Thursday, 4 September 2014

The Trilobite's Lifeless Calcite Eyes

A piece of The Collector of Tales


.... That was more of less what happened when I tried to get a room sorted here. The only difference was that once we had got down to the issue, we haggled over the price. Well, that and the fact that I claimed that I was the mother of a smoking dog. Don’t ask me how. All I know is that I swallowed a couple of syllables in my translation of the word 'overnight accommodation’ and out it popped uninvited as it were. I have to say that this linguistic error was to my advantage however. It kind of caught her unawares and I think threw her out of focus on the price. Anyway five trupps was, I thought, a bargain even though there was the obligatory non-refundable deposit (for fumigation) which the hairy witch told me was set at another five trupps in these parts.
"On account of the calymeens." she had explained.
Then she had disappeared behind the bar for a few seconds before emerging with a look of triumph and a rather unhappy and pale looking creature about the size of her rather meaty hand and vaguely resembling a trilobite which she proceeded to crush on the bar before me.
“These calymeens! Hah!” she said and then grinned a gap-toothed grin.

Personally I think that she had kept that one there for the purpose. As the viscous juices of the hapless creature spread over sticky surface of the bar, I paid my ten trupps (and the shreeve tax – another trupp) and the key deposit (another two trupps but refundable if the key is presented on departure). Then with my bag, a huge key and my plate of smoke roasted and slightly warm pork on a dirty  birch-bark platter I made my way through the crowded room to the dark narrow opening with the words ‘Slepish!’ scrawled on the crumbling plaster above it in the hand of a large but moderately literate spider. The tankard of Horshp’s remained on the bar untouched. The dead trilobite watched me through its lifeless calcite eyes. 

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