Tuesday, 22 December 2015

Oh, brother (part 57) by Grant Harbison

Blaine lay on the floor of the inn in a crumpled heap
“My head is so sore I could almost weep!” he cried. “I wish I’d never eaten that neep!”
“It wisnae the neep, nor the rodent stew,” said the barman. “Ah’d say that the fifteen pails o’ brew is what did it tae you.”
“Hey, Irish, same again?” asked a man, and there was raucous laughter from the other men.  
“I’d better not, I’m northwards bound.”
“Aw, c’mon,” said the man. “Hair o’ the hound.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I’m on a mission that will save my lass.”
“Ah’m Robert Murray,” said the man. “An’ naebody gets oot o’ here in a hurry.”
“Aye,” said another. “The only time ye’ll be northwards bound is when ye buy each an’ every one o’ us another round.”
“But I haven’t got many groats to spare.”
“Irish, we don’t care,” said Robert. “Go for that door, if ye dare.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Aye, an’ a good goin’ over is what ye’ll get if ye try tae leave the inn withoot payin’ yer debt.”
Blaine listened to his inner voice. “I don’t suppose I have a choice.”
“Good man,” said Robert. “That’ll be twenty pails o’ ale for me an’ the clan.”
Blaine reluctantly bought the beers
And the inn erupted with very loud cheers
They made him order over and over again
“Ah’ll tell ye when ye can stop,” said Robert. “Noo, same again.”
Three hours later their thirst was sated
And when Brother Blaine saw that they were all inebriated
He sneakily slipped out the door
And promised himself never to return once more 

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