Part 1 of 3
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In this opening chapter, we find Thomas once again moving rapidly downstream, in search of his Mairi.
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067 - Koyle's Ferry: A Blackhall Tale, Part 1 of 3
[ Music ] >> Welcome to FlashPulp Episode 67. Tonight, we present Coyle's Fairy, a black haultail, Part 1 of 3. Did you know that Genius Oter, an occasional lab mouth, Orson Welles, was responsible for hundreds of hours of audio content that pretentious hipsters never cite as an influence in their own media creation? The man was huge in radio before he was huge in general. And every week, relic radio brings you a sample of his acting, producing, or opinions, via Orson Welles on the air. Find it at relicradio.com or search for it via iTunes. [ Music ] FlashPulp was an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age. Three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. Tonight, we present the first in a three-part serialization following student of the occult and master frontiersman, Thomas Blackhall. In this opening chapter, we find Thomas once again moving rapidly downstream in search of his Mary. Coyle's Fairy, a black haultail, Part 1 of 3. Written by J.R.D. Skinner, Art and narration by Opoponax, an audio produced by Jessica May. [ Music ] The road west was not an easy one. Craven man and beast roamed freely where the trees were at their deepest. And many souls were lost amongst the shadows before the soil was finally settled. Thomas Blackhall had had little to do with the roadway until he came up against the Rito, a thick band of rapid water cutting the land north to south. He'd spent a day locating a suitable crossing, and dusk was falling as he came upon the stone lodging of John Coyle. Despite the late hour and the dense mosquitoes, Thomas found the man seated at the corner of his porch, idly gazing down the path that led from the east and broke suddenly at the river's edge. When Coyle finally caught sight of the great coated man marching from the southern trees, he started, "Hello there, friend," the fairy master said, rising from his chair. "And good evening to you, sir," Blackhall replied. His satchel and rifle lay heavy at his shoulder, and his saber had taken on the weight of a rock club not long after noon. Still, Thomas eyed the dipping sun and rising moon, judging the distance across the river against the size of the boat-house that abutted the shore. "Seems am I late for a crossing this eve," Coyle noted with a conversational air. "Would I be correct in guessing that you offer up a spare bed or three in yonder handsome residence? Should it be the case that travelers arrive, but are not yet ready to endeavor onwards towards the next leg of the king's card path?" The homestead was well tended despite its distance from civilization, and Thomas made out a plaintiff mooing from one of the two barns which lay beyond. "Indeed you would be, sir, at only a half-doll or an evening," replied Coyle, smiling. Again, Thomas turned to face the last of the daylight. The weight of his baggage was heavy, but it was the small watertight container in his breast pocket that carried heaviest in his considerations. "I have enough bacon inside to do five men under, and eggs from the morning laid by my own hens round back," Coyle said, "and only a pity and smore to your bill." The final slip of sun drained away as he spoke, and the combined effect brought Thomas to a decision. He let one of his satchel's straps lull from his shoulder. "Come then, I'll gladly pay you for bed and feast, but I'd rather be away as early tomorrow as is possible, so spare not the bacon this evening." "That's how I always figure it, sir," Coyle replied, holding the door wide to allow his guest entry. Although he had seen no other border, nor noted wife, mistress, or child about the house, nocturnal whispers tickled a black hole's sleep throughout the dark hours. Even in his best efforts, with ear to the wall and all otherwise silent, he was unable to make out more than a murmur, nor gather the context of the words, and the lack of understanding left him sleepless despite his fatigue and the well-stuffed bed. He met the dawn gruffly, and was eager to be away from any house that knew so little silence. As he stepped from his room, he was greeted by Coyle, already seated at the thick ash table upon which they'd supped. Blackhall had not heard the man rise. "Good morning, tea," the man offered, his chipper tone and minor offence to Thomas' half-slumbering ear. Rather than begin to list his reasons for believing otherwise, Blackhall lifted his satchel to his shoulder and nodded towards the door. Missed still swirled above the dew, and as the two made their way to the river's edge, a musk caught the wind, leaving Thomas glad he had yet to fill his belly. "If you'll have a seat, sir, I'll have you right across," said Coyle. Taking up the line that left the small boat affixed. It was a long row, over fast water, but as they moved to the centre of the river, the breaking sun cast light upon a pristine panorama. "You note the stone outcrop up yonder," the fairy man offered to the silence, his tone and words, those of a practiced man making a well-repeated trip. The natives referred to it as the devil's nose, likely for its sharp condition. Some of Blackhall's misgivings had fallen away with the shore, and he'd taken a pinch of Virginian tobacco into one of the fine Spanish papers he carried always. Closing away his supplies, he found a match amongst his satchel, which he had set with his saber at his feet. "And there," the man with the ore continued, "you'll note Ophelia's rapids, named, I suppose, for the madness required for a death-seeker to risk their turbulence. At sitting level there is an illusion that the rapids run flat, but if you were to stand, you'd note that there is in fact a ten foot fall upon the farthest side." Thomas stood to humour the man, and Coyle joined him, despite his familiarity with the crossing. Blackhall leaned forward. "I see no drop," the frontiersman said. Once again the fairy man had moved without noise. As the ore struck Thomas's skull, there was a flash of brilliance behind his eyes. Then all was wet and darkness. [Music] FlashPulp is presented by http colon slash slash Skinner dot FM. The audio and text formats of FlashPulp are released under the Canadian Creative Commons attribution non-commercial 2.5 license. [Music]