The Grand Adventures of Daisy Donnie

Now down on the path, she walked along, barely noticing the ducks swimming along with her, possibly hoping for a quick meal. She arrived at a small waterfall where the music was louder again. Up another hill she arrived at a brick wall and a gate, with an old grey building beyond where the music was coming from.

Beside the gate were two gen-somethings, smiling and cheerful and she dropped a coin into the buckets — labelled with ‘Gold Coin Donation — beside them. The path wound around the building and opened out into a marketplace bustling with people.

Daisy stopped in her tracks, realising what a sheister Smith really was. He’d said anywhere north of the barrier was a no-go-zone, lawless.

Maybe it just wasn’t his law.

The band finished their song to the cheers of the crowd, and Daisy saw five musicians, and a double-bass, violin, drums and a piano-accordion. The singer thanked the audience for their appreciation.

Cafes served coffee, which on second look turned out to be roasted dandelion root which could be cultivated easier than coffee plants in this colder environment. She bought one, enjoying the taste in her mouth and remembering it was caffeine-free; not exactly what her body craved, but good enough given the circumstances. As the band began another song, she began to wander. The gypsy tune seemed appropriate, for the marketplace had the feel of being quickly assembled, temporary; all but a stone oven used for the bread being sold in the center.

In one corner, beside a stall selling pottery, a woman played guitar while humming to the tune she was picking on the strings. A girl of perhaps eight sat behind the table, radiating concentration and ready to serve the next customer.

She didn’t look anything like Eva, but the proximity of a young girl was jarring. In her mind’s eye, Daisy saw Eva running to meet Caroline Rook; she decided to avoid the stall, but hadn’t counted on the girl.

‘It’s good pottery missus,’ said the girl.

Daisy’s shoulders dropped. Just what I need, she thought, Cats and kids just know when you don’t want to be around them.

‘Good and cheap,’ the girl continued.

Daisy stopped. Perhaps a cup — it would be good to drink out of something real in the ship for a change.

She reluctantly inspected the pottery, turning cups, saucers and decorated plates in her hands. There was a great variety of stoneware here, and Daisy considered them all before the girl spoke again.

‘This one is my favourite,’ said the girl, handing Daisy a cup.

The flower was inexpertly drawn, but there was something about the cup that held Daisy’s attention. It was a good weight, and had a matching saucer. It had been a long time since she’d owned something like this, something home-made, something physical, something real.

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