Read Online Fable: Blood of Heroes by Jim C. Hines - Free Book Online

yet,” said Leech. “Young King Wendleglass is in talking to Sam now.”
    “The poor fellow needs his rest,” Inga added with a frown. “Rest and a good draught of mustard tea, strong as snakebites, just like Granny Duckworth used to make for kids with the sniffles.”
    “Pah. What kind of medicine is that?” Tipple stood and cautiously stretched his arms. His head and shoulder didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected. Leech must have been busy putting his insides in order. Tipple grabbed his jerkin from the floor and squeezed into the still-damp leather. His sandals were stiff and covered in muck. He clapped them together a few times, then jammed them onto his feet. He got halfway to the door, then stopped to turn around. “Wait, where was I going?”
    “To interrogate Sam,” said Rook.
    “Right.” He swung open the door and stomped into the hall. “And who’s that, again?”
    Blue shook his head. In addition to the rope around his neck, someone had bound his wrists in front of him. “Dumb as a bum full of rum.”
    “Keep it up, redcap, and you’ll find out why they call me the Haymaker. I’ll rip that stupid cap off your head and feed it to you. Got it?”
    Blue nodded sharply.
    “Right. Now, someone point me towards this Sam fellow.”
    Sam yelped in surprise when Tipple and the others barged through the door. He was sitting in bed, knees hugged to his chest, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Young Wendleglass sat on a chair at the foot of the bed.
    “Ah, there you are.” Wendleglass looked Tipple up and down, and his nose wrinkled. “You smell of smoke and pickles.”
    Tipple sniffed his jerkin. “Yep.”
    “Have you learned anything from Sam?” asked Rook.
    “Oh, we’ve had a lovely chat,” said Wendleglass. “Sam was telling me about the ducks that live by his home. They have the most peculiar cry, like rusty hinges.”
    Rook’s expression didn’t change. “Have you learned anything about Nimble Johanna or the threat to Brightlodge?”
    “Oh, yes. I mean, no. That is, um, he hasn’t said anything—not about that. Not that I asked, really.” Wendleglass looked down at Sam. “Do you know anything about Nimble John—Johanna—or our impending doom?”
    Sam pulled himself tighter. “It was like a nightmare.”
    “Nightmares are for people who can’t cope with the real world,” said Tipple. “And by cope, I mean starting a tab. Sam, isn’t it?”
    “That’s right, sir.”
    In the sunlight streaming through the window, Sam was … well, just as unimpressive as he’d looked back in the outlaws’ boat. Young, skinny, and filthy, not to mention bruised as an apple that bounced down a mountainside, but otherwise intact.
    Tipple yanked the blanket away. “Come with us, Sammy. The last thing we need is peace and quiet after everything we’ve been through today.”
    He escorted Sam down the stairs and into the pub, drawing the others in his wake. He sat down at the bar and guided Sam onto the stool next to him. Normally Lester Mead manned the bar, but today it was Nelly Flagon herself serving up drinks. “Nelly! Your finest for me and my friends, to celebrate our victory over Nimble John’s outlaws.”
    “Anything for you, Jeremiah Tipple.” Nelly Flagon crossed her arms and leaned forwards. She snapped her fingers, yanking Tipple’s attention back to her eyes. “S’long as you pay up front.”
    Tipple brought a hand to his chest, trying to convey how deeply wounded he was by such unwarranted distrust. “I’m sure my friend Leech will be more than happy to cover the tab.” He glanced at Leech. “As a fine healer and surgeon, your purse must be overflowing with coin. What better way to support the struggling entrepen—enterpruners—the struggling business people of Brightlodge who lost so much to Nimble John’s villainy?”
    Leech sighed and dropped several coins onto the bar.
    “Surgeon, eh?” asked Nelly. “I appreciate a man who’s good with his