The Sorcerer's Tome

Chapter 5: A Meeting in the Tavern

Warm, wood-smoked air mixed with the smells of ale and rich pipe smoke welcomed Tom and Garren as they opened the door of the tavern and stepped out of the cold winter evening.

After leaving Rita's cottage earlier that afternoon, they walked back through the village, stopping at a grocer's store to stock up on supplies of hard biscuits, jam, cheese and salted meat. Garren explained that if they were going on a journey, they would need supplies that would not perish quickly and would be easy to carry.

By the time they returned to Garren's cottage, the last light of day had just faded only to be replaced with the dim glow from the oil-burning street lamps. To Tom's utter amazement, they were lit by what looked like a small child with long bat-like wings flitting from lamp to lamp.

At Garren's bidding, Tom stoked the dying embers of the fire in the stove and added a few logs while the cleric busied himself making a meal of hot broth and fresh bread. After that they left for the tavern to meet Garren's friends, who they hoped would agree to help them.

"Hello," said Garren to the young man behind the bar. Tom's eyes were drawn to the enormous red boil on the very tip of his nose. It was milky white on the top and looked ready to erupt at any moment. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"Yes," said the barman, brushing his long golden hair behind a tall pointed ear. "I'm Blond."

"Yes," Garren replied. "I can see that."

"No, my name is Blond. Short for Blonduraihenglyn Pixydyke. See?"

"Ah, yes. I see why you prefer Blond. Nice to meet you, Blond," Garren said. "May I have a Thorn Rum and a fruit punch for my young friend here, please?"

"Got any ID?" asked the young barman.

"It's alright, Blond, I'll serve this gentleman," said a stout little fellow, emerging from the back room. "Hello Garren, you haven't been in here for a while. Thought you'd defected to the Unicorn's Horn."

"I'd never desert an old friend, Ted. Besides, I've heard they buy the cheap stuff and pour it into expensive bottles," said Garren, with a sly smile.

"Good grief," said the landlord, looking nervously at his stock. "Who would do such a deplorable thing?... Um... I'll get your drinks." He scurried quickly away, returning after a few moments with two goblets. "Sorry about young Blond, by the way. He's very keen. Daft as a moonstruck manticore, but keen."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Garren said, paying for the drinks. He and Tom found a table in the corner beside one of the two large fireplaces, where they had the least chance of being overheard.

The bar they were in was quite a long room with the bar itself taking up the middle of the stone wall opposite the door. Either end of the room was a large stone fireplace with a chimney breast reaching up to the oak-beamed ceiling and a roaring fire blazing away in each. On either side of the fireplaces were alcoves with tables separated from the one behind by tall wooden screens. There were tables with bench seats dotted around the middle of the room and stools placed at the bar. At the opposite end of the room, a group of people were talking loudly and drinking from large flagons. An old man with a scarf and a very floppy hat, sat at the bar smoking a pipe. Most of the smoke was collecting under the brim of his hat, giving the impression that his head was disappearing into a cloud.

The only other person in the tavern was an elderly, straggly grey-haired old lady wrapped in a grubby green shawl. She too was smoking a pipe, of the long clay variety, which hung from the side of her mouth. She was in the alcove opposite Tom and Garren, busily knitting, balls of wool rolling around at her feet.