Thursday, October 13, 2011 # 9:28 AM
Exerpt from new novel "The Patch of Red Velvet"
For those who asked for a little taste of the book, here is a chapter from "The Travelers' Society: The Patch of Red Velvet".
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After Tim left Mason at the market, he followed his host’s guidance to a tidy, good-sized inn near the Chapel of St. Mary Magdalen. He passed by the banners and brightly painted signs of the merchant district. The main room of the Inn was still crowded with drunken and colorful revelers celebrating the last few hours before the pious morning to come. Tim climbed a rough wooden stairway to the narrow hallway upstairs. He entered the room on the right at the top of the stairs. It was fairly large for the buildings of the period as it was intended to house tenants of respected status. A feather mattress rested on a bed frame made from wood and ropes. In the corner was a wooden stool and a small table upon which rested a pitcher of stale water and a day-old loaf of brown bread.
There were no servants. Considering the covert nature of what Tim had to do, that was a good thing. Hanging on the wall above the table was a polished sheet of tin that served as a mirror for the current occupant. Tim paused for a moment. After viewing the way Mason and Stephanie’s appearance had changed, he was hesitant to take a look at himself. The temptation and his curiosity proved irresistible, however. Tim moved closer to the mirror and studied the reflection.
He was amazed and a bit relieved to see how similar he looked to his present self. There were a few minor differences. His hair was a darker brown and longer than he’d ever worn it. The beard was interesting if a bit sketchy. It definitely made him look older than seventeen. It might not be a bad idea to try to grow one when he got back to the present, but he was sure his parents were going to have a cow about that. It was difficult to wrestle his eyes away from the image, but the orange hue of the setting sun reminded him he didn’t have any more time to study the mirror.
On the dusty floor next to the mattress sat a large, wooden chest. Inside Tim found a simple brown and rust tunic to replace the bright emerald green one he had worn to the festival. He quickly slipped the less elaborate tunic over his linen shirt. The way the leggings and britches were tied together looked very complicated. Time decided he didn’t have time to unravel them. He tossed the emerald velvet cap into the trunk and pulled out a well-worn cap made of leather with a wide brim and an buckle. Quickly, he took an inventory of the coins in the leather pouch that hung on his belt. There were coins of all colors and sizes. Some were copper or brass. Some were silver. There were a couple gold pieces as well.
‘This guy’s not suffering,’ thought Tim.
He put the coins back into the leather pouch and retied it tightly to the lacing in his britches under his tunic. Briefly, he stepped in front of the mirror again to check the position of his hat. A wide grin spread across his face. “Too bad I don’t have a camera,” he said out loud.
There were even more patrons filling the tavern when Tim returned down the stairs. People, abandoning their celebration in the square as the evening approached, moved indoors to continue their merrymaking. This place was hopping and the air was warm and pungent. Tim decided to take a moment to sample some of the kegged ale and slapped a brass coin on the bar in front of him. The innkeeper set a pewter mug of sweetened ale on the bar as he snatched the brass coin. The ale was warm and slightly bitter, but Tim deftly finished it and left the mug on the counter and headed out the door.
Tim paralleled the main road back to the palace. He found a dim, narrow alley where a deserted house stood near the west entrance. There Tim stood quietly half hidden in the long, late afternoon shadows for about a half hour when he finally noticed the guards opening the western gate. An older man wearing a long black robe and a white cap with cloth ties dangling from it walked through. He was carrying a large leather satchel that looked like a book bag. Based on Stephanie’s description, Tim was certain the man exiting the gate was the doctor.
‘Just like clockwork,’ thought Tim. ‘James Bond my ass. All I need is a tuxedo and some of those cool gadgets.’
Tim stepped out from behind the decaying walls. Small crowds lagged in the streets. He needed to follow closely behind to avoid losing the man in the drunken crowd as he walked along Thieving Lane.
Tim was so focused on watching the doctor that he did not see the small, stout red-haired man who stepped out from behind the trees at the west entrance of the palace. The guard who had spied on other members of the court before had been instructed by the Queen to follow the doctor. Seeing someone else on the doctor’s trail was an unexpected and fascinating development.
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