Free The Fork-Tongue Charmers by Paul Durham Page B

merchant had all sorts of interesting things. Scorpions, snapping turtles, razor eels. But your mother’s instructions were quite specific. This little fellow was the only, er . . . dragon . . . he had.”
    â€œTo be honest,” he whispered as an aside, “he seemed happy to be rid of it. Threw it in for free with two pelts and a flagon of ale.”
    â€œSuppertime,” Lottie said, carefully setting Newtie on the table and digging into her pocket. She dumped onto the table a fistful of hard-shelled brown objects that looked like burnt pecans, until they scuttled in different directions on hairy legs. Shortstraw screeched and fled.
    â€œHe’s afraid of roaches,” Bramble explained with a shrug.
    Newtie sprang to life. He cocked his head from side to side, puffing out his chest eagerly, on alert. A sail-like crest flared up from the ridge of his back and along his curled tail as he darted forward, snatching each roach with a long pink tongue until they were all gone. He crunched the bugs contentedly in his jaws.
    â€œLottie, where did you get those?” Abby asked in exasperation.
    â€œThe kitchen,” Lottie said, and seemed genuinely surprised by the fuss.
    Quinn frowned. “I think I’ll be heading home for supper now.”
    Rye watched the lizard swallow its feast. “At least he’ll never go hungry around here.”
    That night the cook prepared calf’s-head soup and Fletcher Flood grilled a boar on the spit over the fireplace. Rye ate with her family in the Mermaid’s Nook. She fished through her soup with her spoon, making sure she didn’t end up with an eye. Abby cut boar into bite-size chunks for Lottie while frowning at Shortstraw, who was sitting on the table and scratching his hindquarters.
    â€œYou’ll have to excuse him,” Bramble said. “The fleas have made him ill-mannered.”
    Bramble stabbed a slab of pork with the tip of asharp knife and ate it from the blade.
    Lottie grabbed a cutting knife to do the same, banging it down with such force it nearly cracked the plate.
    â€œLottie,” Abby yelled, and snatched it from her hands before she put it in her mouth.
    Rye sat back and stifled a giggle.
    A louder sound caught all of their attention. The great iron doors of the inn creaked open. Fitz and Flint stepped from their post to block the way but eased aside as several broad-shouldered men in dark cloaks filed in.
    Rye sat up in her chair and tried to make out their faces. A man followed briskly behind them and pulled his hood from his head. His keen eyes scanned the inn, and Rye saw the relief pass over his face once he’d spotted her. He headed for the Mermaid’s Nook quickly. Rye watched to see whether the men he’d arrived with would follow, but in the time it took her to blink they had already disappeared. In that fleeting instant it was as if the shadows of the Dead Fish Inn had swallowed them whole.
    â€œHarmless!” Lottie called.
    â€œAnd so the High Chieftain has finally arrived,” Bramble muttered, and slumped back into his chair, a tankard in his hands.
    Harmless smiled and placed a hand on Rye’s shoulder, then stepped over and patted the crown of Lottie’shead with affection. His eyes fell on Abby, and Rye’s parents looked at each other with a degree of fondness that she couldn’t quite gauge. Even after all that had happened since his return to Drowning, they still hadn’t dwelled under the same roof in more than ten years.
    â€œIt’s a great relief to see you all,” he said. “Even you, Bramble.”
    Bramble raised his drink in greeting and then pressed it back to his lips, withdrawing behind it like a mask.
    Abby pushed aside the folds of Harmless’s cloak where he had kept a hand pressed to his ribs.
    â€œYou’re hurt,” she said, in the matter-of-fact manner she used when she didn’t want to cause alarm.
    He waved her off and