St Muckymuck, Season III: The Sybelline Books, part V

Glasgow
In the shadow of the ancient cathedral

Myra rapped on the door with the handle of her black umbrella.  It was a very old door 00 with great iron hinges that sprawled across it like a metallic vine  Near the bottom there were a number of what appeared to be ball-shaped holes.  Myra knew these to be musket-ball holes from the Reformation, which came to Glasgow in 1560.

Presently, a five inch square peep-door opened and an elderly woman's face appeared.  "Who is it?"

"It's Myra, Grannie Bell."

ST MUCKYMUCK

Season 3

WRITTEN BY STEVEN GORMAN

WHAT YOU READ IS:

IRRELIGIOUS, IRREVERENT, AND IRRELEVANT.
THE PEOPLE, PLACES, AND EVENTS CONTAINED IN ST MUCKYMUCK ARE COMPLETELY FICTIONAL. ANY AND ALL RESEMBLANCES TO REAL PEOPLE, REAL PLACES, AND/OR REAL EVENTS PAST, PRESENT, OR FUTURE IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

"Oh!" said the old woman.  "Found time to tear yourself away from that batty ham you live in, Kilcathclunk?"

"Yes, Grannie Bell..."

"Yes, what?" the woman snapped sharply.  Her voice was an antique version of Myra's.

"Yes, ma'am," she replied, eyes lowered respectfully.

"That's better," the old woman answered.  "Come in and warm up, if you can."

"Thank you, Grannie Bell."

"You got that base potion going?" said Grannie Bell.

"Aye," said Myra, sitting by an inviting roaring fireplace.  "I just need to know what else to add to it."

"Have you got a penguin pancreas yet?"

"No, but I will have done by the time I return home.  And I still have to determine the exact time of imbibing.  I was hoping you would accompany me to the river to finish taking the auspices."
 
"Oh, lovely," said Grannie Bell.  "An outing!" She cackled in precisely the same way as Myra.
(c)2013 Steven Gorman.  All rights reserved.