Yowler Foul-Up Read Free Page B

a seat so far from the party, they could only communicate with him by sign language.
    Eventually, after a number of ignored questions and a few embarrassed silences, they managed to discover the root of the innkeeper’s anxiety. It turned out that, despite a promised advance from Viscount Curfew, he had yet to be paid for the party’s stay. The duke spent some time assuring him that the bills would be settled, but the innkeeper seemed utterly disgusted with the group, sneering every time one of them reached for a plate. Modeset fancied that the only thing keeping the innkeeper from turning the group onto the streets was a fear of reprisal from the crown. Consequently, a very uncomfortable meal ensued.
    “Um, I say, isn’t this nice?” Modeset lied. “It’s been so long since I’ve sampled the delicacies of capital cuisine! As I was saying to Flicka, here, I really should get out and see the city again; I’ve almost forgotten what it looks like! She’s young, of course, probably wouldn’t be interested in culture. I doubt if the palace would make the Flicka list of places to see! Ha-ha-ha!”
    “The palace!” muttered the innkeeper. “Now, there’s an idea. Why don’t you all go and bloody stay there ?”
    “I’m interested in culture if it involves magic,” said Flicka, bringing a dark veil of silence over the table. “I’ve always been interested in that. In fact, Father got me got this spellbook in Spittle. It’s only theory, of course, but I’ve learned a lot.”
    “Are you interested in anything else , Flicka?” Modeset prompted, trying to drag the subject away from illegalities. “After all, Dullitch is a very big pla—”
    “As a matter of fact I am, Lord M. What about the Yowlers? It amazes me how a city can function with a criminally insane cult thriving beneath it.”
    “Yes, well, enough of—”
    “I mean,” she went on, “apart from the forgers at Counterfeit House, I understand there’s something called the Rooftop Runners, is that right? Thieves and the like, aren’t they?”
    “I’d really rather we didn’t talk about it,” Modeset snapped. “Besides, the Yowlers were born out of an obscure religion, and religion has always been a dicey subject here in Dullitch. I recall a time, not so long ago, when virgins not much older than yourself were chained to rocks and sacrificed for the greater glory of some bizarre god.”
    “I reckon you might be thinkin’ o’ Druidics, there, milord,” said Pegrand.
    “No,” Flicka interrupted. “That’s definitely how the Yowlers started—”
    “I’m telling you, it was—”
    An argument ensued.
    Modeset, practically unconscious with boredom, tried to relieve the monotony by watching the stranger at the far end of the table devouring a salad. The man appeared to be having terrible trouble with his meal, spitting out every mouthful of lettuce mere seconds after forking it in. There’s a fellow with a few problems, if I’m not mistaken, he thought. When the stranger looked up suddenly, Modeset returned his attention to the argument, and was about to interrupt Pegrand’s incessant banter, when a resounding boom from the far end of the table cut through the meal like a rogue scimitar.
    “ IS THERE GARLIC ON THIS ?” it said.
    The innkeeper leaned around Pegrand to peer over at the stranger.
    “Eh? What’s that you’re saying? Come over here, will you?”
    The stranger lifted his plate and moved several places down the table, nodded and muttered “Evening” at everyone as he took a new seat. He was thickset but looked incredibly sharp; he was also covered in cuts and bruises.
    “I said,” he began, eyeing the innkeeper dubiously, “did you put garlic on this salad?”
    The innkeeper nodded. “A bit, for the flavor. Sorry, I forgot.”
    “Oh, right. Can I have some of this chicken instead, or is there garlic on everything?”
    “Chicken’s fine; fresh from the oven.”
    The stranger reached over to cut off a slice, and