1644
DAY TEN: TUESDAY
Oh, it’s a tired, quiet day today! You catch me down at my Club, in case you were wondering about the surroundings. As it happens, the Club only convenes on the third Tuesday of a month, that being today, of course. You may be wondering about the people and the premises also. Well, firstly you’re particularly nosey today, and the people here are mostly out-of-towners, the kind who actually have money, and a distinct lack of morals. As it happens, I tick both boxes at the moment, hence why I’m sitting here at a card table, with a wad of cash, trying to turn it into a larger wad of cash.
Yes, we are still in Upper Vaxham, believe it or not, and if you don’t believe it, you’re a fool. I mean, just look out the window? Anyway, this is how it works - the people come in from all over the County, usually to a place they hold no governance or position in, so that they might gamble in peace. I’m the exception, of course. They hire out a house, usually the same one - relatively run down, or in other words cheap. It doesn't matter the condition of the place as it only lasts for one day. Then they up-sticks and bugger off. Until the next time, of course.
The house is in a quiet little back street, usually this one here at Assayers Crescent. Like I say, not always. But I’ve only been coming since it’s been at this location. Currently, I’m deeply involved in a game of Scrum. You know what? It’s better if I just show you. Right. I’m currently out of the hand, so I’ll tell you as it goes -
Player One has a King. That’s called Roots. Player Two takes the King, making a Rubble. Now, he takes his Threes, places them under the deck. We call that a Walker. More about that later. Ah! Now Player Two has an Eight of Diamonds. Eights are Wild, unless they're played after a Pairing, then they're a Fidget. Player One counters with a Fromer, which is a low straight, bearing in mind Aces are High, unless either in a Crumple or a Dredger, then Aces are either Low, or Eleven. We don’t play Jokers in this game, as it’s too complicated, and makes it French Rules, and, well, no one likes the French. Even the French don’t much like the French. And everyone hates the Belgians. Never mind, I’m getting off the subject - right, Player Two is now betting on his Goad, or Pile, depending on if you're using the North-East Rules, which, obviously we don’t. This means that Player Two can only bet on a Goad in even numbers if he turns a Random, or random card, from within the pack. If he picks a Face Card, then he has to relinquish his Stretch, regardless of Blankers, which means he no longer bets in a clockwise manner, stopping his run and therefore gives the first round to his opponent, but, and this is the important part, the Pot remains Inside, or rolls over to the next hand, even if all players have a Two. Now, the Player with the Two of Spades gets to go first - look, I’m in this hand, so just watch what I do? I have a Six of Diamonds. I’ll put that down. Are you following this? Just you seem to be nodding off there a bit. I could go through it all again, if you want? No? Well, tell your bloody face that, then. Where was I? Oh, look! I missed that! I could've gone for a Vendor then! Do you know how much that would have gained me? Erm. Thirteen percent of fifty four, carry the three - bugger. Anyway, enough. Let me concentrate. If I - what the bloody Hell was that?!
Okay, those blokes look like Army Men. Can’t be the Roundabouts? I hear they disappeared after Sir Alan Coleby had mysteriously gathered new - ahem - information? I’m sure they don’t know it was me. Pretty sure. Quite frankly, I’m shitting myself. I hope they keep running, but I doubt it. Let’s hope they honour their timeframe of fourteen days and not suddenly step it up by a considerable margin and remove my beautiful head from my broad shoulders? Never mind - this lot are interrupting my game. I should find out what’s happening, if that’s possible from my vantage point under this table and cradling myself in a foetal position.
Yellow sashes. Could this be? The infamous New Model Army? I mean, I know I’ve seen a few around, but never this organised, and never in such a large contingent. Okay, they’re starting to push people around now. Bullying, that’s what I call it. Right, and now the fists are coming. That’s it. I’m off. But first I’ll grab my - shit! Okay, I’ll just leave with what’s in my purse. Please! Don’t hit my face! I’m too pretty! Oh -
Right, well I’m outside now, and I’m angry. That was my Club! I enjoy my days there, you know! Keeps me sane! Well, as sane as I can be, I suppose. Just look at the place! Everywhere, there’s yellow sashed Soldiers, pushing people around, stealing their drink, their food? It’s unconscionable! Just a bunch of thieving, tough bullies! Soldiers of fortune, every one of them! I mean, where’s the Clubmen when you need them? Probably cowering, much like I should be doing right now. Oh, look how they're handling the prostitutes? Being dragged about, stripped right there in the street - sex, violence - well at least Trish Treyne seems to be enjoying it. Quite frankly that doesn't surprise me. Filthy woman.
Something needs to be done about this, you know? I think I’ll make a visit to the Town Hall. Push my weight around a bit. I swear these stairs are about to give way! Imagine being stuck up in the Town Hall with no way of getting out! Trapped there with Geoff Dash! Dear God!
“Dash! The - rest of you! Have you seen what’s going on out there?”
“You mean the New Model Army? Yes, Posster, we are aware of their presence.”
“So?”
“So what, Posster?” What a nob.
“So what? We need to get rid of them! They’re taking over the place!”
“Oh, don't exaggerate, Posster. It’s merely high exuberance after the horrors of war. Who would deny them such actions?”
“Me, that’s who! They've even taken over my Club!”
“Oh, no one cares about your Club, Posster! Don't be absurd! You were there during the Witch Trial? You saw how the people were? No, it’s nothing more than high spirits.”
“Right, well, let’s see what you say when they march in here and try to take over!” Which they will, any minute now.
“Pshaw, Posster!” Pshaw? Pshaw?! He dares pshaw me? I’d strike him where he sits right now, except he’s remarkably good with the sword. Quite the duelist, so I hear. I’m not stupid, you know. Just angry.
“Okay, regardless of our personal thoughts about each other -“
“I’m fine with you, thank you, Posster.” Then wipe that sodding grin from your face, you bloody -
“Whatever! We need to do something! What say the rest of you?”
“Well -“ That’s my boy! Go Bradshaw! Don't let him intimidate you! No! Don't fall for the look! Damn. Poor kid! He had such promise.
“Right, well, sod the lot of you then. I’m going to see if I can do anything myself.”
“Oh, leave them alone, Posster! Let them have some fun!” Fun? Fun to you is waking up and not combing your hair, or finding a clean pair of breeches. Let me tell you, this lot haven’t even begun to have fun! Right now, they're just settling in. I won’t stand for it, you know? Right, so you’re wondering why I’m so passionate about this, for a town I can barely stand? Because this is where all my money is! This is where my things are! And I’ll be damned if this lot are going to take away the things I worked hard to steal, pilfer, collect and extort from others! That was very difficult to do, and I’m not letting these fly-by-nights come in here -
“Posster?”
“What?!”
“Were you going to say any more? It’s just that you’ve been standing there silently, staring into space for the last few minutes?” I wasn't staring into space, you pillock! I was talking to them! Oh, right, I forgot. Anyway, I’m out of here.
Boy, it’s still as bad out here. Don’t that lot realise what these people are like? Obviously not. They come into a place, infest it, take over, slide into every part of the town and its society, bleed it dry - before moving on, when there’s nothing left to take. And some of that will be my stuff, and I’ll not let that happen, I can tell you!
“Has me beat.” Who said that? Ah.
“What has you beat, Captain?” Meet another of Upper Vaxham’s illustrious characters? This is Captain Sid Chirrup. He seems to believe he’s a sea-fairing Captain of old, now retired. But he isn't - well not quite. Let me expand. Hey, no fat jokes in the back!
Sidney Chirrup owned a boat, certainly - called the Old Winkle. It was a small one, however, which he used to take on the big lake for fishing trips. Somewhere along the way, and after his boat capsized, he’s got stuck on the idea that he was some great Sea Captain. But he’s nutty, just like the rest of us.
“These young ‘uns, comin’ ‘ere to this tired old sea port? What’s with the punchin’ and the kickin’? I was talkin’ to Rancid Colin only this mornin’ ‘bout ‘ow this town’s gone to the shit ‘eap. Shoutin’ Steve said as much to Eddy Shitstain, din’t ‘e?”
“I don’t know, did he?” Yes, this conversation is really happening. Hey, stop complaining! It’s adding colour, isn't it?
“Oh, yeah. Still.”
“- Still what?”
“Eh?”
“Maybe you should - get out of the sun or something, Captain?”
“There ain’t no sun. It’s a cloudy ‘un, an’ no mistake!”
Isn't that the truth? Although it’s nice to know theres a council of these lunatics. If they’re all talking to each other, they won’t bother the rest of us, eh? But shush, give the old boy a break? It’s him and his pals that I turn to in time of need. My need is usually a look-out while I’m off robbing, but every little helps. Hey, no one would believe a word they say if they dropped me in it, would they? No, I humour them, watch over them, so I have a network of miscreants at my disposal. Yes, you may applaud now. I know I’m a genius.
“Rector?”
“Yes Captain?” Oh, let me bask a little more in my brilliance!
“Yer’ve stepped in some dog mess. Or man mess. Could be either.”
Unbelievable.
“Thanks, Captain.” I think.
Right, I’m off to the Church. I think I forgot to lock the doors earlier, and I hope the Soldiers haven’t - what am I saying? Of course they will have! Oh, just look at the - whatever it’s called. You know? The bit down the middle? No, not the aisle. That’s a popular misconception, and - what on Earth is he doing in the font? Eww! Alright! That’s the - statue thingy! And you better not touch the relics! Ooh, they're still glowing. Wow. Anyway, beside the point! Get out of my Church!
“Can we help you, Rector?” Who’s this now? Yes! Get out of my Church!
“Erm, and you are?”
“Major Titley. This here’s Rump, Bunker and Gassy. Alright, lads! Some decorum, eh?”
“Well, Major Titley,” why are they snickering? Oh, I get it - “This is my Church, and I would very much like you and your - fellows - to leave?”
“Well, Rump here, he likes the pews. Can’t deny a war hero a souvenir, can you?”
“Well -“ Where is Flit? I need him here! Doesn't he realise I’m a coward?
“And Bunker, well, he likes these silver things? He likes them so much, he says he’s going to take them. Oh, and Gassy? He wants the key to the vestry. It would be a shame to have to break the door down, you know?” Well Gassy can go - Flit!
“Erm, in a Roundabout way, I think, Flit, you should Run and get Them from where ever They are. The keys I mean!” I don’t. Look, I don't know if you noticed me subtly weaving a command to Flit there, hidden in my words? I know, clever, isn't it?
“What?” Bollocks. I forgot about Flit’s inherent stupidity.
“Oh, just go get the Roundabouts.”
“Got ya.” Idiot.
“Roundabouts?”
“A musical troupe, Major Titley,” More laughter. What a bunch of kids.
“The key?”
“Oh, and that too. I just thought you might like a little entertainment while you wait -“
“Are you taking the piss, Rector? ‘Cause Bunker there does things to people who take the piss. Don't you, Bunker?” Ouch. That - looked painful. I won’t tell you what he did. It’d make you sick, trust me.
“Well - ahem - Major Tit - Titley -“
“Oh, just get out, you snivelling Priest! Come back with the key, or I’ll have Gassy open it for me! And trust me, you’d rather have gotten the key!”
What?!? I am not a Priest! How dare he! That’s it! That’s the final straw! You might take my home, my possessions, my money, my dignity - but you will never call me a Catholic! Right! I’m going back to the Club, to get some of my God damned money back! Sorry Boss! Slip of the tongue!
Oh, this is just like swimming through a sea of turds - and I won’t tell you how I know that - only these turds have yellow sashes on, and a sense of self importance. Although, saying that, I have seen one or two turds in my time with that look to them. Still, at least they haven’t closed the Club. Gives me back my opportunity.
“What you want?”
“Uh, I take it the Club is still open for business?”
“Go on, then.” At least the security guards and general hospitality hasn't changed, even after new Management.
Ah, my usual table. And my usual chair. Let’s see if it provides the usual luck? I hope not, because I intend to cheat, like a promiscuous Monarch! What do you mean, surely I was cheating before? Absolutely not! The Club, I’ll have you know, is my private haven from the need to constantly be on the hunt for the con! Besides, if you cheat at the Club, they usually take you out, make you dig your own grave, then chop bits off of you until you die. I’ve got far too many bits that I want to keep. I mean, sod the town and its people, it’s the Club I want to save, but while it’s like it is, I’ll take ‘em for all they’ve got! No one calls me a Catholic and gets away with it!
“Deal me in.”
“Ante is five on the quarter, six to Strip, Eight to Drop.” Like normal, then.
Here we go!
That’s a triple Four on a Two-Seven split. Nice work, but I’ve got a Five of Hearts! Eights over Nines make Fours equal to a Seven and a Six, only if they’re not matching colours, unless the Six is a Diamond, then you get a More Than, which -
Hello? Are you okay? You sure? I think you blacked out there! Oh, do you know you missed the game of my life? There I was, hand after hand, swish this way, swash that way! Out tumbled the money, dancing over the table like gentle butterflies of gossamer, as each card turned in almost slow motion, shaking, almost tantalisingly on an edge before flopping down onto the green baize table, covering, smothering the other card - an anticipation of a feverish sweat as the randomness of each turn of the next card came one after the other. Yet, there I sat, calm like a predatory beast, holding all the cards that mattered, distributing them as and when they were required, spinning each stiff paper and painted card into a universe of temptation, never losing sight of - well, you know what I mean. Hey, it felt like that to me, and who are you to know any different? I mean, for a start, you were bloody conked out on the floor! Well, long story short, I’ve got the lot riding on this last hand. And all I need is absolute calm, patience and - oh for Christ’s sake! What now?!?
Shit! Jimmy Boots! Oh, I’ve never been as glad to see your scarily scarred face like this before! I’d rush over there and kiss you, but you’d probably kill me for it! Plus, it’s very difficult to do much from under this table. Sod it. At least I’ve still got my - oh. Now that’s just rude!
“This money belongs to the Roundabouts! Everybody out! And that includes you, you Roundheads!” Well said, Jimmy! Up to a point, of course, “Ah, Posster? Fancy seeing you here? It always seems, wherever there’s trouble, there is the Rector. Funny how that keeps happening, isn't it, Posster?”
“Jimmy. Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.”
“Alright, Posster. Weird. Oh, and your debt has risen. Shame, but you see, Sir Alan let loose who had informed for him - after a broken finger or two. Turned out to be this Rector from Upper Vaxham? Wonder if that’s you? No, it is you! Imagine that? But you see, we Roundabouts like money, a little more than we like killing. But only slightly more. Don’t tempt us, Posster. There’s still a rope and a branch ready for you, whenever you feel the need to be stupid.” Oh, I feel the need to be stupid most of the time, but I get his point.
It’s been an odd day, and no mistake. Of course, the last thing I need now is a conversation with Flit, yet here he comes.
“You seen how pregnant that girl’s got? Whatsisname’s missus?”
“Who? Oh, so what?”
“Just, well, ain’t it your sprog?”
“Seriously, Flit, you’re asking for a hiding -“
“Should’ve seen that Sir Alan Coleby, though.”
“Why? Why should I have?”
“Well, there were bits of ‘im all over the vicinity. Up trees, down ‘oles, trod into the mud -“
“Alright, Flit! Are you trying to make me feel better?”
“Nope. Not particularly.”
So help me -
Oh, it’s a tired, quiet day today! You catch me down at my Club, in case you were wondering about the surroundings. As it happens, the Club only convenes on the third Tuesday of a month, that being today, of course. You may be wondering about the people and the premises also. Well, firstly you’re particularly nosey today, and the people here are mostly out-of-towners, the kind who actually have money, and a distinct lack of morals. As it happens, I tick both boxes at the moment, hence why I’m sitting here at a card table, with a wad of cash, trying to turn it into a larger wad of cash.
Yes, we are still in Upper Vaxham, believe it or not, and if you don’t believe it, you’re a fool. I mean, just look out the window? Anyway, this is how it works - the people come in from all over the County, usually to a place they hold no governance or position in, so that they might gamble in peace. I’m the exception, of course. They hire out a house, usually the same one - relatively run down, or in other words cheap. It doesn't matter the condition of the place as it only lasts for one day. Then they up-sticks and bugger off. Until the next time, of course.
The house is in a quiet little back street, usually this one here at Assayers Crescent. Like I say, not always. But I’ve only been coming since it’s been at this location. Currently, I’m deeply involved in a game of Scrum. You know what? It’s better if I just show you. Right. I’m currently out of the hand, so I’ll tell you as it goes -
Player One has a King. That’s called Roots. Player Two takes the King, making a Rubble. Now, he takes his Threes, places them under the deck. We call that a Walker. More about that later. Ah! Now Player Two has an Eight of Diamonds. Eights are Wild, unless they're played after a Pairing, then they're a Fidget. Player One counters with a Fromer, which is a low straight, bearing in mind Aces are High, unless either in a Crumple or a Dredger, then Aces are either Low, or Eleven. We don’t play Jokers in this game, as it’s too complicated, and makes it French Rules, and, well, no one likes the French. Even the French don’t much like the French. And everyone hates the Belgians. Never mind, I’m getting off the subject - right, Player Two is now betting on his Goad, or Pile, depending on if you're using the North-East Rules, which, obviously we don’t. This means that Player Two can only bet on a Goad in even numbers if he turns a Random, or random card, from within the pack. If he picks a Face Card, then he has to relinquish his Stretch, regardless of Blankers, which means he no longer bets in a clockwise manner, stopping his run and therefore gives the first round to his opponent, but, and this is the important part, the Pot remains Inside, or rolls over to the next hand, even if all players have a Two. Now, the Player with the Two of Spades gets to go first - look, I’m in this hand, so just watch what I do? I have a Six of Diamonds. I’ll put that down. Are you following this? Just you seem to be nodding off there a bit. I could go through it all again, if you want? No? Well, tell your bloody face that, then. Where was I? Oh, look! I missed that! I could've gone for a Vendor then! Do you know how much that would have gained me? Erm. Thirteen percent of fifty four, carry the three - bugger. Anyway, enough. Let me concentrate. If I - what the bloody Hell was that?!
Okay, those blokes look like Army Men. Can’t be the Roundabouts? I hear they disappeared after Sir Alan Coleby had mysteriously gathered new - ahem - information? I’m sure they don’t know it was me. Pretty sure. Quite frankly, I’m shitting myself. I hope they keep running, but I doubt it. Let’s hope they honour their timeframe of fourteen days and not suddenly step it up by a considerable margin and remove my beautiful head from my broad shoulders? Never mind - this lot are interrupting my game. I should find out what’s happening, if that’s possible from my vantage point under this table and cradling myself in a foetal position.
Yellow sashes. Could this be? The infamous New Model Army? I mean, I know I’ve seen a few around, but never this organised, and never in such a large contingent. Okay, they’re starting to push people around now. Bullying, that’s what I call it. Right, and now the fists are coming. That’s it. I’m off. But first I’ll grab my - shit! Okay, I’ll just leave with what’s in my purse. Please! Don’t hit my face! I’m too pretty! Oh -
Right, well I’m outside now, and I’m angry. That was my Club! I enjoy my days there, you know! Keeps me sane! Well, as sane as I can be, I suppose. Just look at the place! Everywhere, there’s yellow sashed Soldiers, pushing people around, stealing their drink, their food? It’s unconscionable! Just a bunch of thieving, tough bullies! Soldiers of fortune, every one of them! I mean, where’s the Clubmen when you need them? Probably cowering, much like I should be doing right now. Oh, look how they're handling the prostitutes? Being dragged about, stripped right there in the street - sex, violence - well at least Trish Treyne seems to be enjoying it. Quite frankly that doesn't surprise me. Filthy woman.
Something needs to be done about this, you know? I think I’ll make a visit to the Town Hall. Push my weight around a bit. I swear these stairs are about to give way! Imagine being stuck up in the Town Hall with no way of getting out! Trapped there with Geoff Dash! Dear God!
“Dash! The - rest of you! Have you seen what’s going on out there?”
“You mean the New Model Army? Yes, Posster, we are aware of their presence.”
“So?”
“So what, Posster?” What a nob.
“So what? We need to get rid of them! They’re taking over the place!”
“Oh, don't exaggerate, Posster. It’s merely high exuberance after the horrors of war. Who would deny them such actions?”
“Me, that’s who! They've even taken over my Club!”
“Oh, no one cares about your Club, Posster! Don't be absurd! You were there during the Witch Trial? You saw how the people were? No, it’s nothing more than high spirits.”
“Right, well, let’s see what you say when they march in here and try to take over!” Which they will, any minute now.
“Pshaw, Posster!” Pshaw? Pshaw?! He dares pshaw me? I’d strike him where he sits right now, except he’s remarkably good with the sword. Quite the duelist, so I hear. I’m not stupid, you know. Just angry.
“Okay, regardless of our personal thoughts about each other -“
“I’m fine with you, thank you, Posster.” Then wipe that sodding grin from your face, you bloody -
“Whatever! We need to do something! What say the rest of you?”
“Well -“ That’s my boy! Go Bradshaw! Don't let him intimidate you! No! Don't fall for the look! Damn. Poor kid! He had such promise.
“Right, well, sod the lot of you then. I’m going to see if I can do anything myself.”
“Oh, leave them alone, Posster! Let them have some fun!” Fun? Fun to you is waking up and not combing your hair, or finding a clean pair of breeches. Let me tell you, this lot haven’t even begun to have fun! Right now, they're just settling in. I won’t stand for it, you know? Right, so you’re wondering why I’m so passionate about this, for a town I can barely stand? Because this is where all my money is! This is where my things are! And I’ll be damned if this lot are going to take away the things I worked hard to steal, pilfer, collect and extort from others! That was very difficult to do, and I’m not letting these fly-by-nights come in here -
“Posster?”
“What?!”
“Were you going to say any more? It’s just that you’ve been standing there silently, staring into space for the last few minutes?” I wasn't staring into space, you pillock! I was talking to them! Oh, right, I forgot. Anyway, I’m out of here.
Boy, it’s still as bad out here. Don’t that lot realise what these people are like? Obviously not. They come into a place, infest it, take over, slide into every part of the town and its society, bleed it dry - before moving on, when there’s nothing left to take. And some of that will be my stuff, and I’ll not let that happen, I can tell you!
“Has me beat.” Who said that? Ah.
“What has you beat, Captain?” Meet another of Upper Vaxham’s illustrious characters? This is Captain Sid Chirrup. He seems to believe he’s a sea-fairing Captain of old, now retired. But he isn't - well not quite. Let me expand. Hey, no fat jokes in the back!
Sidney Chirrup owned a boat, certainly - called the Old Winkle. It was a small one, however, which he used to take on the big lake for fishing trips. Somewhere along the way, and after his boat capsized, he’s got stuck on the idea that he was some great Sea Captain. But he’s nutty, just like the rest of us.
“These young ‘uns, comin’ ‘ere to this tired old sea port? What’s with the punchin’ and the kickin’? I was talkin’ to Rancid Colin only this mornin’ ‘bout ‘ow this town’s gone to the shit ‘eap. Shoutin’ Steve said as much to Eddy Shitstain, din’t ‘e?”
“I don’t know, did he?” Yes, this conversation is really happening. Hey, stop complaining! It’s adding colour, isn't it?
“Oh, yeah. Still.”
“- Still what?”
“Eh?”
“Maybe you should - get out of the sun or something, Captain?”
“There ain’t no sun. It’s a cloudy ‘un, an’ no mistake!”
Isn't that the truth? Although it’s nice to know theres a council of these lunatics. If they’re all talking to each other, they won’t bother the rest of us, eh? But shush, give the old boy a break? It’s him and his pals that I turn to in time of need. My need is usually a look-out while I’m off robbing, but every little helps. Hey, no one would believe a word they say if they dropped me in it, would they? No, I humour them, watch over them, so I have a network of miscreants at my disposal. Yes, you may applaud now. I know I’m a genius.
“Rector?”
“Yes Captain?” Oh, let me bask a little more in my brilliance!
“Yer’ve stepped in some dog mess. Or man mess. Could be either.”
Unbelievable.
“Thanks, Captain.” I think.
Right, I’m off to the Church. I think I forgot to lock the doors earlier, and I hope the Soldiers haven’t - what am I saying? Of course they will have! Oh, just look at the - whatever it’s called. You know? The bit down the middle? No, not the aisle. That’s a popular misconception, and - what on Earth is he doing in the font? Eww! Alright! That’s the - statue thingy! And you better not touch the relics! Ooh, they're still glowing. Wow. Anyway, beside the point! Get out of my Church!
“Can we help you, Rector?” Who’s this now? Yes! Get out of my Church!
“Erm, and you are?”
“Major Titley. This here’s Rump, Bunker and Gassy. Alright, lads! Some decorum, eh?”
“Well, Major Titley,” why are they snickering? Oh, I get it - “This is my Church, and I would very much like you and your - fellows - to leave?”
“Well, Rump here, he likes the pews. Can’t deny a war hero a souvenir, can you?”
“Well -“ Where is Flit? I need him here! Doesn't he realise I’m a coward?
“And Bunker, well, he likes these silver things? He likes them so much, he says he’s going to take them. Oh, and Gassy? He wants the key to the vestry. It would be a shame to have to break the door down, you know?” Well Gassy can go - Flit!
“Erm, in a Roundabout way, I think, Flit, you should Run and get Them from where ever They are. The keys I mean!” I don’t. Look, I don't know if you noticed me subtly weaving a command to Flit there, hidden in my words? I know, clever, isn't it?
“What?” Bollocks. I forgot about Flit’s inherent stupidity.
“Oh, just go get the Roundabouts.”
“Got ya.” Idiot.
“Roundabouts?”
“A musical troupe, Major Titley,” More laughter. What a bunch of kids.
“The key?”
“Oh, and that too. I just thought you might like a little entertainment while you wait -“
“Are you taking the piss, Rector? ‘Cause Bunker there does things to people who take the piss. Don't you, Bunker?” Ouch. That - looked painful. I won’t tell you what he did. It’d make you sick, trust me.
“Well - ahem - Major Tit - Titley -“
“Oh, just get out, you snivelling Priest! Come back with the key, or I’ll have Gassy open it for me! And trust me, you’d rather have gotten the key!”
What?!? I am not a Priest! How dare he! That’s it! That’s the final straw! You might take my home, my possessions, my money, my dignity - but you will never call me a Catholic! Right! I’m going back to the Club, to get some of my God damned money back! Sorry Boss! Slip of the tongue!
Oh, this is just like swimming through a sea of turds - and I won’t tell you how I know that - only these turds have yellow sashes on, and a sense of self importance. Although, saying that, I have seen one or two turds in my time with that look to them. Still, at least they haven’t closed the Club. Gives me back my opportunity.
“What you want?”
“Uh, I take it the Club is still open for business?”
“Go on, then.” At least the security guards and general hospitality hasn't changed, even after new Management.
Ah, my usual table. And my usual chair. Let’s see if it provides the usual luck? I hope not, because I intend to cheat, like a promiscuous Monarch! What do you mean, surely I was cheating before? Absolutely not! The Club, I’ll have you know, is my private haven from the need to constantly be on the hunt for the con! Besides, if you cheat at the Club, they usually take you out, make you dig your own grave, then chop bits off of you until you die. I’ve got far too many bits that I want to keep. I mean, sod the town and its people, it’s the Club I want to save, but while it’s like it is, I’ll take ‘em for all they’ve got! No one calls me a Catholic and gets away with it!
“Deal me in.”
“Ante is five on the quarter, six to Strip, Eight to Drop.” Like normal, then.
Here we go!
That’s a triple Four on a Two-Seven split. Nice work, but I’ve got a Five of Hearts! Eights over Nines make Fours equal to a Seven and a Six, only if they’re not matching colours, unless the Six is a Diamond, then you get a More Than, which -
#
Hello? Are you okay? You sure? I think you blacked out there! Oh, do you know you missed the game of my life? There I was, hand after hand, swish this way, swash that way! Out tumbled the money, dancing over the table like gentle butterflies of gossamer, as each card turned in almost slow motion, shaking, almost tantalisingly on an edge before flopping down onto the green baize table, covering, smothering the other card - an anticipation of a feverish sweat as the randomness of each turn of the next card came one after the other. Yet, there I sat, calm like a predatory beast, holding all the cards that mattered, distributing them as and when they were required, spinning each stiff paper and painted card into a universe of temptation, never losing sight of - well, you know what I mean. Hey, it felt like that to me, and who are you to know any different? I mean, for a start, you were bloody conked out on the floor! Well, long story short, I’ve got the lot riding on this last hand. And all I need is absolute calm, patience and - oh for Christ’s sake! What now?!?
Shit! Jimmy Boots! Oh, I’ve never been as glad to see your scarily scarred face like this before! I’d rush over there and kiss you, but you’d probably kill me for it! Plus, it’s very difficult to do much from under this table. Sod it. At least I’ve still got my - oh. Now that’s just rude!
“This money belongs to the Roundabouts! Everybody out! And that includes you, you Roundheads!” Well said, Jimmy! Up to a point, of course, “Ah, Posster? Fancy seeing you here? It always seems, wherever there’s trouble, there is the Rector. Funny how that keeps happening, isn't it, Posster?”
“Jimmy. Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.”
“Alright, Posster. Weird. Oh, and your debt has risen. Shame, but you see, Sir Alan let loose who had informed for him - after a broken finger or two. Turned out to be this Rector from Upper Vaxham? Wonder if that’s you? No, it is you! Imagine that? But you see, we Roundabouts like money, a little more than we like killing. But only slightly more. Don’t tempt us, Posster. There’s still a rope and a branch ready for you, whenever you feel the need to be stupid.” Oh, I feel the need to be stupid most of the time, but I get his point.
It’s been an odd day, and no mistake. Of course, the last thing I need now is a conversation with Flit, yet here he comes.
“You seen how pregnant that girl’s got? Whatsisname’s missus?”
“Who? Oh, so what?”
“Just, well, ain’t it your sprog?”
“Seriously, Flit, you’re asking for a hiding -“
“Should’ve seen that Sir Alan Coleby, though.”
“Why? Why should I have?”
“Well, there were bits of ‘im all over the vicinity. Up trees, down ‘oles, trod into the mud -“
“Alright, Flit! Are you trying to make me feel better?”
“Nope. Not particularly.”
So help me -
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