avevale_intelligencer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
avevale_intelligencer) wrote2009-05-25 11:12 am
avevale_intelligencer) wrote2009-05-25 11:12 am
(no subject)
There was, of course, no such thing as a book on farm machinery to be had. There was a sour-faced bookseller, working from a stall in the market square under the watchful eye of the town's invigilatrix, but the volumes on sale were all either cheap novels for men or abstruse religious and magical texts for women, and while Mordecai was strongly tempted by the latter, he had no wish to attract undue attention by showing interest in a volume for which he was the wrong gender.
It would be easier at a Briom village, he thought. Maybe someone there would have a book for children, with big pictures. Down On The Farm With Farmer Froony or some such. He could picture Varnak's face, and the thought brought a smile to his own. The Witchring, however, did not hold with children having their own books.
A title caught his eye, on the men's side of the stall--”Lord Clatterack Sails To Sinjaran.” The cover depicted a man in the full fig of a nobleman of Briom brandishing an epée at a swarthy, hairy man in a brightly coloured bandanna and leather trousers, who was apparently being propelled towards him from a trampoline, with a cutlass gripped between his teeth. Mordecai idly picked it up and flipped it open to the title page, looking for the author's name.
“By A Lady Of The Court,” he read.
“Put that book down!” cried a female voice peremptorily, and Mordecai almost dropped it in his shock.
It would be easier at a Briom village, he thought. Maybe someone there would have a book for children, with big pictures. Down On The Farm With Farmer Froony or some such. He could picture Varnak's face, and the thought brought a smile to his own. The Witchring, however, did not hold with children having their own books.
A title caught his eye, on the men's side of the stall--”Lord Clatterack Sails To Sinjaran.” The cover depicted a man in the full fig of a nobleman of Briom brandishing an epée at a swarthy, hairy man in a brightly coloured bandanna and leather trousers, who was apparently being propelled towards him from a trampoline, with a cutlass gripped between his teeth. Mordecai idly picked it up and flipped it open to the title page, looking for the author's name.
“By A Lady Of The Court,” he read.
“Put that book down!” cried a female voice peremptorily, and Mordecai almost dropped it in his shock.
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