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

Chapter 14

The tavern reeked of unwashed men and stale beer, but then Fletcher supposed he didn't smell too rosy himself. Two weeks of travelling in a wagon full of sheep did that to a body. The only fresh air he had managed the entire time was when he went out to buy cheap bread and thick slices of salted pork from the locals. He had been lucky; the cart driver had asked no questions, only charging five shillings and asking that Fletcher muck out the dung from the back every time they stopped.

Now he sat in the corner of one of Corcillum's cheap taverns, relishing the taste of warm lamb and potato broth. He had barely seen any of the city yet, instead entering the first tavern he could find. Tonight he would pay for a room and have a hot bath brought up; exploring could wait until tomorrow. He felt like the stink of sheep had become permanently ingrained in his skin. Even the imp was reluctant to venture out from its customary place within the confines of his hood. In the end he had to bribe it with the last of his salt pork, feeding it until it fell asleep.

Still, the little creature had made the long, dark journey bearable, curling up in his lap to sleep in the cold of night. Fletcher could share in its feelings of warmth and contentment, even while he shivered in the soiled straw of the cart.

'One shilling,' said a woman's voice from above him. A waitress held out a grimy hand, pointing at his food with the other. Fletcher dug into his bag and pulled out the heavy purse, then dropped a shilling into her waiting fingers.

'No tip? With all that silver?' she screeched, then strode off, drawing looks from other patrons in the tavern. Three hard-looking men paid particular attention. Their clothes were dirty, and their hair hung in greasy locks around their heads. Fletcher grimaced and stowed his purse.

They had never needed pennies up in the mountains. Everything was priced in shillings; pennies complicated things. It was one hundred copper pence to a silver shilling and five shillings to a gold sovereign in the big cities of Hominum, but Fletcher's purse contained only silver. He would ask for change when he paid for his room, so that this didn't happen again. It was frustrating to make such an obvious mistake, but he couldn't exactly tip her with the same cost as his meal now, could he?

Another man seated behind the three vagrants was still staring at Fletcher. He was handsome but fearsome looking, his chiselled face marred by a scar that extended from the centre of his right eyebrow down to the corner of his mouth, leaving a blind, milky eye in its wake. He had a pencil-thin moustache and curling black hair that was tied in a knot at the nape of his neck. The uniform he wore marked him as an officer of some kind; a long blue coat bordered with red lapels and gold buttons. Fletcher could see a black tricorn hat laid on the bar in front of him.

Fletcher sunk into the shadows and pulled his hood further over his head. The demon shifted and grumbled in his ear, unhappy at being kept in the dark for so long. The hood did a good job of hiding it, especially when he raised the collar of his shirt, but the way the officer stared at him was disconcerting.

He gulped down the last of his broth and stuffed the bread that came with it into his pocket to give to his demon later. Perhaps another tavern would be a better place to stay, away from everyone who had seen the weight of his purse.

He ducked into the cobbled street and hurried away, looking over his shoulder. Nobody seemed to be following him. After a few more paces, he turned his jog into a stroll, but kept in mind the need to find another inn. It would be dusk soon and he didn't like the idea of sleeping in a doorway that night.

Already he was marvelling at the tall buildings, some over four storeys high. Almost every one had a shop on the ground floor, selling a multitude of goods that had Fletcher itching to get his purse out once more.