### 62

The fat drunkard can hardly believe his luck when you reach to your belt pouch and count out ten Gold Crowns into his grubby hand.

'May the gods bless y' boots, sir!' he cackles, as he stuffs the gleaming crowns into his pocket. 'If it's the Crooked Sage you be a'wantin' to visit, you be needin' Tavern Lane, o'er there,' he says, enthusiastically pointing to the street which leads off to the east.

With the drunkard's gleeful laughter echoing in your ears, you spur Bracer to a canter and enter this foul-smelling street. Clamped against the walls of the surrounding buildings are oil-soaked torches which serve to illuminate the signs of wine shops and taverns. They are crudely painted with emblems--a bloodied battle-axe, a winged horse, a watery sun rising from a broken skull. There is not one which resembles a crooked sage and you are beginning to suspect you have been duped, when suddenly you hear the sound of drunken revelry coming from a two-storey building at the end of the street. Its oaken doors hang open and the vivid orange glare of its roaring hearth spills invitingly into the dank night gloom. Although it has no painted emblem, you sense at once that you have come to the Crooked Sage Inn.

At your approach, a sallow-faced stable boy limps from a wooden hut which is leaning precariously against the side of the tavern wall. For a Gold Crown (erase this from your Action Chart), he takes charge of your horse and shows you to the taproom door.

Turn to 21.

Text copyright © 1991 Joe Dever.
Illustrations copyright © 1991 Brian Williams.