The Janus Witch Book Blog Tour and #Giveaway #LoneStarLit

CHAPTER ONE, PART THREE

THE JANUS WITCH

BY MICHAEL SCOTT CLIFTON

Click to read Chapter One, Part One on the 12/4/18 Lone Star Book Blog Tours post!

Click to read Chapter One, Part Two on the 12/8/18 Lone Star Book Blog Tours post!

     Immediately, two figures climbed out and stood at attention before Argatha. One was a young man. Tall and slim with thick, curly hair falling to his shoulders, the handsome youth was clothed in an expensive tunic and breeches. The other half of the pair was a young woman. Lustrous blonde hair fell halfway down her back and framed a face of flawless perfection. A shimmering, light-blue dress clung to her youthful curves, the tight bodice molded to her modest bosom.

     Both the young man and woman stared with blank, unblinking eyes.

     Argatha reached into the back of the wagon, grabbed a canvas bag, and tossed the chalice in it. Then she pulled a wand from her sleeve and tapped the cart three times. It shivered like a leaf in the wind, began to shrink, and continued until it was a hand-sized object resembling a child’s toy. Placing the tiny object next to the chalice in the bag, she closed it and motioned to the young couple. With wooden, jerking motions, they followed the junior witch as she returned to Morganna’s side.

     With a last look around to make sure they were unobserved, Morganna turned the iron handle of the door and they walked into the tavern.

    Unlike the quiet of the darkened street, the common room inside the inn was a maelstrom of noise, light, and commotion. A cacophony of voices assaulted the witches’ hearing, some bellowing for more ale, others raised in argument.

     In one corner, a half-dozen men in the rough, worn and stained clothing of drovers, herdsmen, and farmers engaged in a game of dice. Boisterous shouts erupted as one bald, grizzled farmer threw the dice, the roar from the winners mixed with the groans of the losers. Moments later a fight broke out over payment of the wagers.

     Another corner contained a group of men throwing darts at a chipped and pitted board. A gap-toothed barmaid in an ale-stained apron struggled to negotiate her way through the knot of men. Slapping and in some cases, punching, the rough patrons whose hands attempted to grope and pinch her ample backside, the barmaid went about her business of pouring ale and picking up empty leathern jacks.

     The smell of sour beer, smoke, and unwashed bodies was overpowering, and Morganna, had to stifle the reflex to hold her nose. Her sharp eyes spotted the tavern keeper wiping a worn and age-darkened bar a number of paces to their left. The rag the tavern keeper used looked little worse than the clothing he wore. Jug-eared, a thin sheen of perspiration covered his bald head. A sweat-stained leather apron covered his wide girth, while a thick growth of grizzled chest hair erupted from the top of the bib like a shock of wheat. He warily watched the three women approach.

     Morganna stopped before the bar and purred, “We’d like a room for the night.”

     Running a critical eye over Morganna and her companions, the burly tavern keeper took his time answering. Finally, he said, “Ten coppers.”

     The coven leader bit back a retort. Five coppers would be more than a fair price at such a backwater inn! Instead, she reached into the canyon between her breasts and took out a small leather purse.

     Before she could flip the coins to him, the innkeeper thrust his chin toward the young man and woman standing behind the three witches.

     “And five more for your clients.”

     It took every ounce of self-control for Morganna to stifle the impulse to cast a strangling spell on the fat innkeeper. Her plan to smoothly arrange lodging and a quick exit from the common room was in jeopardy. The longer they lingered, the more attention they garnered…the last thing she wanted.

     Many of the men in the common room pointed at the women. The less inebriated among them staggered to their feet and stumbled toward the witches, no doubt to inquire as to the price for a night’s companionship. Quickly, the coven leader took a silver coin from the purse and pitched it to the tavern keeper. He deftly caught it in midair, and bit down on the coin. Satisfied, he reached under the bar and produced a sturdy iron key. With a smirk, he handed it to Morganna.

     Morganna spun and led her entourage up a staircase some ten paces to the left of the bar. At the top of the steps, she waited impatiently, the slap of the key in the palm of her hand.

     There was much work to do.