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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