Silence blankets the darkened tavern once more, save for the slight creak of the floorboards where I stand.
Then it is wrenched open by a high-pitched cry which has me thumping after the witch, down the landing, round the corner to where I encounter a long passage with a light at the end. I increase my pace as the sound cuts off and the light increases.
“Brag!” The doorway is filled with the mistress of the tavern, wearing a long shift in a soft, billowy fabric.
With the light behind her, I can see she wears nothing underneath. There is the outline of her body, the swell of her breasts, and the curve of her ample hips.
There is her scent, which intoxicates me more than her cider could ever do.
I come to a sudden halt, my hooves scraping over the wooden floors.
“What the…?” The witch appears, holding a candle. “You can’t be in your Brag form here, Warden,” she yells.
“Why?” I growl, wanting nothing more than to protect my lady with everything I have.
“Because the floors won’t…”
Beneath me, there is a cracking, grinding, and a long, low groan. The ground gives way before I can do anything, and both my lady and the witch disappear in a huge huff of dust as I fall through to the bar below.
For what seems like a long time, there are no noises at all, save for the settling of the debris around me.
“Take your weight.” The witch peers down at me, my lady at her side. “Oh dear, Brag,” the witch says. “Now you’ve really done it.”
HAZEL
Warden is pinned under a large beam, the interior of which has clearly been eaten clean away by death watch beetle. His horse body and legs flail until he remembers himself and, with the usual sickening swirl, becomes humanoid once more, heaving himself out from under the beam and getting to his feet. He shakes the dust out of his hair and looks up once more.
And he grins.
The monster has just ruined my tavern and he’sgrinningat me.
“Get out!” I bellow through the hole. “Get out and don’t come back. You’re barred!” I stomp my foot before I remember myself and the rickety tavern floors. “Are we insured for Brag damage?” I say rapidly to Millie.
“What’s insured?” she asks, cocking her head on one side and contemplating both the hole and the Brag in the remnants of the floor and ceiling below us who still hasn’t moved. “It is for the Brag to fix,” she says, looking at me.
Shadows flicker over her face from the candle, and I can’t read her expression.
“I doubt he can fix it by tonight. No one can,” I say, trying not to make my voice sound high-pitched and needy. “It’s Saturday night. It’s a wolf moon. We’ll lose a fortune.”
The wolf moon comes once a quarter, and we are packed out. Most of our coin is made on these nights, the rest goes straight back into supplies and staff wages. Not being able to cater for a wolf moon will be disastrous.
And as much as I don’t quite understand why I’m here or who I am, as much as I want to find it all out, I have to do good for my staff. They deserve a living far more than I do.
“The Brag can bring his Duegar. They’ll have this place fixed up in no time.” Millie stares down through the hole. “Won’t they, Brag?”
The monster stares up at me, his face an unnatural white, even in the yellow candlelight, from the lime render on what was the ceiling of my bar.
“You want me to go get them, witch?”
“I would strongly suggest you do, unless you really want to feel the wrath of Lady Ryle and the Dark Gibbet,” Millie calls down.
“Millie!” I hiss her name. “Don’t encourage him.”
“He broke it, so he can fix it,” she says fiercely. “You’ve got enough you need to do, my dear.” Millie puts a hand on my shoulder. “And the Brag has powers you can’t imagine.”
“I don’t,” Warden calls up. “Not all of them.”
“You’ve got enough,” Millie responds. “Now get this mess cleaned up, and my mistress might even let you have breakfast.”
