Getting to the bottom of it all.

I now had a task to perform. I had to arrange a pie eating contest in which
Flobbard Wangil could participate. My problem was that I hadn’t the funds
just to buy the pies and organise one, so I needed a patron to support it.
Unfortunately my patrons are not the sort of people who normally run that
sort of contest. Indeed to be fair, many would look askance if I introduced
Flobbard into their house.
Then I had a stroke of luck, Flobbard’s sister, Malinflua, whom I’d not seen
since we arrived back in Port Naain, got in touch with me. She had very
recently purchased a rather large house, number eighteen, on Grettan Walk.
This is a pleasant street in the Merchant quarter. She wanted a word with me
about possibly working together.
I walked up to the house I glanced at the abandoned building site that was
number sixteen. Out of curiosity I peered between the boards that screened
the location from view. Somebody had obviously started work again. I could
see large piles of fresh spoil. Perhaps they were already working on new
foundations? Here in Port Naain, given the soil is largely the clay of the
estuary, we take foundations very seriously. I continued on to Malinflua’s
house and discovered that she had already had her ground floor converted
into a restaurant. It was open for business and there were quite a few
diners. She showed me round with genuine pride in what she had created, and
then we went into her office and she poured us both coffee. I had been doing
some thinking. Malinflua had spent a lot of money.
Now nobody ever recovered the three gemstones that had disappeared from
Slipshade keep, and I did wonder about them. Now I knew I hadn’t taken them.
I was now pretty certain that Flobbard hadn’t taken them, so really that
only left Malinflua, who had suddenly come into funds. So as I stirred my
coffee I asked the obvious question. “So I assume you got the three stones
out of Slipshade?”
“Oh yes, it was easy enough.”
I raised both hands in front of me, palms up, to show my bafflement.”
“So how did you do it?”
“As I joined you, I dropped them into your jacket pocket. Then after they
searched me and before they searched you, I took them back again and kept
them in a pocket in my skirt.”
All I can say is that I’m just glad I didn’t know at the time. Still I think
she was pleased by my expression.
“Anyway the reason I called you here Tallis, is that I’ve an idea to do
something new. If I just run a restaurant then I’ll do reasonably well. Yes
I’ll struggle to keep a good cook, and I’ll have to join in the game of
stealing a cook off somebody to replace the cook somebody just stole off me.
Well I want to break out of that.”
It seemed entirely reasonable to me. She continued, “So what I am going
to do is to put on shows as well. I will walk amongst the diners doing magic
tricks, pulling coins out of their ears or whatever, but I don’t want to
have to do that all the time. So I’ll have musicians and singers, and
various other performers.”
I shook my head. “Make damned sure they’re house musicians, paid on a
regular basis and reliant upon you, or you’ll find yourself dealing with
crisis after crisis as they get drunk, fight, seduce your customers, or
whatever.”
“And that’s why I invited you here, Tallis. You’ve a lot of experience in
the field and I wondered if you would organise things, at least until we get
properly up and running.”
It was then I had my idea. “And of course you’ll need a pie eating contest.”
She looked at me as if I had suggested she open as a bordello serving the
cheaper end of the market. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of establishment do you think this is.”
“Exactly. You’re aiming to be the best. So you’ve got to do things others
don’t. So you put on the finest pie eating contest. The very best pies. A
waiter on hand to top up your glass as you eat. Another waiter serving you
pies, whilst a third ensures you have the appropriate condiments. The
contest would be on a long table down the centre of the dining room whilst
your other guests could eat at tables spread around the periphery. They
could then eat, watch, and bet; all at the same time. Not only that but
it’ll keep both me and your brother out of jail.”
That did it. Malinflua was genuinely fond of her brother. I believe that
when they were both children, he used to regularly get beaten up protecting
her. All he achieved was to give her a head start and time to find somewhere
to hide, but I don’t think she’d ever forgotten his actions.
Now I had to set about organising the event. I needed a small group of
performers, but they had to be carefully chosen. I contacted Old Jerky and
asked him to fetch three reliable musicians and a competent singer. Unlike
my usual patrons, Malinflua was not going to be daunted by Old Jerky’s
battered appearance. She knew him and valued him. Similarly I could rely on
his ability to pick players who could be relied upon to remain sober.
Then I needed somebody else. It chanced that as I sat in the Misanthropes,
Illus Wheelburn was holding forth about his time in Prae Ducis. His tale was
amusing, self-deprecating and he interspersed it with a few short verses
that were both thought provoking and droll. I had a discussion with him
after he’d finished and asked him if he could work his tale up into a
fifteen minute performance. He was certain he could, and I booked him.
Then there was the pie eating competition. The pies I discussed with
Malinflua’s cook. Out of a sense of duty towards Flobbard, I suggested the
pies be large enough to be held easily in two hands thus allowing for
perhaps four or five good bites, and not too heavily spiced. Also the meat
would be well chopped up with no bits of bone. The cook could see no problem with this and ordered in plenty of well hung horrocks. This she intended to marinate in ale for at least a full day.
When it came to getting competitors, I allowed word to circulate amongst the
gentlemen who attended upon my patrons. Whilst they would never admit to it in polite company, I suspected several of them fancied themselves to be
redoubtable trenchermen. A number of them discreetly let me know that they
would compete. Indeed I think they were glad of a chance, after all a
well-bred individual rarely gets the opportunity to take part in such
things. I also suggested to Flobbard that he find a couple of competitors as
well. I stressed to him that I wanted people who were neat in their person
and delicate in their eating habits. I stressed we didn’t want any of those
competitors who claim to have eaten a pie but actually have left at least
half of it spread in a thin layer over the table, their shirt front, and
their neighbours.
Less than a week later, everything was prepared. I helped Malinflua’s
kitchen staff rearrange the dining room. We had a long table for the
competitors down the middle. The other tables around the edge and a small
stage for performers at one end. As the guests (tickets only and sold out)
arrived, we had the musicians play. Once people were gathered, I had Illus
tell his tale and give his verses. It helped create an atmosphere, and
allowed people to order drinks to their tables and get comfortable. Then I
announced the pie eating competition.
This is where I hit the first snag. Old Gaffer Alfen, one of the spectators,
asked about rules. I confess this had never occurred to me. I rather assumed
people just knew what to do. As it was, Gaffer admitted that he wasn’t
taking part, even though in his youth he’d been an occasional competitor,
but it struck him that the rules ought to be set out plain and simple for
everyone.
I turned to Flobbard who suggested that the entire pie must be eaten, that
there must be no physical contact with other competitors, and anybody
feeling nauseous must move at once from the table. This seemed entirely
reasonable and they were agreed by all the competitors.
Old Gaffer, rather diffidently, then asked about the counting of the pies.
He explained that when he had been in competition, everybody ate their first
pie, then their second, but at the same time. So if you had finished your
fourth, you waited for the others to finish their fourth before you started
your fifth. Thus because everybody had eaten the same number of pies,
everybody knew the score. Finally if you could eat no more, you took off
your napkin and folded it in front of you so the waiters knew. They would
write your total on a piece of paper and give it to you. There was some
discussion amongst the competitors about this as some felt that this might
stop them getting into their routine. But others felt it meant that you did
at least get time to belch before eating the next. So this too was agreed.
Finally Gaffer asked about the chant. We all looked a bit blank, so he
explained that during the competition everybody would clap their hands to
create a rhythm. It was slap, slap, slap, with the third slap being by far
the loudest. So a lot of competitors would follow the beat with bite, bite,
swallow. The competitors were intrigued by this idea and they agreed this as
well. Gaffer was thanked for his wisdom and his contribution and I asked Old
Jerky if he could do something with that sort of beat.
I gave the order to the waiters, Old Jerky picked up a drum, the first pies
were served, (to diners as well as to competitors) and battle was commenced.
To be fair to Gaffer, his system worked really well and I would recommend it
to everybody running a pie eating contest. Those watching got caught up in
it, clapping in time. The singer dredged something suitable from his
repertoire and regaled us with what was probably a Partannese pirate shanty.

At the table, the competitors set to work with a will. One or two
complimented the staff on the quality of the pies. Apparently one normally
tries not to taste them. After four or five, some of the competitors had to
fold their napkins. They were largely the men who had last done this sort of
thing two decades before or who had never done it. But they stayed at the
table and joined in the clapping. Nobody had yet had to flee to the jakes.
By the time we got to ten pies, there were only three competitors still in
the game. Flobbard, the Partannese chap who won at Slipslade, and a sailor
called Diggan. By now people were not merely clapping, they were standing up
and stamping their feet. Even those who had folded their napkins were
stamping in time, but from a seated position. The excitement was intense and
the three men reached for their twelfth pie. Even I was on my feet and was
walking around the competitors’ table, encouraging them to greater efforts.
At this point I was certain I heard a creaking, but it was difficult to be
sure over the hubbub. Then on the third great stamp, the floor started to
fall away beneath me. I ran towards the side and jumped onto the main
entrance where the stone doorstep showed no signs of moving. I clutched the
door and looked behind me. The section of the floor under the competitors’
table had sagged about six feet, below me it had torn away completely and I
was looking into a ragged hole. Four men, holding shovels and standing next
to a wheelbarrow looked up at me. I hung over the lip of the hole to get a
better look. Next to them was a battered table. On the table there was a
lighted lantern illuminating what I recognised to be the map that Illus had
drawn and that I had further annotated.
It was at this point that I became aware of the shouting and shrieking. Some
of the diners were beginning to panic as they too started to slide down the
hole. To be fair, it was unlikely they were going to come to much harm, if
only because when they hit one of the well upholstered pie-eaters, they
would come to a safe, if somewhat inappropriate, halt.
Others were moving now, Malinflua was at the kitchen door shouting for a
rope so they could pull people out and evacuate them through the scullery.
The four men with shovels had fled, probably back along the tunnel they had
dug from next door. Illus had slid down the slope and was examining his map
in great detail. I noticed one or two of the Partannese were exchanging
comments and were glaring at me in what I felt was a significant manner. It
was obvious that any number of people were going to come to what I felt were
unwarranted conclusions. I quietly left, closing the door behind me.
On mature consideration I decided not to go back to the barge but wrote a
note for one of the street children to deliver to Shena explaining the
situation. I decided against a season in Avitas or elsewhere in Partann.
There were doubtless too many people on the roads of Partann who had no
reason to remember me fondly. I decided to make my way to Oiphallarian, and
managed to board one of the smaller steamers, even as the gangplank was
being pulled aboard.
A somewhat offensive petty officer asked, in what I felt was a menacing
fashion, if I intended to pay for my passage. I put my hand in my britches
pocket and at that point remembered that Malinflua had already paid me. I
took this as a sign that matters were not as bad as they could have been. I
paid him for deck passage, with meals and a chance to root through the slop
chest. Thus dressed in a manner befitting an ordinary seaman, I could
preserve my good clothes for when I arrived in Oiphallarian. There I could
seek out new patrons, renew my acquaintance with old ones, perform my work and wait for time to pass. In due course Port Naain would grow forgetful and I would return home. In the meantime it was surely my duty to bring the joys of civilisation to Oiphallarian.

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This brings our blog tour to a close, to read more of this post go to Jaye and Anita’s page at

Tallis Steelyard, Bringing The Joys Of Civilisation #BlogTour

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Also if you’ve missed any of the posts, they are the chapters of a novella, ‘Tallis Steelyard, Enemies and how to make them.’

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