Medieval Historical
A Glass Kind of Equation
Fergus MacAlpin
The glass cracked before the bell finished ringing. Not the sharp little complaint of a cup knocked from a trestle, nor the bright death of a bottle under a boot, but a long, singing wound that moved through the high east window of Saint Bride’s like a blade being drawn from a sheath. Every head in the nave lifted. Every whisper fell. Even the gulls outside seemed to hold their greedy throats.