Page 19
“Aye!” echoed back.
“Was that you?” I checked. I didn’t want to accuse people unnecessarily.
“Aye!”
“Didn’t we talk about this?”
“…Aye?”
“No cannons, please. Not on the first night. And not so close to dark!”
“Aye,” Barth sighed.
I heard squeaking wheels like a cannon was being rolled away sadly.
“You’re on in five. Operation Convince the Fleshy Landlubber.”
A raucous cheer went up from the crew, and I smiled, ducking back in and closing the door behind me.
I walked into the kitchen, where Bronwyn already had things bubbling and broiling, and washed my hands at the sink before tying my frilly blue apron around my hips.
“Where shall we start, Bronwyn?” I asked.
A tub of rat poison tipped from the windowsill into the bubbling liquid on the stove.
I rolled my eyes and removed the pot, getting rid of the contents swiftly. “We’re not trying to run him off anymore. He’s our guest.”
A cupboard door slammed in fury.
“I know he came here to get rid of you all and we planned to scare him so badly he would never return, but things have changed. All we need to do is change his mind and then nobody will come back here to bother us again. We’ll get good reviews, we’ll get an influx of guests and we’ll be a success!”
Bronwyn remained stubbornly silent, her disapproval steaming up the windows.
“He liked your Welsh cakes,” I sang cajolingly. “Don’t you want to feed him so well that he eats his words?”
There was a suspended moment of thought before Bronwyn materialised at the stove in all her stern glory.
“Bring me a fresh pot. Hurry now!” She shooed me with a ghostly hand. “And tell Harri and Larri to stop loafing around trying to find a way to get to the local pub and come do something useful.”
I grinned and got to work, placing everything Bronwyn wanted close by for her easy access before heading out to locate our resident pair of troublemakers. I realised in the commotion that Harri and Larri had been entirely too quiet.
Which could only mean bad things.
five
Never gonna give you up...
Ryan
The tale of Bartholomew the Unadventurous and his “daring” escapades was energetically acted out by a full crew of ghosts in front of me.
They stomped all over the table and swung from the light fixtures while Barth himself tipped his tricorn hat, whipped his long red coat, and waved his pistol around while declaring himself unenterprising.
I didn’t touch a bite of food, having no time as I was dragged around the room or forced to move as the raucous pirates slammed tankards and sang joyful sea shanties about being cowards.
By the time Owain slipped back into the room at the “end” of dinner I was being forced to do a jig against my will, ghostly arms around my back and neck as I was shoved into the middle of a line.
Owain smiled ecstatically upon seeing me, like the little shit hadn’t locked me in here and stolen my equipment just moments ago.
