Chapter 7
The next morning Sir and James were joined by another rider.
“Hail, Boss,” said Sir.
“Hail. Managed to capture one, hey?”
Boss was a thickset man with an oversized forehead that curved out past the tip of his nose. His hair grew in patches of thin grey. The man’s hands were no more than pincers—the fingers were fused together and only the thumbs grew independently.
“Was easy,” replied Sir. “Are ya headed back?”
“Aye. I’ll see ya there.”
Boss rode off on a beast that was every much as deformed as the horse he and Sir rode. The area where its tail should have been was a stub of pimply pink skin which extended down and around the horse’s arsehole in such a way that James wondered whether mutated anus was actually operational.
They were behind Boss for a mile or so, but then
