The Innkeeper's Spell - Part 1

“Simon.” Nodding at the regular, I wiped down the counter with a wet rag that might have been a shirt once upon a time. Now the piece of clothing was thoroughly unrecognizable. “Just grab a mug and serve yourself. Beth isn’t in any shape to be on her feet right now.”

“Oh, she’s been round alright,” the old man slurred as he mimed a full belly, and snagged a worn and beaten pewter mug off the counter. He poured himself a drink until it spilled over the lip of the mug.

The drunk was quick to slurp the overflowing liquid off the side and raise his glass to me in cheers before walking over to his table.

“Don’t let Beth hear you say that or you’ll find yourself cut off for a week,” I chuckled, getting back to work. It had been hard with Beth unable to stay on her feet for long.

My head throbbed again as I spun quickly to stir the big pot of stew over the fire.

“Got any bread, sir?” the only merchant staying in the tavern came up to the counter and asked.

“Nope. Just stew tonight. Beth is on bedrest until the baby comes.” I moved down the bar, filling mugs and collecting coin along the way. I could barely keep the tavern running on my own.

“Congratulations,” the desperate merchant tried to win me over.

“Thanks, I don’t think my face being this pretty needs to be congratulated every day, but you are more than welcome to stare upon my inspiring visage. Offerings of silver are appreciated too.” I did a small bow with a flourish before getting right back to work.

He didn’t quite know what to say to that and that only left me happily amused.

I’d seen the type too often to fall for the attempted charm. Merchants thought they could weasel out extra bread that currently didn’t exist. Too bad for them, it wouldn’t exist while there was so much to do and only my set of hands to run it.

© 2024 David R Lane (Hljóðbók): 9798347797752

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Hljóðbók: 25 december 2024