“Sir Bob! What a state you’re in! Come on in and have a drink,” Esme called from where she was dropping some bowls of stew off with other patrons. She turned, looked at me over her shoulder, and walked back towards the bar. Her buttocks bobbed like ripe fruit on stormy seas, and I headed over to join her in a semi-hypnotised state.

  “You look like you’ve been in the wars,” Esme told me as she filled a tankard with foaming ale and slid it across the counter to me with a wink. While my trousers had thankfully survived my most recent escapade relatively intact, my tunic was a shredded mess.

  “If Mr. Paptitol lets his garden get so overgrown again, he’s going to have to find someone else to deal with the Tanglethorns,” I grumbled. Esme leant over the bar, offering me a generous view of her very generous cleavage, and reached out to pluck an inch-long thorn that had become embedded in my cheek as part of my combat-gardening job.

  “His neighbours are grateful at least,” she offered, and I snorted.

  “He stiffed me on the payment. Claimed the damage to his lawn should be taken out of the agreed fee. No idea how the hell I was supposed to kill the vine-y bastards without causing a bit of a ruckus, but he stiffed me so he’s blacklisted for the Board.” My voice was firm. Stiffing me on the payment earned the banhammer.

  “No sign of Mrs. Hartrik’s bald pussy?” Esme asked innocently, and I grimaced before taking a long slug of ale.

  “I don’t think anyone’s seen that pussy in fifty years, Esme. It no longer exists in the mortal realm!” She laughed and started rinsing mugs in the sink behind the bar.

  “I’m sure you’ll find a quest worthy of you soon, Sir Bob. Mick has done your reputation a world of good. ‘Reflexes like a werecat, stronger than a Galumip!’ or so he tells it. What happened to the boss bunny? You didn’t sell that one to me?”

  “I kept that one for myself,” I replied truthfully, happy to dodge the possible karmic impacts of telling fibs.

  “I expect it was delicious. High-level monsters are always fine dining if properly cooked. Speaking of which, have you got anything on offer today?” I grinned in answer to her questions and began pulling Tanglethorn roots, Jinkax bodies, and clusters of Kritip berries from my storage space.

  “How much for this lot?” I asked happily. Turning good deeds into profit was the best part of this new life.

  “Hmm. The Tanglethorn roots I’ll take for sixty bronze a piece.” She leaned in to examine the Jinkax bodies. They were small, feline-like creatures that had infested an abandoned house. The local rat population had been their prey early on, but soon they’d switched to small pets, and there had been talk of the danger to children, so a job had been posted on my board, and I had dealt with them.

  “Fifteen bronze for the Jinkax?” She glanced up to gauge my reaction, but I simply shrugged. As a predatory species, their flesh was tough and lacked fat.

  “That’s fine, Esme.”

  “I can’t help with the Kritip berries. You could try Agatha? She might want to take them off your hands? They’re more medicinal than food, to be honest, Bob. Too bitter to flavour the stew, and too many of them will lead to, um, bowel problems.” She chuckled and winked. “So… for the Jinkax and the Tanglethorns… four silver and eighty bronze.” Every little bit helps. I nodded, and she went into the back room to get the money.

  I took the opportunity to browse the Jobs Board I’d set up in the Cod. I pulled the new listings down and leafed through them.

  Where’s my pussy? No, Mrs. Hartrik. Just no. It was crumpled into dust in one fist and sprinkled on the floor.

  Missing child… that one I stashed to read after I got paid.

  Gather twenty Hardblooms. I’d look into this. Fetch quests were fucking boring but they paid the bills, and I usually took the time to gather a bit extra to flog to Esme.

  Town crier. I read this one through and tossed it. Some people had started taking the time to post prank requests, and they were becoming increasingly annoying. Seeing as most of the town passed through the Cod’s doors over the course of a week, and no one monitored who posted the jobs on the board, some of the local comedians had found it entertaining to mess with me, the Mighty Dragon Bob. And all I was trying to do was help them out, while making a modest profit. It was an affront to the very idea of justice.

  I snatched the other jobs off without checking them as Esme returned with a small purse in one hand. I smiled as I headed back to the bar and extended a hand to take receipt of my profits.

  “I’m sorry it can’t be more, Bob.” She closed her hands around mine as she laid the pouch in my palm and gave me a long, doe-eyed look. “Restaurant One opened a couple of days ago, and they’re taking a lot of business away from the Cod. I really appreciate you continuing to support me and my Da.” She blinked three times in a row. But I wasn’t lost in her eyes or the sight of a sizable proportion of her tits. Restaurant?

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “Where is it?” I asked a little too quickly. She looked slightly hurt. “Is it run by Angtirm?” I asked.

  “It is, Bob. He’s hired an out-of-town chef. He arrived a couple of days ago. He bought the old courthouse, opposite the bank,” she said sadly. “He’s going to drive us out of business.”

  “THAT BASTARD!” I yelled, and all heads snapped round to look at me before returning to their own business. My shoulders heaved, he’d stolen my idea, rage suffused me, and I felt my canines lengthening in my mouth. I fought for calm. I couldn’t blow my cover. I’d deal with that prick in a positive and constructive way.

  “He’s a powerful man in Fidler’s Mill, Bob. Dangerous to go against him.” Esme said before leaning in and whispering, “I’m glad you feel that way, though. He is a bastard!”

  It wasn’t so much the prospect of impacting the Cod’s business that infuriated me. Naturally, that would not be a smart thing to point out. Neither would mentioning that the new competition had originally been my idea.

  “This will not stand, dear Esme!” I intoned, earning a lopsided smile from the buxom barmaid. “I have been looking for a venture in Fidler’s Mill worthy of investment. I firmly believe that the Cod could become an unmatchable bar and eatery with my support!” If Angtirm were going to steal my idea, I’d go all in on the established tavern just to spite him. He stole from me, and that could not go unanswered. I grinned as I settled my predatory instincts on a villain that wasn’t simply a dumb monster just trying to get by. The real monsters all wear human skin after all. Barring myself, of course.

  “What are you suggesting?” Esme batted her eyelashes at me. “A joining of our families?” Shit. No, not that. Well… Would it be so bad?

  “More a joining of our interests, lovely Esme. I will invest in the Cod, giving you the opportunity to expand and upgrade the already–” I scanned across the somewhat dilapidated barroom, “salubrious facilities. You will have first pick of my kills, giving you access to fine meats!” Something rebelled in me, but I forced it down and plastered on a pleasant face. “Here!” I passed the pouch of coins back. Esme only had to tug on it twice before I could force myself to release my winnings. “As a gesture of goodwill.” The last words came out through gritted teeth, but I had been robbed. It had been intellectual property, rather than coins from my hoard, but it infuriated me just the same.

  “Oh, Sir Bob! This is… I don’t know what to say!” She swept round the bar and swept me into a hug, nestling her head against my shoulder and folding her curves against my body. Her hair smelled faintly minty. It was very pleasant, and my rage at Angtirm faded. “Thank you! I’ll go get my Da. He’ll talk business with you!” She planted a lingering kiss on my right cheek before running into the backroom, calling for her father.

  My cheeks were bright red, even after I carefully wiped what I suspected was a deliberate lipstick mark away.

  “You’re in there, Bob,” Mick called from his table, raising his tankard in a toast.

  “Aye, you’re a lucky boy! Esme doesn’t get that handsy with me!” cackled another old coot from the corner.

  “It’s not like that!” I said to Mick, but he just smirked and gave me a thumbs up.

  “Dicks.”

  “Aye. Dicks is the problem, boy.” The Barlord had appeared. He was bleary-eyed and looked tired. “The girl tells me you’ve a plan. Well, come on round the back and we’ll talk it over.” He waved for me to come behind the bar and enter the staff-only section of the premises. I followed after him, getting a squeeze on the arm from Esme as I passed.

  Behind the bar was a kitchen in the loosest sense of the word. I’d seen the cooking facilities in the dungeon, and they could easily pass in terms of functionality and appearance on Earth. Everything was powered by enchanted gems, enslaved demon souls, the heart of a dead Magamtonic, or whatever, but it had the form and function of a cooker from back home.

  The Cod’s kitchen was old school. Positively archaic. A long hearth lined one wall, with various pots dangling from chains or resting in metal tripods over glowing coals. Stacks of firewood, thick with cobwebs and spaces for creepy crawlies to hide, were piled up next to the hearth.

  To one side of the room was a table, obviously used as a chopping board, judging from the deep gouges that had been carved into its rugged surface. He gestured to a stool and took one himself. I opened my mouth to speak but he moved like lightning, head snapping round and a slobbery projectile flying out towards the hearth.

  PING!

  I checked, and sure enough, he had another spitoon, just to one side of where the stew was bubbling away on a slow boil. I wondered how many times he missed and hit the wrong pot, then resolved that we would need to introduce some basic kitchen hygiene rules.

  “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced, although I know your daughter well, I don’t know your name. I am Sir Bob,” I said, offering a hand. He glared at me then sucked both of the ends of his moustache into his mouth to add to whatever it was he was permanently chewing.

  “Know her well, eh?” he snapped, expelling his facial hair from his mouth at the same time. “You and every other pretty man who swans through my doors! Esme said you were looking to invest in the Cod? Money on the table will win you a lot of fatherly approval, should the time come for that.” What a charming gentleman. Already trying to set me up to marry his daughter.

  “While I find Esme to be delightful, I have no aspirations in that department, sir.” Possibly a lie? “May I call you sir?” I asked. He glared at me, then extended his hand, which I promptly shook.

  “Name’s Benton, Bob.” I smiled, and he flinched ever so slightly. I still had it, however puny this human form might look.

  “Charmed, I’m sure. Look, Benton, I’ve a mind to help transform the Swinging Cod into the finest eatery and drinking establishment for a hundred miles. Magitech cookers, more staff, expanded premises… You name it, I know how to get it and I’m willing to put my own coin on the line!” A part of me cringed at the thought of spending, especially the substantial sums needed to take the dive-bar version of the Cod and make it the local equivalent of the Ritz. The plan had been to make money by getting other people to invest alongside me, keeping my own risks to a minimum.

  But I had been robbed, and no one steals from a dragon and gets away with it.