Enslaved Newspapers are Mostly Pictures

The Scholar Tysk hulked over his desk in the editorial suite of the city newsroom. He rumaged clumsily

"Yul no getat Raven Point esy Brother. Elayt'd haf dobl shift sinz the ferry dwnd, yuken, wit yu init."

Tysk handed him a small worn metal rectangle.

"Rite, bess cando. Iz gud az kycrd fur in tunnuls."

James took Tysk's strong hands in his own and kissed them.

"Tysk, I thank the gods and they may repay you for I cannot"

Tysk's smile creased deep familiar lines in his huge craggy face, "nun'f'it. Owt wud had pull yu from that mes, ken"