What if?

the story might divert at various junctions; all are unsatisfactory outcomes; none teach us truth about God

Spending

Boy asked for his inheritance, and father agreed. The boy took the money and spent most of it in wild living, but was robbed at knifepoint for the rest. The robber stabbed the boy and he bled to death on a pavement in the seedier part of Dissipation City. The father never heard about this, and kept watch everyday for several years.

Famine-fodder

Boy took his inheritance and spent it all in wild living in Dissipation City. But famine struck and the boy died as a result.

More wealth than we imagine

Boy took his inheritance and spent it all in excessive, wild living, dining out, gambling, sexual impropriety and drunkenness. There was so much wealth that he managed to survive for 38 years before the cash was all gone; unfortunately this coincided with a famine. The boy worked on a pig farm untl he came to his senses and went home to be an hired hand, as he was no longer worthy to be called a son. But when he got home, he discovered his father had been dead for several years and the farmland had been redeveloped into a village. There was no job for him, no forgiveness, no gifts, no hugs, no celebrations, no resolution. He moved on, but died later the same year, a broken man, exhausted with partying; now penniless and alone.

Victim of Pod

Boy took his inheritance and spent it all in wild living until the famine struck. He took a job tending pigs, and longed to eat their food. He did so, got food poisoning, and died.

Forgot Heritage

Boy took his inheritance and spent it all. He refrained from eating the pigs’ food. But he came to his senses, became a Gentile and lived on pig pods until the famine was over. Then he settled down in Dissipation City.

Makes it a career move

Boy spent his inheritance. He longed to eat pigs’ food but came to his senses and took a better job at a government-run food distribution centre. He went on to manage the food centre until the famine was over, and then established a chain of fast-food outlets called Pod U Like, serving gammon ham with mange tout in pitta breads. He never returned.

Rejected

Boy spent all, came to his senses and went home. Father had bolted the gate, and told son since he had chosen to leave, he must fend for himself. He took a job on another farm, but always regretted his foolish, selfish youth.

Not Restored

Boy spent cash, came to senses and humbled himself. Father was pleased the boy was still alive and gave him a job on the farm, feeding the calf, as a hired man. They didn’t get on, and after a while the son took another job elsewhere.

Asserted Sonship

Boy wasted cash and had a revelation. He knew his father would have to take him back, since he was, after all, his son. His father did, of course, because he felt he had to do so, and the son was treated as a member of the family once again. But there was always resentment, guilt and fear between them, and neither was very happy.

What the butler saw (part two of two)

young Brian Rix is discovering the joys of wealth in Dissipation City...

And so it was that Brian began to spend, spend, spend his inheritance, splashing out on meals, drinking binges, gambling, various shows and clubs and theatrical events and more gambling and a lot more eating and drinking and recreation of all kinds. And Rochelle was always there, ready to encourage, to consume, to be entertained and to absorb his generosity.

       

Within a shockingly short time, considering the size of his inheritance, the money dwindled to nothing. In fact, to pay the final meal and drinks bill at the Fivestar, Brian had to offer Frayn the gold ring his father had given. It was worth more than the debt, but it was all he had left. Frayn accepted it eagerly, and immediately quit his job and went off to a distant country, far away from the famine, setting up a new business rearing cattle, fulfilling his dream of many years. He bought his land with the proceeds from the sale of Fivestar, and exchanged the ring he had obtained from Brian for several head of cattle.

Once the ‘friends’ he had accumulated realized Brian was no longer able to finance their revelries, they dropped him and went off to seek out another sugar-daddy.

       

Without friends, money, his ring and without any means of support, Brian knew he’d have to get a job.

       

He applied for a post working for the Plainest Bacon Company (suppliers of no-frills Gammon, Ham, Pork and Rashers), but their staffing needs only stretched to a job looking after their least-well-fed porkers.

       

Hunger gnawed at his innards while the hogs snorted and sniffled among the rotting corn pods and household waste slopped into their trough. He longed to eat the pods, and suddenly came to his senses.

       

‘My father’s men (including Butler) want for nothing, and yet they are merely employees. I shall arise and go to my father and say to him I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me one of your hired men.’

       

So he made his way home.

Meanwhile, Frayn’s business was taking off. He got the farm (and the livestock) from a man named Porcia, who used to keep pigs until he realized there was very little market for them, and had switched to cattle. Porcia was delighted that he had the ring, knowing he could exchange it for some land on which to experiment with chicken, geese, grouse, woodpigeon and turkeys, so he approached Hay Ricks, who needed to sell of a lot of land (cash-flow issues) and made the deal. Ricks accepted the ring and one calf in exchange for several acreas of quality arable land – yes, the very same ring he had given to Brian such a long time before.

       

Porcia’s Fowl Farm ended up being way more successful than the name deserved.

While Brian was still a long way off, planning his speech and wearing out his shoes, Hay Ricks spotted him from afar, since he was keeping watch.

       

‘My son!’ he shouted, and rushed down the steps and out along the road. He ran to greet him with a kiss.

       

‘Father, I am no longer…’ began Brian.

       

‘Butler, fetch him some shoes and a coat. Oh, and bring the ring I exchanged for the upper fields and put it on his finger. And kill the fatted calf and let us celebrate!’

       

The whole village turned out, including Porcia, who roasted a turkey for the occasion. But the hot beef was definitely the favourite.

       

‘This my son was lost – as lost as my trousers on the day the civic dignatories came to visit – but now he is found! He was dead, but is alive!’

       

And there was hilarious and random opening and closing of doors (plus likelihood of confusion and mistaken identity and kisses stolen in the dark from various maids and happy resolutions and accidents with props and surprise entrances and secret passageways and amusing happenstances and spiked drinks and shinnanegins of all kinds and chasing and exchanges of clothing and mentions of the land where the nuts come from and Whitehall and slapstick and pratfalls and aunts and handbags and noises off and screwball repartee) until the break of dawn.

What the butler saw (part one of two)

PLOT: comedy -  not only humorous or farcical, but technically ‘a complex situation that resolves happily’

Several high-ranking members of the community were in the farmyard, enjoying a few drinks and some canapés, which were being served by Butler, the butler. Several women of importance were accompanied by the bank manager and the Chairman of the Board of Governors of the Chamber of Commerce. Two chief executives, five lawyers and a senior Law Enforcement Officer were also present, tucking into the blinis and petit fours.

       

Meanwhile, the owner of the farm, Hay Ricks, was standing in his bedroom, wearing a shirt and tie, socks and a pair of brightly coloured underpants. He was presently unable to mix and mingle with his vey special guests because, somehow, he had mislaid his trousers. He knew he’d placed them on the end of the bed before he had a shower, but now they were nowhere to be found, and neither were any of his spare pairs. This was a quandary.

       

‘Well, I am vexed,’ he said aloud. ‘I’ll look again.’

       

He opened each drawer in the chest of drawers, but could only find a few neatly folded handkerchieves, three pairs of socks and a harlequin’s hat. He opened the door of the hanging cupboard, and looked again at the rows of shirts and jackets; none were long enough to cover his embarrassment. There were also some boots and a pair of dungarees, but they were paint-splattered and not at all suitable for the occasion.

       

There was a knock at the bedroom door, so Ricks opened it.

       

‘Master, the guests are ready to receive you,’ chimed the ever-helpful Butler, the butler.

       

‘Yes, yes, I’ll be there directly.’

       

‘Very good, sir. Excuse me, sir, but you do realise that your garb is sadly lacking in the trousering department?’

       

‘Thank you, yes, Butler,’ snapped Ricks, closing the bedroom door.

       

He opened the door of the wardrobe, to look again amongst the dressing gown (no use), his best suit (sans trousers), an anorak, a few t-shirts (mostly with unsuitable slogans, and all too short to be of any use in this situation) plus a selection of unfashionable tank-top jumpers, several gaudy ties and (ironically) two leather belts.

       

‘Oh, this is a nuisance!’ he said, and slammed the door shut. He retraced his steps to the bathroom, checking the towel rail as he passed. He knew there was no hope of his trousers being in the airing cupboard, but he was desperate. He opened the door anyway.

       

Standing in the cupboard, with a broad grin across his ruddy face, was his younger son, Brian.

       

‘Hallo Dad!’ he said, cheerily.

       

‘What are you doing in there?’ his father asked.

       

‘Keeping warm. May I ask you a question?’

       

‘Yes, if you’re quick. I have to meet my guests.’

       

‘Why are you not wearing any trousers? You can’t meet your guests dressed like that, can you?’

       

Hay kept his temper. ‘That’s two questions. My trousers seem to have gone missing.’

       

‘What are they worth?’

       

‘Hmm?’ Hay had not been too concerned with the financial value of the missing strides, but knew there would be serious and costly implications if he went out to meet these particular guests inadequately coutured.

       

‘What would you give me, if I could find them for you?’

       

Hay had reached the end of his tether, so he made a wild offer. ‘Right now, I would give you – I would give you all of your inheritance.’

       

‘Deal.’

       

‘What? Do you know where my trousers are?’

       

‘Show me the money.’

A few days later, plans were finalized for the transfer of funds from Farmer Ricks to his son. He handed him a big bag of gold coins.

       

‘Even though you have cleaned me out, I do still hold you dear, you know, son.’

       

‘Those local dignatories would have been horrified to see you in your underpants, don’t you think?’

       

‘Taunt me no more, please. I have one more gift for you, my dear boy. Please take this ring, and wear it and think kindly of me when you are away from home.’

       

Brian accepted the precious, meaningful gift, placed it on his finger and embraced his father. ‘You understand that I have to do this, don’t you?’

       

‘Not at all. But if go you must, then be that as it may.’

Brian made his way from the farm and journeyed over hill and valley to Dissipation City.

       

Once he’d arrived and settled into an hotel room, he went out to find some ways to dispose of a small amount of his wealth, and quickly discovered more than a couple of opportunities.

       

He started with a grand meal, in Fivestar, a fine dining restaurant. This was owned by a man named Frayn, who had always dreamed of leaving the service industry and making his living on a farm, tending cattle and other livestock. But for now he continued to work at the Fivestar.

       

Brian’s spree continued with a spell in a casino, and then on to a theatre, accompanied by a few friends who had been drawn to him in the course of his adventures so far.

       

Prime among these companions was Rochelle, a beauty with long blonde hair and mischievous eyes. ‘We could always have a little drinkie if you like…’ she said, hinting at something else that might follow.

to be concluded

Turn around

PLOT: rebirth – and if this story isn’t about that, then it isn’t about anything at all

Frustrated, self-indulgent son took his inheritance and wasted it in wild living.

When the money was all gone, and famine struck the land, he took a job tending pigs. He longed to eat the pods with which his pigs were fed when he had a revelation and came to his senses.

He realized he’d been a selfish, indulgent waster. He considered thus: ‘My father’s hired men get better treatment than I now face, so I shall repent of my sin and go home and ask my father for a job as a hired man. I’m no longer worthy to be called a son.’

He made his way, but while he was still a long way off, his father saw him, welcomed him and threw a party to celebrate his repentant, reborn son.

‘This my son was lost, and is found; he was dead and is alive again!’

Fault (part two of two)

Each day, Richard's father went to the roof to keep lookout. But he continued to deteriorate.

'Oh, oh, he’s in danger, I know it! And it’s down to me. I did send him away, after all. At least three-quarters of the blame, if not more. Say four to one against me. It is warm today. My nails need trimming. Oh, Richard, where are you, my son, my loved son? I am to blame almost entirely. He had to go to teach me this hard lesson. He had to. My fault. All my fault. Yes, all my fault. My responsibility. My error. I was too harsh with him, and drove him away. My hair is growing long, too. Like Nebuchadnezzar. I cannot stand this heat, this loneliness, this guilt. Entirely my fault. He was innocent! And the animals have broken into the grain store and our reserves are rapidly diminishing. I can’t remember why that’s bad… not as bad as I have been towards dear, sweet misunderstood Richard; I should suffer for it. He was without error or blemish…’ He raved in whispers, admonishing himself, weeping, tearing at his clothes, becoming more sad and confused each day.

Life in the fast lane was growing dangerous, as Richard had lost his handkerchief, all his money was gone and so were his ‘friends’ (Romans and countrymen alike), including one girl who distributed flowers and taken a fatal swim; another who refused to flatter her father and been misunderstood; and a third who was bitten by a snake while waiting for a servant to fetch asses’ milk.[1] The famine had struck.

‘I shall go to the countryside, and get a job in the agrarian economy. Perhaps animal husbandry…’

He found a post at a pig farm, and was looking after the thin, scrawny beasts as they rooted about among the rotting vegetation they were given. Such was his hunger, he was about to pick out the least mouldy pod; and that was when he came to his senses.

‘The hired men on my father’s farm eat well; I should lay aside my pride and return. The only reason I’m in this mess is because of my horrible attitude – it’s entirely my fault. So I shall arise and go home and say Make me one of your hired men. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ He got up and went back home.

Richard was still beyond the furthest hill, completely out of sight of the view his father had from the roof.

‘Completely my fault. I’m a wicked man and a bad father and a rubbish farmer. The only ones who eat well around here are the calves. I am not cut out for farm management, which has to include the maintenance and welfare of hired hands as well as animal husbandry.

‘I am totally to blame for my son’s bad ways. I deserve nothing. I deserve to be the dead one. At least then his inheritance (which he’s already had) will have been the right thing to do… I don’t deserve to live. My son is probably dead in the foreign land, due to the famine. I have nothing to live for. He’s totally lost, and it’s one hundred and ten percent down to me.’

Such was his loss of mental faculty, he wandered down the steps from the roof (nearly falling, twice), took a jar of oil from the shelf in the kitchen, and slopped it onto his hair and beard and clothes.

Such was his anguish at his own error (as he saw it) in raising such a tormented son, he stepped, purposefully, dangerously close to the fire, where the last of the hired men was roasting one of the fatted calves.

Such was his self-loathing and twisted judgement of himself, he deliberately allowed the flames to fed hungrily at his oil-soaked coat. Immediately his hair and beard and coat and tunic were ablaze. Despite the efforts of the hired man, Richard’s father’s misery and ravings were over surprisingly quickly (perhaps his heart failed?). His lifeless corpse lay smouldering in the dusty farmyard.

Three minutes later, Richard appeared over the horizon, walked slowly towards the farm, and readied himself to be humble before his father. The hired hand – frightened, scorched from his efforts to extinguish the suicide pyre of his Lord and Master, and confused at the disastrous timing – walked out to greet him. Their conversation was full of sadness, regret and of course, blame.

The villagers attended the funeral, and there was no rejoicing. Richard said at the wake ‘I was lost but now I have found that my father, who was alive, now is dead; and it’s all my fault.‘

[1] referring to famous Shakespearean tragedies: Ophelia (from Hamlet); Cordelia (from King Lear); Cleopatra (from Antony & Cleopatra)

Fault (part one of two)

plot: tragedy 

And so their fights continued; Richard and his father raged into the night, never seeing eye-to-eye with each other and always having different expectations of how the farm could sustain them through the impending famine.

‘Don’t you see, old man? Are you just being obtuse?’ The boy threw the dregs of his wine into the fire. ‘We have to get rid of all the animals and everything that is a drain on our resources; only then can we turn every acre over to food production for ourselves and for the village. There’s no point in giving grain to the horses to get work out of them if we perish in the meantime. Healthy goats and fattened calves won’t last long once we are dead, you fool!’

His father was sad, but anger overwhelmed him. He slammed his hand on the table, upsetting the wine bottle and sending the mangy dog scurrying from the room. ‘That’s just about enough! I don’t like your tone, and I resent your constant disagreement. And I won’t tolerate your rudeness! Learn a few lessons in taking responsibility, will you?… and I know exactly what will be the making of you.’ He turned, walked away, pushing past the hired hand, leaving his son staring, frowning, seething.

The next morning, Richard discovered his dad meant business. He’d collected together a great deal of money, and gathered it into a bag on the table. On top of the bag was an hastily scribbled note.

Take your inheritance and go away. Try to survive the famine that is predicted elsewhere. Leave today, and don’t come back until you are ready to give respect to me. Now the feeling’s gone, I can’t go on – when you lose control and you’ve got no soul, it's hard to bear. Perhaps I really should be holding you, loving you…[1]

But I don’t think I can at the moment.

Dad

Richard screwed up the note, and snatched the bag, which was heavier than he’d imagined. He grabbed a small loaf and one of the jars of oil from the shelf, and left the house. He stepped onto the highway, thumbing a lift on an ox cart to the big city.

A couple of months later, he’d made a number of friends among the gambling fraternity, and met a few girls who seemed to be attracted to him. It was probably the money, he knew, but it was fun; that was a whole lot better than life had been when he was working on the farm. He gave his father little thought, and hadn’t noticed the headlines which seemed to suggest that the feared famine was no longer impending; it was arriving.

Richard’s father was deteriorating fast. He bitterly regretted throwing his son out – more, even, than the financial hardship that had caused. Each day he kept watch on the roof, despite the blazing heat, talking to himself.

‘But he had become intolerable. He had to go. Had to. Am I not to blame for the way my son turned out? Surely I am to be held to account, at least in some part. About a third. Perhaps a half? His negative ways and bad attitude and rudeness are my fault. Maybe sixty per cent. I cannot… '


to be continued

[1] lyrics to Tragedy written by Barry, Robin & Maurice Gibb; recorded by the Bee Gees on Spirits Having Flown (1979)

Greener Grass

plot: Voyage & Return. 
This story is a defining example of this kind of plot, which is why it's so plain vanilla


The son demanded his inheritance and left home. He spent the money in wild living. When famine struck, he took a job tending pigs and longed to eat their pods. 


He came to his senses, deciding to go home and ask to be a hired man, since he knew he was no longer worthy to be called a son.


While he was still a long way off, his father saw him, ran to him, gave him a ring, a coat and shoes. He killed the fatted calf and celebrated. ‘This my son was lost and is found; he was dead and is alive again!’

Playing with fire (part two of two)

continued

He exchanged his free 500denarii chip for ten 50s, and placed one on the number 7. This chip was quickly collected by the croupier. Frank had lost it before understanding the idea of the game. Sirenia was very ‘helpful’, placing a chip each on 6, 12, 18 and 24. This time, he lost four chips in one spin of the wheel. She tried a corner bet, covering 32, 33, 35 and 36. Another loser.

‘This game is harder than it looks, and it looks close to impossible,’ he said, with a shrug.

Quickly his ‘free chip’ was used up, gone forever, and Frank didn’t feel he’d had all that much fun. He wondered what it would feel like to win at this game, so he broke into some of the chips he had been given in exchange for his inheritance.

He knew there was something rather foolish and promise-breaking going on, but the allure of Sirenia’s perfume, the atmosphere around the roulette table, and the screams of laughter and joy among the other players when they laid a winning bet all conspired to quiet his conscience. I might win a decent amount on the very next spin, and that would pay back everything I’ve… invested so far, he told himself. He wasn’t sure if he believed this.

He soon had a small victory, favouring red, but those winnings were very quickly squandered when Sirenia ordered another drink. She thanked him with a kiss.

Time rushed by, and several hours later, Frank realized that he’d not only lost the original 500denarii chip, but he’d also lost roughly half of the chips he’d bought with his inheritance money. If he left now, he could at least take home the equivalent of the amount he’d taken in the first place. It wouldn’t be the gain he’d promised, but it would be no loss, either. But what if the next spin is a winning one? he thought. I’d be a fool to miss this opportunity… He listened to the voice within.

Meanwhile, Sirenia was still spending his chips, having a great time and being friendly, although she seemed occasionally to have been distracted a little by the chap on the other side of the table who was clearly what they call a high-roller.

‘We’re bound to have a change of luck soon, Frannikins,’ Sirenia purred, putting another stack of chips on evens and several each on high, black, 28-30 street, the second dozen and Orphelins.

The mesmeric mantra of the croupier, the whiz of the ball around the highly polished wooden surface and then the tink…tink… tink-tink ti-ti-tink as it found its way into 3 – an odd, low red, which was neither in the 28-30 street nor the second dozen, and in the Voisins du Zero. Useless. A total loss.

Once again his chips were quickly scooped up by the croupier’s stick.

Once again Sirenia sipped at her pink champagne, apparently oblivious of the decimated stash of chips in front of Frank.

Once again Frank thought, to no avail, about his luck changing.

He staggered, eventually, away from the roulette table and towards the cash-up window with less than one-third of the chips he’d had when he had first begun to seek it out.

‘Oh, look at the time! No wonder I am so hungry,’ Sirenia said, glancing towards the restaurant.

A couple of hours later, Frank had eaten a magnificent dinner, finished his share of three bottles of champagne and blown the rest of his chips on a ‘let’s-see-if-our-luck-has-finally-changed’ vain imagining.

Sirenia drifted rapidly away once her benefactor was ‘no fun any more’ and Frank returned alone to his motel room. He knew he’d failed in his Quest. What could he do now?

The news the next morning was confirmation of the famine that had been threatened, so he left the bright lights behind and sought employment in a pig farm.

Two weeks later, hunger gnawed at him insistently, and he decided he should try to eat the good bits among the rotting vegetation on which the pigs were fed. But the food was entirely inedible.

A flash of inspiration dawned, and he came to his senses. ‘What am I doing?’ he asked, out loud. ‘My father’s hired hands eat well, and here I am, reduced to this… I shall go home and ask my dad to give me a job working for him. I’m no longer worthy to be called a son.’

He made his way back to the farm. While he was still a long way off, his father, who had been keeping watch from the roof of the house, saw him and ran to greet him.

He kissed him and embraced him, and wouldn’t let Frank say his carefully-prepared ‘I’ve been a fool – you were right – the temptation was too much – let me work for you as a hired hand…’ speech. Instead, he brought him shoes, a coat and a ring, and called for the calf to be slaughtered in celebration.

‘This my son was lost, but is found; he was dead but is alive!’

They had finest rump steak, with onions, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms… but no chips.

Playing with fire (part one of two)

Plot: The Quest

Frank opened the envelope and discovered inside a bright red wooden gaming chip, marked Maraschino Casino, Dissipation City. The accompanying bumpf explained that not only was this chip worth 500denarii, but the management would sell further chips to the bearer of the voucher at half the cost. It was a once-only offer, and had to be redeemed very soon.

‘Don’t you see, Dad? We can get out of all our financial troubles. We can buy chips with the cash we have and turn it into chips worth twice as much, then immediately cash those chips – twice the wealth! It’d be enough. We don’t have to gamble it – there’s no risk… all we have to do is take as much cash as we can get together.’

‘I won’t do it. The temptation would be too powerful.’

‘I can’t understand why you think it’d be a temptation…’

‘It’s a casino, lad. Roulette, slot machines, poker, blackjack, burlesque shows… plus all the booze and loose women and so many other ways to sin and to spend hard-earned cash.’

‘I think it would be crazy not to try.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Then, at least, let me. I will prove myself trustworthy.’ Frank explained he could take his inheritance now and double it and come home with it.

Eventually his father agreed to let him go. He took his share of the money and set off to Dissipation City.

Once he arrived, he left his bag in his motel room and went to Maraschino Casino, presented his voucher and exchanged all his money for twice face value in chips. Job done, he thought, quest completed. But he had not reckoned on the journey that lay before him.

The man at the Get Your Chips Here booth was trying to be helpful. ‘The gaming tables and bar are just through this archway, sir, to your left. We have roulette, poker…’

‘Where’s the place to cash in my chips, please?’

‘That’s right through on the other side of the complex, sir. Down these steps, round to the left where the blackjack and dice tables are, straight on past all the slot machines, right at the burlesque theatre, through the bar, and then it’ll be in front of you, beyond our poker and roulette parlour.’

‘Okay, thanks.’

Frank set off on this journey through the bright lights and exciting opportunities. He didn’t understand that his trip across Temptation Valley was going to be complicated.

He was strong-willed as he passed the blackjack and dice tables, and was hardly lured at all by the slot machines or the theatre, although the music sounded jolly.

However, he stopped for a drink at the bar, because he was thirsty. He ordered a glass of water with a slice of lemon in it, and got chatting to a very nice girl with the unusual but enticing name Sirenia. She was particularly friendly, and Frank thought she was not only especially pretty, but smelled good, too. He decided to have another drink. She played with his hair as they chatted, and didn’t seem to mind keeping her face close to his.

He was about to set off towards the cashing-up window, when Sirenia asked ‘How did you get on with your free chip? You know, the one they sent through the post for free?’

‘Oh, yes, well, I thought I would cash that in and it’d help pay for the trip.’

Sirenia giggled. ‘Oh, you are a good boy,’ she murmured mockingly. ‘Your father will be very pleased. Do you always do everything he tells you to do?’

Frank hoped (in vain) that she wasn’t aware that he was blushing. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I was just thinking… you could have a little bit of fun with that one chip and see if you can turn it into several – and if you don’t, then at least you’ve had a good time. I could show you how to stand a good chance at the games. Do you prefer blackjack or roulette?’

‘I’m not sure about blackjack…’ Frank began, and wondered if Sirenia was a True Companion to help him on his quest, or a Temptress who might lead him off-target.

‘Roulette it is, then,’ she said, picking up the 500denarii chip, hooking her finger around Frank’s lapel and leading him towards the roulette tables. He didn’t resist.

to be concluded