘So it did, Ma’am’ Rogers agreed complacently. ‘Then it shattered into little bits, so I fashioned a new one from wax out me ear.’

‘The coachman should then see that it is properly screwed on,’ I went on.

‘Bugger never showed up!’ laughed the old Rogered one. ‘Oi’m driving the coach in ‘is absence.’