Part 17 of Rob Donovan’s free serialised story set in the same world of Frindoth as his newly released book “Ritual of the Stones”. In this story we follow the journey of Pewtory the Lesser bard as he travels to Lilyon to witness the Ritual.
Pewtory the Lesser Bard part 17– The Chase
“You should get back to basics more often.”
“Excuse me?” Pewtory the Lesser bard said. Archie was gazing at him with a look of bemused resentment. His eyes drooped slightly and Pewtory suspected the wine had more of an effect on his friend than he initially thought. The peddler pointed to the drink in front of the bard.
“You lose the face powder, take the feather from your ear and dress more plainly and the results are instantaneous – you have strangers buying you drinks.”
“It is not what it seems,” Pewtory said and pushed the drink away.
Archie misinterpreted the gesture as Pewtory offering him the wine and scooped it up. He raised the cup, toasting the bard. Pewtory was slow to react but before the cup reached the peddler’s lips he managed to lunge across the table and knock it from Archie’s hands.
The wine within splattered Archie and a man with long blond hair on the adjoining table.
“Hey!” the man said rising to his feet, the dark red liquid clung to his locks so that it looked like he was bleeding from his brow. Pewtory did not answer as he was already heading for the door. He heard Archie apologise to the man and the clink of coins landing on the table in an attempt to pacify him.
Pewtory pushed open the tavern doors and emerged onto the town square. It was the middle of the afternoon and the square buzzed with activity. Around the outside of the green various shops were situated, and opposite him was a large mill whose sails were spinning quickly. People flittered from one to the next. The townsfolk may have been withdrawn and preoccupied with the news that the witch had imparted but life clearly went on.
Above him the sign for the tavern squeaked as it swayed in the breeze. The tavern was called “the Green Stag,” and the picture showed a rather badly drawn deer painted green. Pewtory could never fathom what possessed proprietors of taverns to randomly invent a colour for an animal and then name their building after it.
Archie joined him seconds later dabbing his shirt and wiping his chin with a dishcloth.
“If you didn’t want me to have the wine you just had to say,” his friend said.
“I’ll get you another shirt,” Pewtory said without turning towards him.
Instead he studied the faces in the crowd. Someone had ordered him the drink and he wanted to know who. He did not get a look at the man at the bar but he understood the message behind the offer loud and clear: he was being watched and he needed to get moving. Whether the man in the bar was the stranger himself or another poor sod that was working for him, Pewtory intended to find out.
I don’t want a new shirt. Gloom’s knows I spill more wine than that down me every night. A sorry wouldn’t go amiss though.”
“Don’t say that word.”
“What ‘sorry?’”
“No ‘Gloom.’ I don’t want to hear it.”
“Okay. I had no idea you were so-”
“Do you have a room?”
“Eh no?” Archie said talking really slowly. A look of confusion crossed his face as if he was unsure if his friend was alright. “We came into town together if you remember?”
“Of course,” Pewtory said and continued to study the crowd. He noticed a hooded man walking briskly away from the tavern. The hood was dark grey and matched the one the man wore at the bar. The man held his hand to his hood to keep it up and shield his identity.
“Get one for the two of us,” Pewtory said.
The man with the hood glanced round in Pewtory’s direction. His face was shrouded in shadow but Pewtory could tell by the way the man gave a start that he had seen Pewtory looking at him. For a moment the man froze and then he spun around and sprinted into the throng of people, barging those nearest out of the way.
“I can afford two rooms. We can have one each. I’m sure you can-“
Pewtory did not wait for Archie to finish his sentence. He pushed Willow and Wisp and his pouch into Archie’s arms and pelted after the hooded figure. He was not sure what compelled him to pursue the man. If it was the stranger that had threatened him in the room and who had killed Lionel the Lark at Jitsuam’s farm, then Pewtory knew he would not stand a chance against him if he were to catch him.
However, a red mist descended over him, a rage that consumed his every fibre. He was furious at how quickly his life had been transformed in a matter of days. He had gone from a promising performer to a manipulated lackey. Not just any old lackey, but the worst kind. The kind that knew he was being corrupted but did nothing about it.
He shoved bystanders out of the way. Archie shouted his name but he only had eyes for the fleeing man. The stranger was surprisingly slow as he waddled away as if he was hampered in his movement. Pewtory made up most of the ground in the first few seconds.
A man startled by the commotion stepped in front of the bard. He was a large black man, with an even bigger belly. He sported a big bushy beard was dressed smartly in a brown waist coat over a pale yellow shirt and dark brown flannel trousers. The man held his arm out, palm flat intending to slow Pewtory.
For a second Pewtory lost sight of the runner behind the man’s bulk. The annoyance Pewtory felt only increased his anger. He did not have time to explain the situation to this interfering, do-gooder. He lowered his head and increased his speed.
The large man’s expression changed from authoritative to one of surprise as he realised what the bard intended to do.
Pewtory barrelled into the man but instead of knocking the man over he felt the air leave his lungs as he cannoned off the huge chest. He bounced back and landed on his backside. Stars sparkled in his eyes and for a moment he was disorientated. What looked like a soft belly had been as hard as stone.
Laughter erupted from around him. Between the assortment of legs he saw the stranger take note of his fate and then scamper away. Pewtory felt his anger flare again. A huge black hand reached down to Pewtory.
“Sorry my friend, I didn’t expect you to keep running,” the voice was deep and the tone suggested he was anything but remorseful. He saw Archie elbow his way through the crowd that had formed in a circle around him. The peddler was red faced and carried the fish bowl under one arm and Pewtory’s pack awkwardly in the other.
Pewtory accepted the hand and was hauled to his feet as if he was a child. He nodded to the man and then sped off in pursuit again.
“Seriously?” he heard Archie say to no one in particular.
Really enjoying this serial, it just gets better all the time. The writing is excellent and Pewtory is a great character
Have to agree, really like the twists and turns the story takes.