This one is set in a smoky ale house in the heart of a storm...
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“With her mouth full of teeth and face full of looking, far from her feet, very Japanese she was and called herself Elisabeth until the ghost dance called, and then she was gone for a new life somewhere else.”
“Arr me hearty, ‘tis a wonderful story ye’re telling.”
“You got me out of bed for this?” said the miserable miser hiding his money under his pillow in case of thieves.
“Make room for the maestro, coming through here,” said a rusty voice coming through.
“What?”
“Okay, touching the wizard’s stone now for inspiration.”
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But the inspiration was all used up so that not even a sky full of snow could make more of, so the rusty voice left his final lesson none the wiser and called out: “Action stations!” as if it would make any difference.
“Hold your horses a minute matey,” growled the pirate captain in disguise as the shadow who’d suddenly become lost in the story and had started muttering in the background about it but no one had heard him and so now he just had to speak up and call out, but just as he was about to speak more the rusty voice boomed out full of surreptitious longing:
“The abstract concept takes no prisoners and makes room for no one,” said the rusty voice of the bucket that was half empty to be full and could not for its very life tell what day it was anymore even, and having had its say spoke no more.
“There is more” said the savage beasts that surrounded.
The pirate scratched his head and poured himself another frothing ale. “Mumble, mumble,” he went into his drink that absorbed him hook line and sinker until he really didn’t care what anyone said and so left them all to it.
The fire roared up the sooty chimney and told its own story that a few were listening to and absorbed they were too in it as the minutes turned to hours. And on such a night with the snow piled deep outside, good cheer was what made the night pass most acceptably.
Up in the rafters where the shadows danced their merry dance and could be likened to souls communing and interlinking and merging, the sound of the roof could be heard groaning under all the weight and as more snow fell the groaning became more pronounced until eyes began to glance upwards in concern.
The landlord was unconcerned and carried on passing out beer over the bar, the roof had survived a hundred winter snows so one more was not to be worried about.
“Awaken me from the dead so I may join the living,” said a voice that no one took any notice of; the ancestors were gone now and were to be ignored when they called to come back.
“I cannae weep no more,” said another soul, fresh in the grave.
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“This number multiplied and multiplied again will make us strong to break out of here where our souls rot in the ground,” said the rotting bones of a mathematician long set in the frozen earth.
When the door burst open, all eyes turned to the distraction as the snow whirled in a bundle of rags that collapsed to the floor shivering.
The landlord came from behind his bar to see what was what as the heavy door was heaved shut, locking the blizzard outside.
The roof groaned and the fire spat sparks and the wind howled to be let in, as Elizabeth picked herself all the way up from the ground and shook the snow from her, and then made her way towards the heat of the fire.
“Well rust me bones if it ain’t a girl come from out of the cold, cold night,” said the shadow in disguise as the pirate captain getting to his feet and making room for the girl to sit by the fire.
The landlord thrust a mulled wine into her frozen hands and retired back behind the bar.
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Without saying anything, Elizabeth sipped the warm drink as the sounds of the tavern resumed.
Late into the night the shadow and the girl huddled close together and spoke little, comfortable in the fire’s warmth, and one by one the men curled up where they were and pulling a coat up here or sharing a blanket there they all fell into a fitful sleep.
Tomorrow is another day that's not here yet, so tonight is a night to survive the unseasonable weather.
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