Placing Wagers

This story is part of the Vocal + Assist on Facebook Lost in a Story Challenge. You can learn more about it here:

There is a foreword to this tale, which was born of a shared enjoyment of the wonderful film of The Princess Bride. This short piece was written as collaborative piece between myself and Mother Combs.

Writing collaboratively SOUNDS so easy, but its fair to say we got ourselves in some tangles along the way, not least as we repeatedly corrected one another's spelling of Moustache before realising that each time one of us was dropping a U somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, the other was fishing it out and putting it back in. I'm here to try new things though, and I feel like we both learnt a lot. So, without further ado, grab a tankard of ale, gather round the fire, and let us tell you what happened on the way back from market today.....

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was on the rocky cliff path, yonder, when I hear crossing swords. Now I want no trouble, but when I peek round a rock, there’s two men dancing around the clearing, and between ourselves, I like the one in the tight pants! I spot another traveler behind the rocks where the path turns.

“Good morrow!” I call. “I think the one in the tight pants will best the other, no?”

“Aye, good morrow, as it may be, my ruble is on the masked stranger, it is” the old mother hailed back to me, and comes over, pulling a ruble from her apron pocket. I pulled a ruble out to match.

The men continued their dance, very acrobatic it was, even switched sword hands mid-battle!

“Aye, my money is on the mustached one!” I shout.

My ruble stays on the masked man,” The old mother says. Soon, others on the road gather round, placing bets. Well, I'm giving out the odds, "two–to-one on the left-handed man," then "two-to-three on the right-hander," and the rubles keep coming. The old mother, she's keeping a tally, but I'm busy watching those men prance. I likes a good show, and it's better than a cockfight! A cheer went up when the Spaniard was disarmed, but would you believe it, the man in black leaves him alive! Knocks him out and runs off!

"I won!" Shouts the old mother. "Pay up, wench!"

"You pay up," I says to her, "my man was the victor".

"Your man was the one with the tight pants!" She retorts.

"I said the mustache," says I, "the right-hander."

"The masked man won!" She's shouting, and others are holding out their hands, wanting paying.

"I won!" "You can sod off, the lot of you," I said. "I didn't lose!"