It was a feature of Wragg’s existence that he was on first-name terms with every pub landlord in Aestria, from the grandest country inn down to the sleaziest city tavern. Landlords knew things, and they were very useful people for journalists to know.
The landlord of the ‘Boar’ in South Hagen had only taken over the pub a year or so ago, but Wragg had to say that he’d really performed magic in the place. The beer had gone from ‘mediocre’ to ‘top class’, and the food had gone from ‘indifferent’ to ‘delicious.’
So while Elise was being taken up to her room by Eulalia to begin her recovery, Wragg made a bee-line for the Bar and hailed the landlord.
“Quentin! Great to see you! How’s business?”
“I suspect it’s about to look up, now you’re here, Wragg, you old devil! What’ll you have?”
“Pint of Happy Hagen, then please! What’s on the menu? I could eat a horse!”
“Horse we don’t have, but I can recommend the steak and ale pie?”
“Sound’s delicious! Add potatoes, gravy, and vegetables and you’ve got yourself a customer.”
Quentin produced Wragg’s pint, then took his meal order through to the kitchen. He was only gone for a moment.
“That’ll be ready in a few minutes. So, what brings you to South Hagen? Dare I ask?”
Wragg remembered Eulalia’s warning, and decided to be circumspect. “Why, your food and beer, of course!”
“Pull the other one, Wragg. Since when were you into tourism?”
OK then, thought Wragg. Half truth.
“Between you and me, Quentin, old chap, there’s a girl gone missing from Heidraen. Young, pretty, blonde – the kind that makes for good press, you know. About eighteen. I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”
“Sounds like I’d remember her if I had. When did she disappear?”
“Sometime within the last couple of days,” Wragg said,vaguely. “A witness says he saw her coming this way.”
“Hmmm. I’ll keep an eye open. How did the chubby girl get injured?”
“Attacked by a bull, she was. Stupid bint. ‘Beware of the Bull’, the sign said.” Wragg rolled his eyes. “If Eulalia and I….”
“Eulalia?” interrupted the other. “The Eulalia? High Priestess of the Silver River?”
“Er, yes.” replied Wragg, feeling that he’d put a foot wrong.
“Is she here, then?”
“She’s upstairs with…no, here she comes now….”
Wragg’s mouth remained open, in sheer astonishment. Eulalia saw the landlord, and shrieked like a schoolgirl meeting her idol. She flew across the room, vaulted the bar, and hurled herself into his arms. Her mouth locked over his, and the two of them clinched until Wragg cleared his throat in embarrassment.
By now Eulalia was sobbing, stroking his hair, “Oh Paul, Paul, I thought I’d never see you again, and I was just thinking, if only Merlin were here, everything would be all right, then I walked in here, and here you are! Oh my love, my love, how are you? I don’t suppose we have time to nip upstairs for a quick shag?”
Wragg’s head was spinning. Paul? Merlin? What the blazes was she going on about?
The landlord called out “Sandra!” and one of the bar staff girls appeared. “Yes, sir?”
“Could you keep an eye on the bar for a bit? I need to pop out with this lady for an, erm, urgent meeting. There’s only Wragg here at the moment – he won’t give you any trouble.”
“Very good, sir!”
And the two of them went off for their ‘meeting’, leaving Wragg staring, confused, into his pint.
Eventually he said, “Sandra?”
Yes, Mr Wragg?” she asked, placing his dinner in front of him.
“What is the landlord’s name?”
“It’s written over the door, Mr Wragg. ‘Quentin Paul, licenced to sell beers, wines, and spirits’. But we all call him ‘Quiet Paul’.
Sounds of the ‘meeting’ upstairs were quite distinctively audible downstairs. “Neither of them are being very quiet at the moment,” quipped Wragg, as he trenched into his pie.