I hastily snapped my mouth closed with a clop sound. This was familiar. Not in the sense I’d been there before, but there was something that looked suspiciously like a jukebox in one corner, blaring out an incredibly annoying song about butter or something equally banal.

  The fixtures and fittings could have been lifted directly from any pub or bar back on Earth. Plush seats, that had seen too many sweaty backsides to be considered new, surrounded round tables, and along the walls, long tables were lined with padded benches.

  The well-heeled and the rougher-looking clientele were all rubbing shoulders happily, and the brightly lit space was a perfect example of my aspirations for the Cod. Minus the knock-off Maccie D food, I was planning on introducing the people of Fidler’s Mill to. Every franchise has to start somewhere. I fought down the urge to rub my claws–hands– greedily.

  “Go grab a drink. I’m gonna get changed,” Tex muttered as he left me alone in a strange bar in a strange town. If I weren’t a dragon in disguise, I might have been worried.

  “Barlord! What’s your finest ale?” I asked as I reached the bar, it was complete with traditional pull-handles to suck beer up from some hidden cellar, rather than the crudely perched barrels with a tap at the bottom I was used to in the Mill. Another mental note was added to my list.

  He was a tall, thin man. Precise in his movements, with black hair and thick bushy eyebrows. He tossed back a glass of amber liquid with a practiced flick of the wrist and then smiled politely at me as he put his glass to one side.

  “Apologies, sir. It’s just gone seven o’clock, so I was due for a gold watch. The finest ale I have on offer this evening is a charming craft brew from Sagglemouth called Potter’s Bottom. It’s got earthy, faintly clay-like tones, blended with a fruity nose, a strong spicy palette that leaves a wonderful, lingering aftertaste,” he said in a professional patois that would have gotten a job in any snooty bar back home.

  Fruity beer was all well and good, but this guy was drinking real liquor. Could I get drunk? Being a drunk dragon was probably a bad idea outside of my aerie, but one couldn’t hurt, could it?

  “I’ll have a double of what you just had, mate. The names Bob, not sir,” I said, nodding towards his now-empty glass.

  “Well, Sir Bob, Golden Jack isn’t cheap. I mean no disrespect, but do you have the coin to pay for it?” His polite expression and tone of voice didn’t waver, but his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

  I produced my monocle from my belly pouch and slipped it into place over my right eye. Nothing makes you look rich like a monocle. Then pulled a gold coin out and offered it to him.

  “I’m expecting change?” I said.

  “Of course, sir! One moment, please.” He crouched down behind the bar, and there was a series of clicking and whirring noises, loud enough that everyone sitting at the nearby tables looked over. There was a clang as something unlocked beneath the bar, and a moment later, he rose holding a bottle of shining whisky. I’d been sold when he told me the name, but the delicate fluting of the glass, the way the amber liquid sloshed inside… this was the good stuff. He tipped a generous double into a crystal goblet and slid it across the counter.

  “What’s your name, mate?” I asked as I passed him the coin. I winced as I saw how little change I received. I briefly considered removing my ascot so I would be more cautious when it came to buying things, but then again, I didn’t want to accidentally eat anyone, so I left it where it was.

  “Neville, sir. Neville De Sacklick.” I politely ignored his faint grimace as he told me his surname, and the sniggers that came from behind me. I offered my hand and he shook it carefully, then wiped his hands on a cloth that hung from his belt. “It’s a proud name! You lot can shut up!” he called at the nearby patrons. The sniggering lingered for a few seconds.

  “Nice to meet you, Neville. I’ve got a little venture starting up north, and I’d really like to know who did your lights, sign, and the beer pumps.”

  “Ah, I’m sorry, Sir Bob. That would be proprietary knowledge. They are very niche craftspeople and only work for friends.” He shook his head in mock sadness.

  “Ok, I can respect that. Where do you buy your booze? I’d like to source something a little more exotic than they’re used to at Fidler’s Mill.”

  “The Mill? Dear sir, why would you want to start a business in such a gods forsaken locale? The Fuderation will burn them out again soon enough. You’d be better off moving to Longbottom or Deglasse. Comfortably away from the frontier is the only place to look to establish yourself, sir.” He had picked up a glass, I wasn’t sure if it was the one he’d drunk from, and began to polish it with his belt rag.

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  “I’m sure they’ll be fine for at least the near future.” I’d rain acid and fire on any Orlic raiding parties heading towards my precious Swinging Cod.

  “I don’t know about that, sir, but I’m sure you know best. I can give you the name of my supplier for drinks. I’m sure she’d be interested in another customer. Once you pay for it, she doesn’t care if it ends up in mad doc or Pingle bellies,” he sniffed. “Where are you staying? I can have her boy pay you a visit with the inventory list?”

  “Bob! Let’s go. Hey, Nev. A pint of Blurberry Slam, please,” Tex appeared next to me and laid one hand on my shoulder. I didn’t mention his apron and rolled-up trouser leg. But I would be taking the piss out of it later. “Bob’s a good man, Nev. Y’all treat him right in the light.” Neville's eyebrows rose, the first time I’d seen his expression of polite disinterest truly break.

  “Of course, brother Tex. You should have mentioned that you glowed, brother Bob.” Oh great, now he thought I was part of Tex’s weird little club.

  “Erm, I don’t glo–” I started, but Tex elbowed me and waggled his eyebrows when I glanced at him.

  “Show him the token,” he hissed quietly. Neville’s brown eyes flicked back and forth between us. I fished out the coin that Bulb had given me and slid it across the bar. Neville peered down and then went pale for a moment, his fingers shaking as he reached out for it, but he snatched them back before touching it.

  “I will have a list of the craftsmen who assisted with the Baguette’s facade ready for you this evening, brother Bob. Where can I deliver it to you? I can offer you a complimentary room in my own humble establishment if you don’t have accommodation in the temple.” He’d gone from polite and professional to “Please let me wipe for you, sir? What healthy bowels you have, sir!” in zero seconds flat at the sight of that coin. Maybe Bulb had done me a solid? I picked the coin back up and slipped it into my pocket.

  “Yeah, that would be great, brother Neville. Thanks very much.”

  “Bob will be joining us for this evening's illumination,” Tex added in his drawling accent.

  “Very well. May you forever glow in the dark, brothers,” Neville intoned solemnly. Tex took my elbow and guided me away from the bar and towards a door that led deeper into this tavern. He’d snatched the elbow on the arm that held my glass of amber gold, and I tried to bring it up to take my first sip, but his grip was surprisingly strong.

  “Be respectful to the brothers. Use the code phrase our Lord told you. I’ve already got a seamstress working on your apron,” he said as he pushed the door open. The corridor beyond was pitch black once the door swung shut behind us, and I blinked as I tried to will my eyes to adjust. “Put this on.”

  He pressed something into my free hand. How the hell could he see that well in the dark?

  “Just hold it up to your face as I open the next door,” he continued as though reading my mind. The only way to discover the light is to emerge from darkness.”

  “Tex, this cult is starting to feel a wee bit invasive. I’m not entering a room blindfolded.”

  “Shut up and do it! I can’t betray you for another year, so trust me.” Huh. That kind of sounded like he’d already made plans to find other employment once our contract expired. Noted, brother Tex of the glowy wing-wangs.

  A crack of light appeared as a door creaked open on my left, and Tex grabbed the thing he’d given me and flicked it at my face. It landed like a facehugger and wrapped itself over my eyes. He shoved me forward, and I stumbled. Now that my other elbow was free, I took a long sip of Golden Jack and resolved to stock up on the stuff before I went back north. Spicy fire burned down my throat and filled my stomach with warmth. Good shit.

  I reached up to snatch the blindfold off, but it wouldn’t budge. It was superglued to my face.

  “Who are you to join our sacred lodge, stranger?” a deep voice intoned. I heard the door click shut behind me and felt the air move as Tex moved up next to me. An elbow hit my ribs, a habit ot Tex’s that I was starting to find extremely annoying.

  “Oh, I’m Bob the, erm, businessman. I’m a stranger who comes from the east, searching for that which was lost in the dark. I think? Did I get that right, Tex? Can I just show them the coin and get this over with? How the hell is this sticking to my face?” I snarled, becoming increasingly annoyed at this farce. I took another sip of my drink and waggled it in front of me. “Someone else is going to have to top this off if the blindfold doesn’t come off soon.”

  “That which rises in the east must set in the west. The light will always chase away the darkness. Before the light, there is always gloom.” That was at least ten voices, spread out in a circle around me. Despite Tex’s system-enforced support, I suddenly felt very vulnerable.

  “To be reborn in Bulb’s Light, one must have the darkness beaten from them!” called a new voice. Deep and rich, he sounded like a politician with a decade of expensive voice coaching under his belt.

  “I’m sorry, do what now?” I sputtered the mouthful of very expensive booze as I heard footsteps moving closer. Floorboards creaked subtly, leather soles gave off the faintest of squeaks.

  “Just be cool about this, partner. We won’t really hurt you,” Tex muttered before something slammed into my backside and propelled me forward. It felt like a wooden ruler being wielded by a sadistic teacher who was most likely on a series of government watchlists.

  “The fuck?” I bellowed. Trying to spin about and waving an arm to sweep away whoever had struck me, most likely my unscrupulous minion. I hit nothing but air. Another blow landed and took my glass from my hand. Then there was a crack as someone else broke their lash across the top of my skull.

  I could hear their movements. These were clumsy people, not exactly gym rats; a stream of sounds and shifts in the air betrayed their locations to me. Maybe it’s true that losing one sense heightens the rest. I felt like I had an echolocation map of everyone moving in the room. My tongue flicked out for a second to sample the taste-scents.

  “Ritual spanking to join your little club is bad enough, but you just spilled a very expensive glass of booze that I fucking paid for. After this is done, you assholes are buying me a new one.”

  I moved towards the nearest footstep, which suddenly started moving away from me in a hurry, and reached out with my hands to snatch whoever it was off their feet and use them as a club on the rest.