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

Chapter 12: 'Why do we need spare trousers?'

Chapter 12: 'Why do we need spare trousers?'

'Waddyawant?' growled the fat man with the grubby apron.

The four travellers were sat at a roadside table just outside a small wooden shack with a crude serving hatch cut into the side.  They had crossed over into Nestoria earlier that morning and the small town of Teeth Row had been well signposted.  They had reached it just before noon, and were all feeling very pleased with themselves.  The sun hung high in a clear blue sky.

'Four foaming tankards of your splendid ale, my good man,' said Cadmus, as he rearranged his expansive purple robe to make space on the bench for Sister Rosehip, who had just rejoined them.

'Er, not for me,' said Norris.  'I'll just have a small decaffeinated coffee, please.  Medium roast.'

The man grunted and trudged back into the hut.

Norris glanced around.  The dusty, barren road into Teeth Row had been cluttered on either side with other similar small huts and shacks.  Whatever the original purposes of the buildings once were, most of them had now been turned into places serving refreshments or were being used for boarding lodges.  These places also had the common feature of being cheap and nasty whilst at the same time charging exorbitant prices.

Norris stared at the greasy, stained surface of the serving table in front of them and flicked a bit of the previous day's hotpot off it with a grimace. 

What is this place?' he asked.

'The notice over there says it's Alf's Nosh-House,' said Garstang, nodding to the words daubed in whitewash on the side of the hut.

'No,' said Norris, 'I mean this whole area.  Since we entered Teeth Row, we seem to have passed a lot of these tatty shacks.'

'You get a lot of places like this around here,' said Cadmus.  'It's because of where we are.'

'And where exactly are we, Cadmus,' Norris asked.  'I've been feeling for some time that there's something particular you've all been keeping from me.'

Cadmus and Garstang exchanged nervous glances.

A hairy fist slammed the metal mugs down onto the tabletop, soaking Cadmus with froth and beer. 

'There you go,' grunted Alf.  'Four beers.'  He wiped his mouth with the side of his cuff and coughed.  'That'll be sixteen groats, mister.'

'SIXTEEN GROATS?', gasped Garstang.

'Gratuities not included.'

Cadmus muttered something under his breath about 'being ripped-off' and rooted around in the capacious pockets of his robes.  He finally pulled out a leather string purse and counted out some coins carefully into the outstretched palm of the barman.

'Will yer be wanting something to eat before yer take off?'

'Not today, thank you,' scowled Cadmus.

Alf shrugged his shoulders.  'Suits yerself,' he muttered as he slipped the coins into a pouch tied around his waist, wiped his palms on his grubby apron and began trudging back towards the shack.

'Take what off, exactly?' asked Norris in a worried voice.

'We're here to catch...' began Sister Rosehip

'So, er… how did you get on with the horses, Sister,' Garstang interrupted.

'Oh, I put them up in the long-stay livery at the end of the road, as you said,' she answered.  'It was terribly costly, too.  I had to use all the coins I had on me.'