Fine dining, haute cuisine, luxury restaurants. None of these phrases could be used to accurately describe The Swinging Cod, Fiddler’s Mills' preeminent and only bar slash restaurant.

  The ceiling was low, and thick tendrils of what I hoped was tobacco smoke curled in the air above me. The furniture consisted of wooden tables and stools. A fat man in a filthy apron stood at one end of the room behind some planks propped up on empty barrels.

  “How delightful!” I lied. “What would you like to drink, Jezebel?” The girl had been good company this far. After I’d paid off Mordechai, I had wandered around town taking in the sights and trying to avoid taking in the smells. Sewage systems were also an alien concept in this backwater.

  “I’ll have an ale, please. So, Bob, what was the food like in Losangles?” I may have lied a little about where I came from. She had a bastardised version of the plot from a TV show as my backstory at this point. The girl could talk.

  “I’m sure The Swinging Cod will put the finest restaurants from back home to shame.” Yet another lie. I was almost starting to feel bad, but that brief taste of shiny-metal-laden air in the bank had set me on a course of theft and larceny. I was OK with this. Gold was gold. What was the worst that could happen?

  “Barlord, two ales, please!” I called out as I pulled out a chair for my date and slid it back in as she sat down.

  “Such a gentleman!” she murmured, smiling up at me.

  “I’ll fetch our drinks,” I said as suavely as I could. I’d hardly been James Bond before being resurrected here, more like Mr. Bean when it came to women. But the reptilian part of me wasn’t entirely suppressed by being in a human body, and I was slightly more divorced from my emotions than I had been as a bumbling ass back on Earth.

  “Hello,” I said jovially as I reached the bar. The barman spat to one side, and a spittoon tinged.

  “Don’t know you, mate. Who are ya?” His accent was thick, barely intelligible.

  “I’m called Bob. Nice to meet you.” I extended a hand that he glared at suspiciously. “Two ales, please. And a look at the menu if you don’t mind?”

  “Menu? We got mutton stew. There are two types of bread, though.” The spittoon pinged again.

  “And what are the types of bread?” I asked politely.

  “Fresh and stale. Stale is cheaper.”

  “Imagine my shock. I’ll have two bowls of stew and a loaf of fresh bread, please. Put it on my tab.”

  “Tab? What’s that? Cash on the barrel head, ‘Bob’. Or you and the young lady ye’ve bewitched can go hungry and thirsty into the long goodnight.” He sucked on the corner of his moustache and seemed to be gathering the energy for another attempt to shatter the brass spittoon that I now realised was a good fifteen feet away from us.

  “How much?” I smiled and didn’t make any effort to hide my elongated canines. His eyes narrowed.

  “Fer you, sir, six bronze, fer the beer and food, and two for the loaf.” He smiled like a vandalised graveyard. All the rotten gravestones had been snapped in half. I think it was probably scarier than anything I could manage, even in my real body. My old man used to tell me to never start a fight with the ugly kid; he’s got nothing to lose if he gets punched in the face.

  I pulled the necessary coinage from my midriff, and his eyes widened as I slid them across the bar. He snatched them, eyed them suspiciously, actually bit one to test it, then stashed them in his apron.

  “Esme! Two beers for the gentleman, and two bowls of stew with a fresh loaf!” he called through the doorway behind him.

  “Fresh? Da, you know–” a feminine voice came back, along with the sound of plates and pots being banged around in a hurry.

  “Esme! Do as I said!” He turned back to me and gave me his best approximation of a warm grin. I held my breath while the expression lasted. My sensitivity to taste-smells wasn’t as strong in this form, but it still exceeded what I remembered having as a regular human. “Please take a seat with your lady friend. My daughter will bring the food and drinks to you shortly, Sir Mage.”

  Huh. This storage space was great for conning people into thinking I was some kind of big shot. Thinking about it, all I needed to do was get my gut within a few inches of all the gold in the vault at the bank and then… Boom! Turn back into a dragon and fly the hell out of there. But how to bring one's gut into close proximity with the gold? There was the trick. My eyes filled with warmth as I returned to Jezebel, where she was waiting patiently for me at our table. I've gotta golden ticket, I’ve got a golden twinkle in my eye!

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “So my dear ticket–ahem–Jezebel. Where were we? You were just explaining how the young Jancon wasn’t a good match for your friend Helspeth, who is your colleague at the bank?”

  “Well, yes, Bob. Jancon is a good lad. He’s a hunter, wants to be an adventurer like you one day, but it’s a tough road, as I’m sure you know! Most don’t live to see twenty-five, after all.”

  “They die so young?” I asked. She gave me a confused look.

  “No, Bob, you’re so silly!” She giggled in a way that made her petit bosom bounce, and it took a flex of reptilian self-control to keep my mammalian eyes from dropping to focus on the movement. “They don’t get to level twenty-five. They’re usually dead by twenty-three!”

  “And how old is your coworker?” I was suddenly worried.

  “Mary, she’s twenty. She’s a month older than me!”

  Thank Christ. I’d forgotten about how fucked up medieval dating ages were. As a matter of principle, her bosom was now firmly off limits, and it wouldn’t take any kind of draconic lack of balls to enforce. I hadn’t been much older than her on Earth, but I wasn’t interested in some juvenile bumpkin, however dimply her smile might be. I still needed to use this girl, though. Shit. That feeling made some part of me, some small part, want to abandon my plan. But then that smell of all that gold came back to my mind.

  “So, how long have you worked at the bank?” I asked as casually as I could.

  “Since I was a wee girl. I used to do the traps in the tunnels, down in the vault. Then, when I got older, Mr. Angtirm decided the customers would like the look of me, and put me on the front desk. Old Mrs. Filpins couldn’t keep up with the rats down there after I changed jobs! We’ve just sealed it off since I moved upstairs and got a respectable job.” She batted her eyelashes at me.

  “Here’s your ale, sweethearts, the grub will be out in a minute!” Two tankards appeared on the table, delivered by a buxom girl who definitely wasn’t anywhere close to underage. Her hips swayed more than was necessary to walk as she sashayed away from my table. I dragged my eyes back to my date.

  “So, Bob, how long will you be in town? It’s a lovely place, very safe. The northern savages never come so far as us. And with you here, what would we have to fear?”

  “What about the dragon?” I took a sip of my beer and fought down my reaction to spit it out over Jezebel. It was bitter, much more so than anything I was used to.

  “He’s just a baby. We’ve already sent out a request to the Hunters Guild. Filthy beasts like that don’t last long when the hunters come for them.”

  “What if he just wants to live in peace? In my worl–in my country, some dragons are friends with the locals. They help out.” I said, watching as her face went from bewildered to disgusted while I spoke. Well, there goes that plan. Rob the bastards and sleep on the profits, it was then.

  “No dragon ever wants peace. War and death are all they know. Jakdan the Fluffytail seemed like a friendly dragon. Got invited to the court in Ankmapak, then ate the Empress and half the royal family in one go! No, those beasts can’t be trusted.” Well, she wasn’t wrong, but I had no desire to eat any of them, just steal all the gold. Speaking of which…

  “So these tunnels, the ones in the vault, are overrun? Isn’t that dangerous for you? You work so close to them?” She nodded.

  “It’s kind of scary, if I’m honest. But the boss won’t let us hire anyone to deal with it. The prices for a guild party are too high, and he’s too stingy,” she sighed as she sat back on her stool.

  Esme appeared with a wink and a smile and deposited our food on the table with a flourish.

  “Bread will be with you in a second, my loves,” she sauntered away this time. Gratuitous hip movements were still involved.

  “Would you think Mr.-- er what was his name?”

  “Mr. Angtirm,” Jezebel supplied.

  “Him. Do you think Mr. Angtirm would object if I offered to help clear out the tunnels? I’d be happy to do it free of charge. What would a handful of overgrown rodents be to an adventurer like me?” I boasted.

  “I could ask him, I suppose?” She tore off a lump of bread and began dipping it in her stew. I followed suit.

  As much as it pained me to admit, some part of me thoroughly enjoyed the meal. Cooked food, not raw and still with the hooves and fur attached, was a pleasant change from my usual fare. As Esme came back to clear the bowls, I had to fight down the urge to ask for a second helping.

  Jezebel had cleared her bowl, and we had both relaxed a little after the second set of ales had been brought over. I was nodding along happily as she regaled me with some tale of her sister fighting off some creature. A Ganfex, whatever the hell that was, had attacked her sibling while she was out for a walk in Larney’s Wood. A brave farmer had rushed to her aid, and lo and behold, six months later, they were married. Three months after that, their first child had been born. Some things were the same on every world, it seemed.

  As we left, I tossed an extra bronze to the landlord, who caught it at the same time as he made the spittoon ring once more.

  “Well, Jezebel. Perhaps I should walk you home?”

  “I’d like that.” She dropped her eyes, and her lips curved into a smile. She pointed me in the right direction, and I offered her my arm. We discussed inconsequential things for a while. Tidbits of her friends and family members' lives, people I knew nothing about.

  “So, Jezebel, do you think you might speak to Mr. Angtirm for me? I’d be only too happy to clear out whatever beasts are lurking under the vault for you. Free of charge, of course! It would be the least I could do to repay you for your enchanting company this evening, and I wouldn’t be happy to move onwards with my journey with the thought that you would be so close, every day, to such beasts.”

  “This is my family's house. Thank you for the lovely evening, Bob. Of course, I’ll speak to the boss for you. I doubt he’ll refuse free help from an adventurer of your stature. Good night, Sir Bob.” She smiled and turned away. She must have been taking notes from Esme, because her hips had suddenly developed a marked sway as she headed up the steps to her front door.

  I've gotta golden ticket, I’ve got a golden twinkle in my eye!