ISOF by Pete Townsend

door, much to the annoyance of the hinges, and impatiently waved the rest of the group through.

Chapter 13
    Once through the door a myriad aromas almost overpowered the group. They found themselves in a large room that was divided into lots of smaller compartments by ornate wooden partitions. Within each smaller compartment sat a large table surrounded on three sides by stout wooden benches. Most of the benches seemed occupied by a variety of characters, each drinking from intricately patterned mugs and taking enormous mouthfuls of steaming apple pie. Strands of music competed with the noise of occupied mouths and contented stomachs.
    A small hooded figure stood in an aisle tapping its foot impatiently.
    â€˜Come on, for goodness sake,’ hissed the figure angrily. ‘We haven’t got all day to stand around like a bunch of vacant eyed fish-heads.’
    Before anyone could decide where to move to, a large jovial man approached the group. His waist was covered with a white apron, which strained to keep the vast expanse of waistline under cover. Above the apron hung a once white shirt but which now advertised a selection of stains from the menu. Balanced on top of the shirt sat a round pink face underlined by a bushy grey beard. He stood before the group with his arms wide in greeting.
    â€˜Welcome, welcome to our humble house for eating.’ Indicating one of the small compartments, the bushy grey beard continued. ‘Please to be seated and I’ll be getting for you some foods and drinks.’
    The group hesitated for a moment until Cedric, seduced by the tempting aromas assailing his senses, began to shepherd them towards the benches. Sitting on the edge of their seats, they looked around apprehensively, unsure what to do next. Cedric broke the nervous silence.
    â€˜I’m sorry for the somewhat undignified journey here. However, needs must and I was afraid any delay on my part would have endangered our plans.’
    Before anyone could speak, bushy grey beard returned, arms laden with plates of steaming apple pie with custard, lava-like cascading over the sumptuous pastry crust.
    The beard beamed with delight. ‘Please to be eating while I be getting you drinks. Thanking you.’ He trotted off, occasionally nodding at a familiar face or pausing to respond to a comment made by a satisfied customer.
    All apprehension and nerves were forgotten as the group attacked their food. Spoons and forks dug through the pastry to release plumes of apple-scented steam. Hands waved in front of mouths as piping hot apple scalded tongues and throats complained at the heat. Ben’s first fork-full of pie erupted in his mouth with an intensity that left him breathless. Once he’d resumed his normal rate of breathing and wiped the tears from his eyes, Ben gave voice to his feelings.
    â€˜Cool!’ he breathed, his eyes half closed with pleasure.
    The rest of the group exchanged quizzical glances and shrugged their shoulders at the strange comment. Ben ignored them.
    â€˜I’ve never tasted an apple pie like this before. It’s fantastic. Really cool.’
    Pinchkin slammed her fork on the table.
    â€˜Pah! You’ve tasted nothing yet boy,’ she said. ‘This is nothing more than padding for uneducated palates. Why, compared to my pies these, these,’ she pointed at the now empty plates around her, ‘whatever they call these lumps of pureed garbage, are nothing more than cattle fodder.’
    Cedric performed his polite cough and pointed at Pinchkin’s empty plate.
    â€˜I take it you didn’t like the pie?’ he asked with a broad grin.
    Pinchkin fussed about with her cutlery for a moment and then cleared her throat with an embarrassed cough.
    â€˜I haven’t introduced our little guide yet have I?’ she said to the group, hoping to discourage any further enquiries about her eating habits. The distraction seemed to work as Ben and the youths turned to