‘Blast!’ I muttered to myself, as my car skidded to a stop outside of the local tavern, its angry snorting kicking up straw and dirt.
‘Well, ‘ello!’ came a cry from inside, and a burly man in an ill-fitting tunic stumbled out of the doors, mead horn held aloft. ‘What do we ‘ave here, then?’
‘Reginald,’ I nodded curtly, stepping out of the vehicle.
‘Your ride is lookin’ a bit worse for wear, eh son?’ Reginald chuckled.
‘Aye,’ I sighed. ‘I’m afraid she needs some seeing to.’
‘Is that why you’re in town, slumming it with us common folk then?’ he asked, barely finishing the sentence before he was pouring ale down his throat. He smacked his lips and wiped his mouth clean with a filthy sleeve. Doing little to hide my disdain, I shook my head.
‘Actually, I’m here looking for a man,’ I said. ‘A contract from the sovereign himself.’
‘Ooooh,’ Reginald guffawed for his small crowd of friends, mockingly sinking into a curtsey. ‘The sovereign.’
‘Brake pads,’ I muttered to myself, ignoring him as I patted down my car.
‘Speak up, fancy-boy?’
‘Brake pads!’ I repeated, louder than necessary. ‘It seems I’m in need of a local mechanic near Ringwood that can do a brake pad replacement. Would you happen to know anybody?’
‘All the mechanics I know are too lowly for your company, most noble sir,’ Reginald snickered, trying the curtsey gag again and almost falling over. His drunken friends helped prop him up.
‘Be that as it may,’ I said through gritted teeth, ‘my chief concern is one of proximity, not station.’
‘I know a place,’ a commanding voice from the crowd intoned. ‘An affordable mechanic around Ringwood, that’ll look after you – you and your car.’
‘Pray, friend,’ I said, peering into the crowd to try and discern the speaker. ‘Tell me the name of this mechanic of yours.’
‘Oh, he’s no mechanic of mine, sir,’ the voice boomed again, and I jumped as the man appeared behind me, standing next to my car. ‘But he may just be the mechanic you’re looking for.’