Going Pear Shaped. A tale of wizards, lizards and galvanised tubing salesmen.

Chapter 8: 'I expect it's just your lifestyle.'

Chapter 8: 'I expect it's just your lifestyle.'

Norris Bartlett and Belinda Turgid sat in the back room of the Bucket o' Slops.  Rows of tankards and utensils hung from the low beams that crossed the ceiling and an oven leaked a plume of smoke from a grating along with the occasional cluster of red sparks.  Garstang Shovel was sitting by the back yard window, reading a small book.  He would occasionally scratch his head and flick back through the pages, as though referring to something he had read earlier.

Norris sipped a harmless glass of water, slowly.  Belinda watched him in silence.  She thought it was time she said something.

'So you're going off to retrieve a magical artefact, are you - how exciting!'

'Not from what I hear,' moaned Norris.  'It sounds pretty dangerous.'

'What did you say you're looking for, again?'

Norris's eyes darted shiftily around the room.  Garstang looked up from his book and cast a stare at Norris that would have stopped a clock.

'Sorry,' said Norris, 'but we're supposed to be keeping it a secret from everyone.  I shouldn't really have told you anything.'

'But you haven't,' she said, her voice tinged with disappointment.

'I don't know much about it, myself.  In fact I don't know much about anything.  You'll have to excuse me if I sound confused.  It's because I am.  I'm still coming to grips with what's happened to my life.'

Belinda moved closer to him and slipped a comforting arm around his shoulder.

'Never mind.  I expect it'll all make sense in the end.  When you come back from your quest, you'll probably be wanting lodgings.  Uncle Ron sometimes rents the small back room upstairs.  I can put a good word in for you if you like…'

'Actually,' said Norris, 'if I find what I'm looking for, I may not be staying.'

Belinda looked crestfallen.  She had taken a liking to Norris.  He was different from the others around here.  At least he managed to look her in the eyes while he was talking to her instead of letting his gaze constantly drift downwards.  She had been looking forward to getting to know him better.  She mentally pulled herself together and tried again.

'I suppose you wouldn't consider…'

The door burst open and Ron Turgid whirled in as though he was being pursued by a pack of wolves.  Ron had been crouching half way up the back stairs, hoping to overhear something of interest.  When the Council had suddenly emerged, he was caught by surprise and only just made it back down the stairs without being spotted. 

'They're coming out, they're coming out,' he gasped.

He flung the door shut, but opened it again by a slight crack.

He peered through the gap at the members of the Port Packham Civic Council who were now descending the staircase.  They were attempting to leave the alehouse as furtively as they could, which meant that everyone who sat drinking at the tables couldn't help but notice their odd behaviour.  Some of the Council had turned up their collars and were staring blankly at the floor as they shuffled towards the exit.  Others stuffed their hands into their pockets and whistled nonchalantly. 

'Why, Lady Snodgrass,' called Old Sam in a loud voice, from his usual position at the end of the bar.  'Not so often we see you in 'ere.  What're you 'avin'?'

Lady Snodgrass ignored him.  She pulled the collar of her fur coat across her face and hurried out of the alehouse, only to stumble headfirst over the fish barrel that was positioned just by the door.  She recovered her tiara from the gutter and scurried off after the others who were disappearing rapidly down the street.