Wall Tales

High Bridge, Lincoln

With a quick glance up and down the canal and then up to the road, Letty hoisted herself over the rail and on to the towpath. Crowds of tourists and locals crossed the bridge but the walks down here were empty and no one looked down to see her slip underneath the bridge.

The low arch curved over her head, her tension already dissipating as she felt the cool, damp air enclose her. Sunlight reflected off the green water, casting highlights onto the worked ribs above her. The stonework was old, calm, orderly. It spoke of centuries in unchanging silence, so different from the hustle and bustle above.

She didn't know where next month's rent was coming from. She expected to lose her job today, or tomorrow. She had no realistic hope of keeping it longer. Summer was over, tourist season was coming to an end, and she simply wasn't needed at the shop anymore. But as she sat on the ledge over the canal, feet inches from the still water, none of that mattered. It all slipped away, leaving her in a timeless peace.

There were ripples in the water now, moving upstream against the slow current. Some disturbance, moving unnoticed closer to where she sat, head thrown back, watching the play of light and shadow among the arches of the vault above her. They came close, then stilled, the last ripples running away and away.

Suddenly a hand, mottled grey and green, bony, scaled, shot from the water and gripped her own. The grip was firm, tenacious, and spoke of the strength in the body behind the hand.

Letty returned the grip, smiling. It would be all right now.