arms and seemed about to topple over backwards. He caught himself.
Then Bo watched as a transformation took place. As soon as the
Irishman wrapped his left hand around the neck of the lute and poised
the fingers of his right over the strings his drunk evaporated and he began to play. "Let me see, ye were strumming the strings, not
plucking them. That's quite a sound, me man." He started to strum,
his eyes closed.
Even the raspy blues could not hide the fact that this man had a
voice on him. Bo was amused to note that Shannon mimicked the
American dialect he had used for the "bluest monarch" song he had
just composed. H noticed out of the corner of one bleary eye that
the wench had come to the door of the big room with a towel in one
hand, leaned in the doorway and listened. Behind her the
tavern keeper watched and listened as well.
I woke up this mornin'
To a world without light.
Me Sunshine is gone
She is plum outta sight.
Yeah my lady is gone.
She done shut out the light.
Now I cannot go find her
The King sys without carin'.
'Let her go and be damned',
To this minstrel of Erin.
Yeah the King doesn't want her
And me heart it is barren.
They call me Red Shannon
Say I party like anything
but they don't see the blues
That me heart it is suffering.
No they don't see Red Shannon
Is blue without his Queen."
Shannon stopped, gulped and looked at Bo. It was obvious the drunk
had returned. Bo exclaimed, "Man, that was amazing."
Shannon wavered. "Bo?" he said.
"Yeah man?"
"Ye better take this." He clumsily held out the lute. Bo took it.
Shannon reeled back and leaned over to the side and vomited. Then he
passed out. He was on the floor curled up and snoring before Bo
could even move.
The wench sighed and came over. "Now you know why no lass can resist
the man. Well most lasses. I think he must be the only fellow in
love with the Queen that she doesn't love back."
Bo started to stand, but the wench stopped him. "I will take care of
him."
"Has he been like this ever since she took off the other day? The
Queen, I mean?"
The wench laughed. "The O'Neill? Nay. He hath always been like
this."
Bo chuckled "I think he's what we call in my time, someone who
parties large." He caught the wench's lips starting to form a
quizzical "Time???" and hurried on. "Damn, he was gonna help me get
some clothes and money."
The serving wench, who had seen it all and knew when to move on to
the next subject, offered, "Well, I canst send for his friend
Rory." She added an aside, in a confidential sort of tone, "(That's
one she does love back .. in all but abed that is...) Mayhap he can
help ye?"
Bo shook his head quickly. "Nay.. I mean no. I'll just wait for
this guy to come around." He thought to himself how it was that this
woman seemed to know all the gossip. He supposed that was what
happened without soap operas and scandal rags.
"Where can I take him to sleep it off? "
As Bo was carefully trying to raise Shannon from the floor without
getting any puke on himself, he was thinking, "Man, I don't need
anyone else findin' out what I'm doin' here."
The wench shrugged, bouncing taut breasts, and pointed to a
door. "Go out there. Then down a few steps. The first door on the
right is my chamber. Lord knows it wouldst not be the first time he
woke up there."
Bo unsteadily started to drag Shannon to the door. He turned and
looked at the girl. "You wouldn't just happen to have a big pot of
coffee in the kitchen, would you?" Then at her look he said,
dismissively, "Never mind. You don't have coffee. Just bring me
somethin' to eat. " He indicated his snoring burden. "You heard
him.. he's buyin'." And he left to put the poor drunken bastard to
bed.
Next: Hangovers and Speculation
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