– ‘The Magic of Wor(l)ds’ blog is a hobby, reviews and other bookish stuff on this site are done for free. –
Today I’m on the ‘Greed’ blogtour, organized by Zooloo’s Book Tours.
To promote this book I have an excerpt, but before I let you read it first some ‘basic’ information.
About the Author :
Tim Beeden is someone who likes to make things up. Things like stories, ideas and friends. He’s lived a varied life, has had thirteen different jobs, likes piña coladas and getting caught in the rain. He loves to travel and is utterly convinced he’s part Viking (much to his wife’s continual annoyance. Although he was once on holiday in Denmark where the locals often spoke to him in Danish which pretty much confirmed it as far as he’s concerned).
He’s married with one child. His wife is nothing like him (thank goodness) but his son is (thank goodness).
Greed is his first novel in a planned series of eleven books but he’s pretty new to this so isn’t aware of how ridiculous an ambition that is.
He genuinely hopes you enjoy reading Greed and that if you love it you tell your friends. If you read it and hate it, he wants you to tell your enemies so they have to suffer too.
When Gregory Hoffenbach unearths a valuable stone while ploughing, he believes it could put an end to all his woes.
It doesn’t. In fact it’s just the beginning.
Greg heads into the city of Calver with his brother Ralph to try and sell the stone but soon they discover that there are plenty of people in the Kingdom who’d like to own Greg’s red stone.
Over the next few days, the brothers strike a deal with a prominent crime boss, stumble into a plot to overthrow the King and have a hand in the death of an over-ambitious hay salesman.
Fortunately for them, they’ve got help. Some very useful and very violent help.
It seems everyone wants Greg’s stone and they’ll stop at nothing to get it.
Greg? He just wants a new plough.
A story about working out what’s valuable in life and then trying to take it from someone else.
100% of the ebook sales go to support Samuel’s Charity.
Greg approached the bar and elbowed himself some room. As his hands touched the thick oak of the bar, a slim, dark-haired man with a tiny pencil-thin moustache appeared as if he had been hiding under the floor behind the bar.
‘Good evening, sir!’ said the man. ‘My name’s Trevor. I’m the new owner of this fine establishment. How may I be of service to you?’
Greg wasn’t quite sure what to do. Every time he’d been in The Hairy Apple, the most he’d got in the way of a welcome was a grunt and then a mug of ale slapped down in front of him. He looked to his left at the man next to him who, by the look of him, had been sat at the bar for most of the day. ‘Don’t worry, son,’ the man said through fog-like breath, thick with alcohol. ‘He’s from the city.’
That said, he turned back to his drink.
‘I have many fine beverages available this evening!’ Trevor said.
To Greg, he seemed like the kind of person who spoke with an exclamation mark at the end of every sentence.
‘Would Sir care to see the wine list? Failing that, I have a fine collection of cocktails, which can be prepared fresh to order!’
‘Actually, I’d like to ask you a few questions,’ Greg said.
Trevor’s face lit up.
‘Ooh, excellent! They told us about this on the Publican course. Witty banter, back and forth; that’s the cornerstone of a successful landlord’s thriving business!’
‘Yes, I’m sure it is,’ Greg said, ‘but all I need to know…’
‘Problem with the missus?’ Trevor said. ‘Or maybe it’s the weather you’d prefer?’
‘No, I just need to know if you’ve seen someone, that’s all.’
‘Really? That’s it?’ Trevor said, looking dejected. ‘I do a great line about the local sports team and how they couldn’t find a way to score within the confines of a brothel.’
‘I’m looking for my brothel – I mean, brother,’ Greg said, pressing on. ‘He looks like me, only he has dark hair and he’s a bit shorter. Goes by the name Ralph.’
Greg knocked twice and waited. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Ralph; for the moment he was just glad he’d found him. No answer.
‘Ralph, it’s me, Greg,’ he said as he knocked again.
Again, no answer. Just as he was about to try and peer in through the window, Greg heard a rusty creak and then a thud coming from the back of the room. He ran around the back, just in time to see Ralph following his knapsack out the rear window.
Ralph turned as he leant back out of the window. His jerkin caught on the ledge, he lost his balance and fell backwards onto the gravel.
‘Ralph, what are you doing?’
Ralph stood up, brushed himself down and turned to face Greg.
‘Quite clearly, I’m doing a runner. Now, are you going to help me or not?’
‘Ralph, I don’t understand. Why are you doing a runner?’
‘Because, Greg, I owe the landlord three rounds worth of drinks, there’s four blokes sat at a table near the back of the pub who want to break my legs and oh yeah, I lost the stone. Enough about me. How are you?’
The Magic of Wor(l)ds