The Folly of Miss Harrow

By Gareth Lewis

An account of Miss Alyssa Harrow, an alchemist of dubious repute, yet impeccable breeding, as she mounts an archaeological excursion on the edge of the empire.

A fantastical fiction in 12,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gareth Lewis
• Release date: Nov 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370787517

Gareth Lewis

Gareth Lewis has written a number of novels and shorter works in a few genres, including fantasy, science fiction, and thrillers. A programmer, he has a degree in computer studies, and lives in South Wales.

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The Folly of Miss Harrow

Gareth Lewis

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2016 Gareth Lewis

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It was a mystery to Alyssa how her brother had made archaeology his life's work. It was by turns boring and frustrating, often neglecting to delineate between the two.

Having determined she had the right location, both from laborious research and coordinating with previous nearby excavations, she'd been anxious to dig for the tomb.

But it required careful work to avoid damaging the subject of her interest. The local workers wouldn't care as long as they were paid, so she had to lead as a model of restraint.

Maybe she should have looked harder for an actual archaeologist to oversee the work. But those willing to work for an alchemist of her repute had been blithering idiots in all other regards.

Were she a man, she'd at least be able to get stuck in alongside the workers. Yet even in the heart of the empire chauvinism would frown on that as improper. Here in Murslav, on the fringe of civilisation, it'd run the risk of the workforce walking away in disgust.

She was therefore relegated to watching them carefully tunnel into the side of the hill. Slowly. Any direction she offered had to be passed through her foreman and interpreter, Davith. She spoke Murden well enough, but while the men may accept money from a woman, orders were another matter.

Sounds from the main camp further up the hill drew her attention. Shading her eyes against the harsh, low sun, she saw a familiar horse-drawn carriage.

Councillor Thedor Calumy. The odious little weasel continued his efforts to elicit a bribe, despite her steadfast unwillingness to play along. Her family's influence had allowed her to circumvent his regular methods of extortion. No doubt he had some new challenge to slow her work.

She stalked up the hill. She wouldn't afford him the opportunity to wander freely and peek into her affairs.

He'd brought along a besuited companion. Not a subordinate. The suit was too fine for most in the local bureaucracy, and Calumy too obsequious.

Calumy approached as she reached the top of the hill on which their camp was arrayed. 'Miss Harrow,' he said in his grating rasp of a voice. He gave an involuntary flick of his handkerchief in greeting, though fortunately it wasn't damp enough to send droplets in her direction. He appeared capable of sweating in even the coldest climate, and often had a most disturbing cough, as though coming down with something unpleasant.

It was always a struggle not to spit in his presence, the aura of sickness that pervaded him seeming almost visible. Yet that would be too strong an insult, even for him. To imply any hint of someone's scent had to be expelled immediately for fear of tainting oneself was severe. She could do so into her handkerchief, a less open insult that one could pretend to miss. But if she were going