The Game

Eric took a swig from his tankard of beer, wiped the foam on his sleeve and said, “Right, I’ll start.” The others watched him expectantly.

 

“Ronald McDonald caught a three foot otter,” he said.

 

“Nonsense,” said Morris, “it does not say that – show me.”

 

Eric tapped the small square of newspaper with his pipe. “There all right, front page of the Courant.” Two points.”

 

“Two points!” said Morris incredulously, “for an otter?”

 

“One for the otter, one for the silly name.”

 

All eyes to Reg, who was accepted as the impartial judge on these matters.

 

“Ronald McDonald,” he said, pondering out loud. “It’s a modestly amusing name, half a point. One and a half in total. Who’s next – Morris, you must have something by now.”

 

“I have. ‘Cornish fishing vessel The L’ll Pigeon, has gone missing in Tuesday’s storm. The three crew, including 73 year old stalwart of the seas Alonso Fountain, are missing assumed dead’.”

 

He laid the newspaper on the table with a satisfied smile on his face. “Three points I believe.”

 

“Three points?” It was Eric’s turn to be incredulous.  “I’ll give you half a point for Alonso Fountain.”

 

“Thank you, and another half for his being a 73 year old stalwart of the seas (this was met by a murmur of approval around the table), one point for a gruesome death and one point for the pigeon.”

 

“No, no,” said Reg, “you can’t have a point for the pigeon.”

“It’s an animal, as much an animal as an otter is.”

 

“Yes, but it’s just the name of the boat, and not a very interesting one. Two points.”

 

Arnold rustled his newspaper, the Examiner. “Herman Schmidt was sailing a vessel filled with timber from Brussels to Ghent, when he saw what he claims was a giant squid. It goes on a bit after that, about half a page describing the squid.”

 

“We’ll leave that out,” said Reg, “we all know what a squid looks like. One for the squid, nothing for Ghent, it’s a town in Belgium, large port. If you took an interest in the dockyard you’d know about it.”

 

“What about Schmidt though,” Arnold said, “that’s a funny name.”

 

“No it isn’t, it’s just German for Smith, nothing funny about it.”

 

Billy, a young lad, was watching his elder colleagues with bright-eyed wonder. “I ain’t ever seen a squid,” he said. “What’s one look like?”

 

“You know what an octopus looks like?” Reg said.

 

Billy shook his head.

 

“What they teach youngsters these days,” muttered Arnold. “An octopus is a big fish with 8 legs.”

 

“Eight legs,” Billy laughed, thinking he was being teased, “how’s he walk with eight legs.”

 

“’E don’t walk ‘e swims. A squid’s like an octopus, but with long tentacly things instead of legs proper.”

 

The conversation could have gone on a long time in this way, as Billy queried the meaning of ‘tentacles’ and goodness knows what else, but the group were interrupted by a stranger walking in to their cubicles, a gentleman, it seemed by the suit and hat he was wearing.

 

“It’s an interesting game you gentlemen are playing, most amusing to observe, can I oblige you with a drink?”

 

“That’s very kind of you sir, we’re drinking three threads if you’d be so kind.”

 

The man passed some coins to young Billy and instructed him to fetch the drinks from the bar.

 

“I’ve been thinking over your game and I have a little proposition for you.”

 

“Go on,” said Reg.

 

“I’m a journalist and I will insert a five-point story into one of tomorrow’s papers – I’ll give a shilling to the one of you that finds the story first.”

 

“And what’s the catch?” asked Eric.

 

“Why, a penny from each of you if you all fail to spot it.”

 

By this point Billy had returned with the drinks. “How do you know there’ll be a five pointer in tomorrow’s?” he asked. “There ain’t ever been a five pointer, most we’ve had is a four-pointer Arnold found once.

 

“Because I’ll write it, young man, that’s how I’ll know.”

 

“And what’s the story?”

 

“Oh, I’ll think of something.”

 

The drinks are handed round the table and there is a noisy silence while the beer is squabble over and shared around.

 

During this time Billy ponders the journalist’s words. “You mean you’ll make it up? Invent the news!”

 

“Oh, just this once. A little tweak of the facts. It makes a little sport.  So, what do you think, shall we raise a glass to the wager.”

 

The men all raised their glasses.

 

“Good,” said the journalist. So I’ll meet you all here tomorrow night, same time.”

 

“Not in here, sir,” said Reg, “we’re in the three Hares tomorrow night, down cheapside.”

“Ah, yes I think I know it. You’re the wandering types are you? Never in the same place twice?”

 

“’Tis our job to wander,” said Arnold pointing to his porter’s tags, which raised a hearty laugh among his colleagues.

 

“It’s a thing we do,” Reg explained, “we go to a different alehouse each night, we sort of make notes, compare the beers, compare the inns.”

 

“An interesting enterprise gentlemen, there’s a journalistic spirit in you and no mistake. Tomorrow night then, the Three Hares. And remember, there’s a shilling to any one of you who finds the five-pointer.