The Taximan

Maskell they call me for that is my name. For many a long year I have walked this road — rode this road — would be better said — two horses pull my tacsi and seven of their kind have I bought and sold as a taximan. Now some tacsimen are short haulers but that was never the way for me. Thirty years along the Great North Road from Dartford Span to the bridge fairs of Newcastle, that has been my life and will be until my death I should think.

No sir. No danger on the roads. There’s too few of us now to make trouble for each other is the way of it. What could any man rob from me that he couldn’t find for himself in a town of the Dead? See that fellow back there, the registrer of the dead …

Well, those two make a fine pair. The bookseller and his boy. You can always tell an apprentice sir. Know how? It’s the thickness of the ears. My little joke sir. Apprenticed once myself, to a tacsiman.

Well that was the way of it sir, in the Chaos. Bridges were boundaries see? Neutral ground. Safe to meet up and trade there, safe as anywhere. After the Lesser Dying whoever was left sort of stuck to it, that’s the way I reckon it. Oh marvellous things the bridges sir. People say that midsummer on Dartford Span is the thing but for my shilling I’ll say I’ve seen no finer than the harvest fair on Thelwall. A mighty span is Thelwall, or spans I should say, and the bridges of Newcastle are pretty things indeed, though not so great as the others.

And what’s your trade sir, to take you North like?

Brings me all a-shudder sir. Registrers. Splendid fellows all, of that I’ve no doubt. Never short changed by a registrer. Not in thirty years. Still, there’s something terrible serious to ’em. Not men for the appreciation of humour. Not like your goodself sir.

The France was it? Well now, you are a one for the travelling sir. My old man — Dead protect him — for’n he set me off apprenticing used to take some of the French trade. Do you know the Ramp? Ah, well that’s where my old father used to go with the other tuppeny merchants, squabbling over what the small boats had brung in.

The Hole? Dead bless you sir, I never been near the Hole. Some say it’s open still. Enough for a man to pass, leastways. But a place that’s not open to the sky collects a lot of Dead, if you catch my meaning. No, indeed sir, you w’nt catch me in no Hole.

Say it was worse there. The Dyings and Chaos and such.

Four days and four nights? That’s a terrible long time to go alone, sir. Indeed it is. I doubt a man could ride four hours in our own little land without seeing something of someone.

Perhaps away from the roads. Perhaps. Maybe.

In the winter.

Well now, I keep surprising well, since you ask.

What’s that? No indeed, _because of I should say. Nothing like fresh air to keep a man at his best.

I’ve had all sorts in my taxi.

Tricksters sir? Well now you’ve made me chuckle sir. They dress up all dandy and try to glamour folk with tricks or go round all hidden with their talk of `hiding in the light’, but I’ll tell you this for no extra charge sir, I seen through every trickster I ever met, straight away, no messing. It was like we’d be talking sir, and then after a while he’d reach inside his coat for something and there’d be just a glimpse of the yellow, and I would already have known him for what it was. Oh yes, you don’t spend as long on the roads as I have without knowing a man for what he is.

What was it you said you were after in Newcastle sir?