The Warlock Enraged-Warlock 4 by Christopher Stasheff
Authors: Christopher Stasheff
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Fantasy, Juvenile Fiction, Epic, Science Fiction - General, Science Fiction; Fantasy; & Magic, Fiction - Science Fiction, Fantastic fiction
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with a stained apron tied around his waist, setting a double handful of mugs on a table and collecting coppers from the diners. As he turned away from the table, his gaze fell on Rod. "Be off with you," he ordered, but he didn't even stop turning. "We've no alms to give." By the time he finished the sentence, he was facing the kitchen again, and had started walking.
"I've got money!" Rod called.
The man kept on walking.
Rod dodged around him and leaped into his path, shoving his purse under the innkeeper's nose and yanking it open. The man stopped, frowning. Slowly, his eyes focused on the purse.
Rod shook a few coins out onto his palm. "See? Silver. The real thing."
The innkeeper scowled at the coins as though they were vermin. Then his expression lightened to musing, and he pinched up one of the coins, held it in front of his nose to stare at it as though it were some new variety of bug, then methodically set it between his teeth and bit.
Rod couldn't resist. "Hors d'oeuvres?"
'"Tis silver." The innkeeper seemed puzzled.
"Genuine," Rod agreed.
The man focused on Rod. "What of it?"
Rod just stared at him for a second. "We'd like something to eat."
"We?" The innkeeper turned his head from side to side, inspecting the walls and comers.
"My wife and children," Rod explained. "I didn't think you'd want us inside."
The innkeeper thought that one over for a while, then nodded, frowning. Rod wondered how the man ever managed to make a profit. Finally, the innkeeper spoke. "Wise." He kept nodding. "Wise." Then he focused on Rod again.
"And what food dost thou wish?"
74 Christopher Stasheff
"Oh, we're not choosy. A big bowl of stew, a plateful of sausage, a couple of loaves of bread, a pitcher of milk, and a pitcher of ale should do us. Oh, and of course, six empty bowls. And six spoons."
The innkeeper nodded judiciously. "Stew, sausage, bread, milk, and ale." He turned away, still nodding. "Stew, sausage, bread, milk, and ale." He headed for the kitchens, repeating the formula again and again.
Rod watched him go, shaking his head. Then he turned away to find Gwen and the kids.
He found them sitting under an old, wide oak tree with a huge spread of leaves. "Will they have us, husband?" Gwen didn't really sound as though she cared.
"Oh, yeah." Rod folded a leg under him and sat down beside her, leaning back against the trunk. "He was very obliging, once he tasted our silver and found out it wasn't pewter."
"What troubles thee, then?"
"Frankly, my dear, he didn't really give a d-" Rod glanced at the eager faces around him, and finished, "... dam."
"Assuredly, Tudor doth lack in gallantry," said a large man, walking into the inn with a companion.
"Aye; it doth pain me to say it, but our noble Earl hath ever been clutch-fisted," answered his companion. "This sorcerer Alfar, now—all one doth hear of him, doth confirm his generosity."
They passed on into the inn. Rod sat frozen, staring into space.
Magnus put it into words for him. "Do they speak against their own lord?"
"They do," Gwen whispered, eyes huge.
"And in public!" Rod was flabbergasted. "I mean, peasants have spoken against their rulers before—but never out in the open, where a spy might overhear them. For all they know, we could be..." He ran out of words.
"Yet the lord would have to be greatly wicked, for his own folk to complain of him!" Cordelia cried. "Could they break faith with him so easily?"
"Not ordinarily," Rod said grimly. "But we didn't come up here because things were normal."
A maid came ambling up to them, bearing a tray of food.
THE WARLOCK ENRAGED 75
Her face was smudged, and her apron was greasy—from the scullery. Rod guessed. He braced himself for the contempt he'd grown used to from the peasants, and reminded himself that everybody had to have somebody they could look down on. Maybe that was what they really needed tinkers for.
But the maid only held the tray down where they could reach it, shaking her head and
"I've got money!" Rod called.
The man kept on walking.
Rod dodged around him and leaped into his path, shoving his purse under the innkeeper's nose and yanking it open. The man stopped, frowning. Slowly, his eyes focused on the purse.
Rod shook a few coins out onto his palm. "See? Silver. The real thing."
The innkeeper scowled at the coins as though they were vermin. Then his expression lightened to musing, and he pinched up one of the coins, held it in front of his nose to stare at it as though it were some new variety of bug, then methodically set it between his teeth and bit.
Rod couldn't resist. "Hors d'oeuvres?"
'"Tis silver." The innkeeper seemed puzzled.
"Genuine," Rod agreed.
The man focused on Rod. "What of it?"
Rod just stared at him for a second. "We'd like something to eat."
"We?" The innkeeper turned his head from side to side, inspecting the walls and comers.
"My wife and children," Rod explained. "I didn't think you'd want us inside."
The innkeeper thought that one over for a while, then nodded, frowning. Rod wondered how the man ever managed to make a profit. Finally, the innkeeper spoke. "Wise." He kept nodding. "Wise." Then he focused on Rod again.
"And what food dost thou wish?"
74 Christopher Stasheff
"Oh, we're not choosy. A big bowl of stew, a plateful of sausage, a couple of loaves of bread, a pitcher of milk, and a pitcher of ale should do us. Oh, and of course, six empty bowls. And six spoons."
The innkeeper nodded judiciously. "Stew, sausage, bread, milk, and ale." He turned away, still nodding. "Stew, sausage, bread, milk, and ale." He headed for the kitchens, repeating the formula again and again.
Rod watched him go, shaking his head. Then he turned away to find Gwen and the kids.
He found them sitting under an old, wide oak tree with a huge spread of leaves. "Will they have us, husband?" Gwen didn't really sound as though she cared.
"Oh, yeah." Rod folded a leg under him and sat down beside her, leaning back against the trunk. "He was very obliging, once he tasted our silver and found out it wasn't pewter."
"What troubles thee, then?"
"Frankly, my dear, he didn't really give a d-" Rod glanced at the eager faces around him, and finished, "... dam."
"Assuredly, Tudor doth lack in gallantry," said a large man, walking into the inn with a companion.
"Aye; it doth pain me to say it, but our noble Earl hath ever been clutch-fisted," answered his companion. "This sorcerer Alfar, now—all one doth hear of him, doth confirm his generosity."
They passed on into the inn. Rod sat frozen, staring into space.
Magnus put it into words for him. "Do they speak against their own lord?"
"They do," Gwen whispered, eyes huge.
"And in public!" Rod was flabbergasted. "I mean, peasants have spoken against their rulers before—but never out in the open, where a spy might overhear them. For all they know, we could be..." He ran out of words.
"Yet the lord would have to be greatly wicked, for his own folk to complain of him!" Cordelia cried. "Could they break faith with him so easily?"
"Not ordinarily," Rod said grimly. "But we didn't come up here because things were normal."
A maid came ambling up to them, bearing a tray of food.
THE WARLOCK ENRAGED 75
Her face was smudged, and her apron was greasy—from the scullery. Rod guessed. He braced himself for the contempt he'd grown used to from the peasants, and reminded himself that everybody had to have somebody they could look down on. Maybe that was what they really needed tinkers for.
But the maid only held the tray down where they could reach it, shaking her head and
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