“Pork bark!” the squire shouted. “Pork bark for sale!”
An old woman picked up a sample from the squire’s makeshift booth and gave it a sniff. Then kept walking.
Dale leaned against the booth’s railing. “Then I told mother, ‘If you insist on bringing home cheese flecked with blue, at least have the decency to serve it after supper. Otherwise we may as well eat in the stable.’ Am I right?”
“I live in a stable.”
Dale curled his lip. “And you’ve got the scent to prove it.”
“Pork bark!”
Another villager stopped briefly, then kept moving to another stall at the center of town.
“I told you these wouldn’t sell,” Dale said. “Pork bark. Nobody understands it. Should have went with pig shingles.”
“It’s not about the sales. Don’t you recall, sir? I covered the plan as you watched me set up.”
“No.”
“And on the walk over.”
“Nothing.”
“And yesterday evening over ales.”
“Listen. If I have to pay attention every time you start one of your ramblings, I’ll need a second squire just to wake me up when you reach the point.”
“Well, to recap, sales don’t matter. I could be selling watering ladles with holes in them.”
“Probably do better,” Dale said, cutting in.
“The thing is, Robin Hood frequents the market to surveil the poor. We wait for a tall, handsome, hooded fellow to approach, properly identify him, and then follow him back to his hideout.”
“Hmm,” Dale said. “I would have preferred advance notice to prepare a disguise, and likeably something more dignified than pork peddlers, but not bad.”
“I thought you’d like it.”
Dale adjusted the price sign on the booth. “Alright. Consider me a pork peddler.”
“I always have,” the squire said.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing. Let’s get to it, sir.”
*****
“Pork bark,” the squire announced.
“Pig shingles. Fresh and firm here,” Dale said.
“Get your pork bark here!”
“Pig shingles! You see how I do it, with flair? That’s how you move hog.” Dale bobbed his head around villagers passing by. “Wait a moment, what about him?”
A tall slender man studied a bag of onions across the square.
“Looks a bit gangly, if I might say.”
“What about him?” Dale said, pointing to another.
“Too homely.”
Dale shook his head.
The afternoon wore on. Dale rejected a baker for being too short and a woodsman for being portly. The squire mistook a miller for Robin, but realized it was his cousin.
Dale slumped against the railing. “This is hopeless.”
The squire shrugged. “Just not our day, I’m afraid.”
Dale suddenly straightened. “There!”
The squire squinted. “I’ll say he matches the description. But man, is that fellow drunk.”
“Oh, it’s all smoke and mirrors. That’s him.”
The man stumbled up to the booth. “Ha! Pig squares.” He burped. “What’ll they think of next?” He then headed toward the alley latrine.
Dale sprung up. “This is it, squire! You hang back and guard the pig shingles. The glory’s mine!”
*****
Dale returned an hour later.
“How did you make out, sir?” the squire asked.
“Followed him about four miles after he stole a bladder of ale from the tavern. He wound up drinking it and stumbling into a ditch. I was convinced it was a trap until I rolled him over with a stick and tried removing his disguise. He had wee’d himself and the beard didn’t budge.”
Dale looked over the booth. All the pork bark was gone. “What happened here?”
“You wouldn’t believe our luck. We sold out.”
“All of it?”
“Some traveler came by with a bag of silver. Bought the whole lot.”
“What an imbecile. No sign of Robin?”
“Nothing.”
Dale looked around. Villagers were collapsing their stalls for the day. “So, a traveler, huh?”
“Yeah. A real pleasant fella. Handed out most of the pork bark too.”
“Strange.” Dale shook his head. “More money than sense.”
“Agreed. And handsome too.”
Consider subscribing for more comedy shorts.
Dale still won’t.
See you soon,
—Ricky C.
So much fun. I'm going to use this line on my husband: “Listen. If I have to pay attention every time you start one of your ramblings, I’ll need a second [husband] just to wake me up when you reach the point.”
Too funny 😁