Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

Pushing on, Ork thought about what Martin had said.     “’Tis clear Lambert’s paper-dead, but that don’t mean he’s actual-dead.” So, Martin could read. The sly dog. Up till that moment, Ork hadn’t considered the possibility that Lambert might still be alive. Victor continued the rhythmic movement of his hooves, until a patch of thistles caught his eye and steady progress became no progress. Well, if the horse was going to have a bite to eat, so was he, Ork reasoned. Reaching into a saddlebag, he pulled out a dark blue cloth. Inside were two hunks of bread, a slice of roast beef and a small wedge of cheese. As he ate sitting on a grassy knoll by the side of the track, it dawned on him that the third member of their party had gone missing. Putting two fingers to his mouth, he let out a few sharp whistles. Within a minute, Digger pushed his way through low bushes and emerged, evidence of his own very recent meal, clear from the state of his chops. As Ork continued...

(See 21/7, 8/9, and 8/12 for the first three parts of ‘Ork’) At least they feed him. A hungry worker is a poor worker they tell him. Their tract is the work of traitors. Although Ork could never put his name to such a document he has no choice but to use the press that will bring their tract to life. The machine has not been well treated and he curses at the frequent breakdowns. But his skills and his  dextrous  fingers come to his aid. He works all day and well into the evening. His captors are pleased with his progress and tell him of their future plans, how together they will make a forceful team. At last he is allowed to sleep, but without further food. He dreams of Digger by his side. Woken by cold and hunger, he rises in the darkness and feels his way around the room. He edges towards the single doorway which he finds locked and barred. Did he imagine a ceiling hatch or was it really there? He moves carefully through the darkness to where his memory – o...