The Clerk's Tale by M. J. Trow

Author:M. J. Trow [Trow, M. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2022-12-08T05:00:00+00:00

Suddenly, Chaucer’s world was wet and green, roaring through his head on a tide of coldness and fear. He gasped and took in water and knew his life was over. Above his head, through the green glass ceiling, lights bobbed and dipped, a pink moon leaned over and he was hauled out into the air by a steel-hard hand. With a flop and a slither, he was over the side of the boat and threshing like a landed fish on the deck. Someone was crowing, desperate for breath, that person was. Surely, someone ought to do something about that. It sounded like someone dying, that was what it sounded like.

Chaucer was flopped over on his belly and he knew with sudden clarity that he was naked. Naked and very wet. Naked, very wet and not really breathing as he should. A sharp blow between his shoulders made him draw in a mighty breath and he was suddenly on his hands and knees, spewing river water with just a hint of pork onto the boards.

‘Thank you, Geoff.’ Zouche’s voice from over his head was ironic. He threw a bucketful of river water across the deck and everything poured out through the drainage holes set along the Madeleine’s sides. Chaucer coughed another couple of times and then scrambled upright. From the gloom of the bank, there was a scream and he hurriedly turned round to face the river.

‘I …’ he looked around, just to make sure there was no pig. ‘What happened?’

‘Pork laced with powder forte happened,’ Zouche said. ‘Along with a blow to the head and a near death experience, from what I heard as I walked through the fair.’

Remembrance came to Chaucer like chilling waves of water flowing down his back and the goose pimples marked its passing. ‘I do remember that,’ he conceded. ‘Some of it. I thought it might be a dream. Did I really scale the steeple of St Frideswide’s?’

Zouche nodded. He didn’t want to mention to Chaucer that he was totally naked, standing there in the middle of the Madeleine’s deck. Let that come to him gradually.

‘Was there a pig, though?’

‘No,’ Zouche told him. ‘Only the one you ate some of.’

‘Ah. But not a whole one.’

‘No.’ Perhaps now was the time to tell him, but he was pacing the deck now and it wasn’t quite right.

‘I … I hadn’t had anything to drink, though. So … why the pig?’

‘Good question. And I can tell you the answer. You had some powder forte, I gather.’

‘Yes. It was delicious.’

‘Hmm. It was delicious because it was at the bottom of the pot, and that is always the bit most full of mace. And mace is what makes you see … well, whatever you see. In your case it was a pig?’ Zouche made it into a question.

‘Yes. It was knitting.’

‘I see.’ Zouche began to hunt around for a blanket. Chaucer would be realising any moment now.

‘Pigs don’t knit, though, do they?’ Chaucer’s brow was furrowed and he looked down. There seemed to be an awful lot of pink in his get-up today.

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