It is my proposition that a poet, or even some lesser writer, should be able to make a sound case for virtually anything. After all, if you are a writer, then you should be able to swiftly marshal the facts, array them in the most advantageous order, and unleash them upon the credulous community. Indeed, given that you are a writer, not a historian, then there is no obligation binding you to simply setting out facts. You are a writer, you can make things up, this is what writers do!

I like to visualise the writer as a craftsman with words as his tools. But in case you think this is a matter of high-flown rhetoric let me give you an example of how I prevented a most unseemly incident, made one man very happy and brought hours of simple pleasure to the patrons at one of Port Naain’s less prestigious drinking dens.

To set the scene, I was in ‘Sattir’s Drop’ with Ingenious Trool, the celebrated painter of chamber pots, and Lancet Foredeck who is accomplished enough but rarely celebrated. We had been working together on a project, Ingenious Trool had painted for us some chamber pots inspired by our work and we would stand on a street corner, reciting the work and circulating the chamber pot with the idea people might buy the pot, or regard it as the equivalent of a hat being passed round and would put money in it.

To be frank it had not been a success. One chamber pot had just disappeared entirely, another had been used for its proper purpose by a passer-by who was loud in his expressions of gratitude but still neglected to display his appreciation in a more fiscal manner. So we sat, with one small glass of beer each and contemplated our day. While none of us was particularly happy, Lancet had descended into a brooding but potentially volcanic fury in which he glared at his glass but said nothing. Ingenious and I ignored him but sat in silence as long experience has shown us that it is the safest way to proceed.

Then we were joined by a stranger. He was obviously a regular at the establishment, and he had equally obviously been drinking for most of the day. He announced himself as Uthar, and to be honest, Uthar was drunk. But let us be fair here, Uthar was a happy drunk. Uthar was a friendly drunk. He was a little ray of sunshine and he wanted to bring the warmth of his countenance to shine upon everybody there and to bring a little spontaneous joy and happiness into their lives. He’d barely sat down before Lancet started to quiver gently.

“What are you chaps doing here?” Uthar asked.

Lancet stopped quivering and started to tremble. Ingenious looked worried, and I felt worried. If Lancet exploded he would probably assault Uthar and at that point the rest of the bar would descend upon us to hand out vengeance for the hurt inflicted on their friendly, happy drunk. At this point I felt I heard my muse calling, her sweet clear voice distinctly audible even over the noise of the bar.

So I said, “We’ve been sent here by the brewery.”

Uthar looked impressed. Ingenious looked surprised. Lancet even stopped trembling quite as much. I marked it down as a success. Then Uthar spoiled it.

“What they sent you for then?”

You know, I’d dreaded this question, because I frankly hadn’t the faintest idea. One problem arose from the nature of the brewery. ‘Sattir’s Drop’ purchased their beer from ‘Grine Halstrop, Brewer and Dyer’. He had a large brewery on the other side of Three Mills, where he claimed the water was better and more suitable for his trade. Nobody was entirely sure why he went to the trouble, given that dark rumour claimed that he delivered his beer to his customers by the simple expedient of pouring it into the Paraeba Estuary and having them pull it out in buckets to fill their barrels.

Indeed Grine Halstrop was widely known for a number of things, among them his parsimony, his temper and his cunning. I opened my mouth to speak and trusted to my muse to provide words.

“Well the brewery felt that you lads would drink more beer if there was entertainment. You’d have more customers, and they’d be more cheerful and drink faster.”

“Ah,” Said Uthar.

I was quite proud of myself so far. It all sounded as if it could have come from the scheming intellect of Grine Halstrop himself. Lancet and Ingenious were both watching me with interest.

Uthar said, “So what sort of entertainment would it be?”

You have to admit, it is an excellent question. I resisted the temptation to glance frantically round for inspiration. I felt that this wouldn’t sit well with my role as the ‘voice of the brewery.’ Not only that but I had a suspicion that drinkers on the other table were watching us, taking into account how we treated ‘their’ drunk.

“Well there’s a choice. The first option is topless barmaids.”

Uthar, Lancet and Ingenious all swivelled in their seats to look at the barmaids. There were two. There was Geri. She was sixteen, slender and beautiful. She was the daughter of the owner and had graced the bar since she was able to toddle. As a result she walked through that den of iniquity in utter safety; every regular in that place regarded himself as in some way an elder brother, as they had seen her grow up. Thus secure in the protection afforded by the presence of more than a score of murderously inclined but utterly loyal elder brothers, Geri was relaxed and charming. In later years she went on to be the manager of one of the more successful protection rackets, so much so that she ended up marrying a sinecurist and lives in a beautiful house in Belowhill. Mind you she still travels to the ‘Sattir’s Drop’ in her coach at least once a week to manage the protection racket. I approve, a lady really does need an income of her own.

Immediately our eyes moved smartly away from Geri’s cleavage in case anybody thought we were ogling her. Our eyes alighted on Frina. She was perhaps forty, formidable and great fun, flirting outrageously with all the patrons and giving as good as she got when the banter started. She was, however, a somewhat large lady. I could see the other three’s minds trying to cope with the concept of Frina, naked from the waist up and totally unrestrained.

Uthar said, “Won’t she get in the way of the tankards?”

There was a brief moment of quiet and then Uthar asked, “So what’s the other choice?”

I was ready for this one, “Exotic dancers.”

The silence lasted longer and so I took the opportunity to take the conversation firmly by the hand and lead it in the desired direction.

“Uthar, you drink here often?”

“Oh yes, in here every day.” Well I could believe that.

“So everybody here knows you then Uthar?”

“Oh yes.”

“And a friendly chap like you could talk to everybody.”

“Yes, of course.” Uthar looked supremely happy, his gifts had been recognised.

“So I wonder if you could do us a favour Uthar. If you could go round all the other tables, quietly ask people which they prefer, then it’ll come better from you than from us.”

“Sure, no problem.” With this Uthar stood up and walked to the next table where he sat down and started explaining.

The three of us sat in companionable silence for the next half hour or so, and I just watched the evening unfold. Uthar would stand up; all the other tables would watch him expectantly. He would join another table, somebody would pass him a drink and all those sitting around the table would immediately lean forward to hear him. Then at a certain point every head would turn to look at Geri and Frina. Then every head would turn back to Uthar as he explained the other alternative. After a brief discussion Uthar would get up and walk to the next table and the men on the table he had just left would grin and nod to us. Eventually Uthar started to slacken and at one table he finally slid quietly under it, snoring gently. With that, the three of us left.

I thought no more about it, until a couple of days later I dropped in to ‘Sattir’s Drop’ to meet somebody. As I walked up to the bar Frina passed me a glass. “Topless barmaids indeed; or did you have me in mind as an exotic dancer.” With this she gave her bosom a quick shake and winked at me. “The beer’s on the house, best laugh we’ve had in this place for a while.”

So I say to those poets and other writers learning their craft; ponder upon what I’ve told you. Follow your muse, allow that wanton mistress to lead you through the shady byways, through the hustle and bustle of the city street and dance joyfully to her tune until finally she takes your hand and leads you into her private chamber. Remember you are an artist, what business have you chaining yourself to mere truth!

I have been reminded, in a somewhat abrupt manner, that it would be remise of me if I didn’t add a little something in support of my main Sponsor. Have you noticed how some people seem to assume the world revolves around them? But still I shall make way with all the grace I can summon, to let some lesser writer to strut and fret his hour upon the stage.

Tallis Steelyard

Jim Webster here. My thanks to Tallis Steelyard for that most courteous introduction; I promise not to take up much of your valuable time.

In short, I am here to tell you that the third story in the much acclaimed ‘Port Naain Intelligencer’ series will be available for purchase today,1st of March:

Tomb-Yard Follies UK

Tomb-Yard Follies USA

To quote from the blurb

“Mapping an old family graveyard was a technically complicated job Benor expected would take him some time. But then he hadn’t allowed for getting caught up in a world of intrigue, vengeance, and arbitrary justice.”

Previous stories from the Port Naain Intelligencer are

Flotsam or Jetsam UK Flotsam or Jetsam USA

A Much Arranged Marriage UK A Much Arranged Marriage USA