Limpit Muskin & Company

CHAPTER 1

Limpit Muskin looked up slowly from his empty tankard to stare at his old acquaintance without expression.

'Limpit Muskin! You devious spawn of a decomposing stoat! You' ve got a nerve! I ought to turn you into cheese, you phlegm-inducing Pollock!'

The illicit Spellreader, Simply Morgan, did not so much enter as erupt into the Blind Bowman public house.

The scrawny Spellreader's face was an even deeper shade of purple than the clothes he was wearing. His wizened features had nearly turned themselves inside out with anger. Crooked teeth were bared through a mass of crazy facial hair like a ruined graveyard. You could almost smell his anger - you could certainly smell something.

Long ago, Simply Morgan had been called by other, more impressive, names. In the glory days of his youth, before he had completed his apprenticeship, he was known as Morgan the Magnificent because of the substantial allowance he received from his parents. Later, he became known as Morgan the Marvellous on account of his splendid purple robes. A few years down the line, when he had finally completed his apprenticeship and his allowance was stopped, he came to be known as Morgan the Miser. Many identities came and went when, following an incident involving his erstwhile employer, the Earl of Beaumont, Morgan himself decided it was about time that he became known as Simply Morgan.

'Now I understand!' he continued to rant. 'You only coughed up the bail because you think you can use me as a tool for your despicable money-making schemes. Think again, Mr. Stump! I' ve got you figured out now. You don't care about me at all, I'm just more useful to you alive than dead!'

'Alive?' Limpit screeched, suddenly animated. 'What do you mean, alive? You're practically brain-dead as it is, and your body's not far behind!'

Limpit paused, deciding to adopt a more measured approach.

'If you are alluding to the new, and perhaps unforeseen, lodgers in your cottage, I might bring to your attention the fact that their six months' deposit contributed greatly to the not inconsiderable sum of money required to secure your bail, without which you'd still be locked up in the Earl's castle.'

'Six months!' Morgan clutched his head in alarm. 'If their deposit is for six months, how long are they contracted to stay??'

'Oooh, I don't know,' Limpit said, puffing out his cheeks in an assumed position of thought. 'Five years?'

'Five years?!' Morgan fell into a chair that Limpit helpfully pulled out for him. 'I just hope they keep the noise down. Bloody singing kept me up all night, it did. Last thing I needed on my first night of freedom. I hope they're not going to make a habit of it. Who are they, anyway?'

Limpit scrunched up one side of his face.

'The Midnight Singers of Perpetuity?' he offered.

Morgan's head hit the table.

'I need a drink,' he could be heard to say.

'Mulled wine!' Limpit yelled.

While Otto the Barkeeper disappeared into the relatively safe confines of the kitchen, Limpit drew out that evening's edition of The Snooper, southeast Grynne's very own regional organ of abuse.

'While we're on the subject, you'd better read this,' Limpit said with urgency, noisily spreading the newspaper out onto the table.

Morgan slowly lifted his head, and surveyed the paper.

'Goblins Camp in Woodrise Forest,' he read aloud.