The Warlock in Spite of Himself - Warlock 01 Read Online Free PDF Page B

his face. He looked up at the landlord.
    'Do I smell garlic sausage?'
    'Oh yes, your worship!' The landlord started bobbing again. 'Garlic sausage it is, your worship, and very fine garlic sausage too, if I may say so. If your worship would care for some. . .?'
    'My worship would,' said Rod, 'and presto allegro, sirrah.' The landlord shied, reminding Rod of Fess regarding a syllogism, and ran. Now, what was that all about? Rod wondered. Must have been something he said. And he'd been rather proud of that sirrah. ... He sampled the steak, and had just washed it down when a plate of sausage thunked! onto the table.
    'Very good,' said Rod, 'and the steak is acceptable.'
    The landlord's face broke into a grin of relief; he turned to go, then turned back.
    'Well, what is it?' Rod asked around a mouthful of sausage. The landlord was twisting his hands in his apron again. 'Beg pardon, my master, but. . .' His lips twisted too, then the words burst out. 'Art a warlock, m'master?'
    'Who, me? A warlock? Ridiculous!' For emphasis, Rod jabbed his table knife in the landlord's general direction. The huge belly shrank in amazingly; then it bolted, taking its owner along. Now where did he get the idea I was a warlock? Rod mused as he chewed a mouthful of steak.
    Never had a better steak, he decided. Must be the smoke. Wonder what wood they're using?
    Must have been the presto allegro bit. Thought they were magic words, probably....
    Well, they had worked wonders.
    Rod took a bite of sausage and a swig of ale.
    Him, a warlock? Never! He might be a second son of a second son, but he wasn't that desperate.
    Besides, being a warlock involved signing a contract in blood, and Rod bad no blood to spare. He kept losing it in the oddest places.. He drained his tankard, set it down with a thump. The landlord materialized with a jug and poured him a refill. Rod started a smile of thanks, remembered his station, and changed the smile to a sneer. He fumbled in his purse, felt the irregular shape of a gold nugget - acceptable currency in a medieval society - remembered the quickness of the house to gyp the generous, and passed over the' nugget in favor of a sliver of silver.
    The landlord stared at the small white bar in the palm of his hand, his eyes making a valiant attempt to turn into hemispheres. He made a gargling sound, stuttered elaborate thanks, and scurried away. Rod bit his lip in annoyance. Apparently even so small a chunk of silver was enough to excite comment here.
    The touch of anger dissipated quickly, though; a pound or two of beef in the belly did tend to make the world look better. Rod threw his legs out in the aisle, stretched, and slumped backward in the chair, picking his teeth with the table knife.
    Something was strangely wrong in this common room. The happy were a little too professional about it - voices a shade too loud, laughter a trifle strained, with a dark echo. The glum, on the other hand, were really glum; their brown studies were paneled in walnut. Fear.
    Take that pair at three o'clock on the third table from the right, now
    - they were awfully earnest about whatever it was they were bashing over. Rod gave his ring a surreptitious nudge and pointed it at the twosome.
    'But such meetings do no good if the Queen is continually sending her soldiers against us!'
    ''Tis true, Adam, 'tis true; she won't hear us, for, when all's said and done, she won't let us close enough to speak.'
    'Why, then, she must be forced to listen!'
    'Aye, but what good would that do? Her nobles would not let her give what we demand.'
    Adam slammed his open hand on the table. 'But we've a right to be free without being thieves and beggars! The debtors' prisons must end, and the taxes with them!'
    'Aye, and so must the cutting off of an ear for the theft of a loaf of bread.' He rubbed the side of his head, with a hangdog look on his face. 'Yet she hath contrived to do summat for us...
    'Aye, this setting-up of her own judges now! The great lords will