Summoner: The Novice (Book 1) SAMPLE OF NOW PUBLISHED BOOK

Chapter 7

The sun was beginning to set, and the soldier had become more and more good-humoured as he raked in a small fortune at his makeshift stand. Nothing remained, except for the book left optimistically in the centre of the cloth at his feet. Throughout the day, the soldier had extolled the virtues of Fletcher's goods whenever a customer inspected the stall. Thanks to his cajoling, Fletcher had sold two more daggers and one of their cheaper swords at a good price. The day's sales had not been so bad after all and Fletcher couldn't wait to get his hands on the leather jacket.

'Maybe we can get a drink at the tavern after this and celebrate our good fortune,' the soldier suggested, smiling as he walked across the street again.

'The tavern sounds good, if you'd allow me to make a quick stop first. There is a purchase I have to make,' Fletcher replied with a smile, holding a heavy purse up for the soldier to see and jingling it.

'Is that for the book?' the soldier asked half-jokingly, but with a hint of hope in his voice.

'No, though in all honesty had I the coin to spare I would make you a fair offer for it. There is a jacket I have my heart set on, and I only have just enough. The stall is owned by my . . . master, Berdon, so the money we made today will go to him.'

At the sound of his name, Berdon lifted his head from the hoof grasped between his huge hands and gave the soldier a respectful nod, before returning to his work.

'My name's Fletcher. What's yours?' Fletcher extended his hand.

'My family name is Rotherham, but my friends call me Rotter,' he said, grasping Fletcher's hand with a leathery palm. The grip felt firm and honest to Fletcher. Berdon had always told him that you could tell a lot about a man from his handshake.

'You may go now, Fletcher. You've done well today,' Berdon called. 'I'll put away the stall myself.'

'Are you sure?' asked Fletcher, eager to be away from the horses and hear the soldier's war stories in the warm tavern.

'Be off with you before I change my mind,' Berdon said over the hiss of burning hoof.

The leather stall was not too far away, yet Fletcher's heart fell as he noticed the jacket he wanted was no longer hanging there. He ran ahead of Rotherham down the street, hoping that it had been put away by accident. Janet looked up at him as she counted out the takings for the day; a hefty pile of silver shillings and gold sovereigns that she covered with her arms.

'I know what you're going to ask me, Fletcher, but I'm afraid you're out of luck. I sold it about an hour ago. Don't you worry, though. I know I'm guaranteed a sale so I'll start working on another right away. It will be ready in a few weeks.'

Fletcher balled his fists in frustration but nodded in acceptance. He would have to be patient.

'Come on, boy. I'll buy you a drink. Tomorrow is another day.' Rotherham patted him on the shoulder. Fletcher pushed away his disappointment and forced a smile.

'Hunting season is almost over,' he said, arguing away his dismay. 'Wouldn't get much use out of it this winter anyway, I'll be in the hot forge prepping for my next trip to the elven front. They're in dire need of weapons to fill their quotas.'

'Not that we'll ever use them,' Rotherham laughed.

The tavern was loud and crowded as the locals and traders celebrated the close of business. Despite this, Fletcher and Rotherham jostled their way to the corner with a large flagon each, managing to somehow keep most of the ale inside and off the wooden floors, already sticky with spilled booze. They settled into an alcove with two stools and a rickety table, where it was quieter and they would be able to hear each other speak.