Rhiannon - Dragonrider

Chapter Twelve - Psion

"Right then," I said to the funny little dragon, "how do I go about getting food? I haven't got any money."

"Whilst wearing that torque, you could march into any establishment in the village and demand that they turn over their entire stock. The shopkeepers would comply without a murmur... for failure to do so would bring down the wrath of Rhiannas. In any case, they will be adequately compensated by the Council. Provided you ask for something simple – say half a lamb – no word will get back to him and we shall remain blissfully untroubled by his attentions."

He paused and added in an amused tone, "You see! Already I am being of assistance!"

"Why do I get the feeling you're laughing at me?" I asked.

"You are not the first person to observe this particular facet of my personality. It is, alas, in my nature to appreciate the more ridiculous aspects of the world. When I was proffering advice to members of the Council this was, at worst, a mildly annoying idiosyncrasy. In my currently reduced circumstances, however, it does tend to attract the unwelcome attention of the village boys... and of their stones."

"And how am I going to recognise the butcher's?"

"The carved wooden figures above the doors of the shops indicate the nature of their trade. The butchers in the village are marked by a 'Side of Beef' and a 'Haunch of Venison' respectively. The 'Haunch' tends to stock slightly fresher fare."

"So you're getting fussy now, are you?" I said with a smile.

"By the way," I heard his voice in my head as I made my way on down the path towards the village, "my former mistress used to favour the pies from the sign of the 'Sheaf of Corn'."

And, as I carried on down the track towards the village, I realised that, for the first time since I'd got here, I was smiling.

As I walked into the village, I felt as if I'd dropped back into the dark ages or something. The place was totally squalid. Though the main roadway was in a reasonable state, the rest of the place was basically just a couple of ramshackle wooden shacks separated by a sea of mud. There were just a couple of stone buildings clustered around a muddy central square where children, pigs and chickens played and fought... in the mud.

Did I mention the mud?

The people appeared utterly miserable and downtrodden and Psion was certainly right about the torque. People jumped into the mud to avoid me and I saw a couple of mothers yanking their kids out of my way.

Apart from the mud, the most striking feature of the place was the smell. Let's just say they had a problem with their sewers... and, from the way people were carrying water from a well in the square, you could tell that the shacks didn't have running water.

And I suddenly realised that there were plenty of people worse off than me.

The 'Sheaf of Corn' was one of the few stone buildings by the village square. I mean... even if Psion hadn't told me about it, I'd have been dragged there by the delicious, savoury smell.

There were a couple of people waiting to be served but they stopped talking and basically jumped out of the way as soon as I stepped through the door. The elderly lady behind the counter immediately turned to me. "Good afternoon, Miss," she asked, clasping her hands together. "What can I do for you?"

"I've been told that your pies are good," I replied. "Could I have one, please?"

"Of course, Miss. Thank you, Miss," the shopkeeper said, hurrying to hand me one. "Will there be anything else?"

"Oh... err... yes. Two of those buns, too, please..." Tea tonight and breakfast tomorrow sorted

"Certainly, Miss."