“Please pass the salt,” Tristan said.
The man hidden in the shadows next to the table in The Thrice Horned Goat responded, “Salt. It makes our food taste good, but it despoils our lakes and rivers, making their water undrinkable. In a similar way, it despoils our bodies, causing hypertension, heart disease and premature death, making us undrinkable. Metaphorically. Before you heap it on your…boiled mutton and cabbage…consider the risks. A message from Doctor Barton Harte, the heart doctor. If your heart skips a beat and it’s not because you’re in love, consult Doctor Harte, the heart doctor. The first bloodletting is free!”
Isolde held the shaker out to him across the table. “Do you…?” the ravishing young redhead uncertainly asked.
“Umm…maybe later,” Tristan responded.
They ate in silence for a couple of minutes. Eventually, Isolde asked, “So, how have you been since the last time I saw you?”
“Oh, you know,” Tristan replied, brushing a stray lock of blond hair off his gorgeous face. “Same old, same old. Fighting infidels for the liberation of the holy land and stuff…”
“Nothing new and interesting?”
“The tip of my sword broke off in battle, but I didn’t think that would -“
“Having trouble keeping your armaments in battle trim?” asked the man in the shadows. “It happens to the best of us, buddy. And, when it does, you need to hie thee immediately to Umlaut’s Smithee. Swords. Battleaxes. Armour. Dirks. Umlaut’s Smithee serves all of your combat needs. And, remember the Umlaut guarantee: if you die in battle using our arms, we will not loot your body to reclaim them. You can’t ask for fairer than that!”
The couple waited for the echoes of the pronouncement to die away. Then, Isolde whispered, “Are you going to take your sword to Umlaut’s Smithee?”
Tristan shook his head. “The King supplies us with all of the armaments we need to fight for his cause. I wouldn’t waste my money on a fly-by-night smith.”
Isolde nodded. “Tis sensible,” she agreed.
There was more silent eating.
“And, you?” Tristan finally asked. “How have you been?”
“Well, you know how it is at the Royal Court,” Isolde airily answered. “All the ladies in waiting gossip about which consort of the King will be chosen to be Queen. In the meantime, while we’re waiting, we mostly sip tea and are endlessly measured for dresses and other court raiment. I would kill for a good book. Or, a bad book, even. Anything to distract me from the tedium of -“
“Ladies!” the man in the shadows bellowed. “Competition for attention at the Court can be fierce! Can you afford to attend Royal functions in your dowdy old clothes? How will you be the belle of the ball that way? No! Get thee to The Court Frocker for all your haberdashery needs. The Court Frocker has all of the latest fashions, and can help you anticipate what will be fashionable next season. But, we don’t stop there! We have the most current corsets, shifts and other undergarments that are oh so important to creating the silhouette that will win you the heart of your Prince. The Court Frocker – fashion so forward you’ll be dressed for tomorrow today!”
Isolde rolled her eyes. “Do you remember when an honest couple could enjoy a simple meal without an emissary of Sir Mark of Facebook pronouncing on their every utterance?”
“Those did seem like simpler times…” Tristan sighed.
“Nostalgic for the days of your youth?” the man in the shadows gently interjected. “A trip to Hans Holstein, painter to the stars might be just what you need!”
“This has become awful tedious!” Isolde shouted over him.
“Hans Holstein will take your recollections of your youth and commit them to canvas.” The man in the shadows raised his voice to be heard.
“Agreed,” Tristan loudly responded. “But, what, pray tell, can we do about it?”
“And, if his paintings are just a little rosier than your past, perhaps the pox marks on your face are not quite so prominent, or your…Uncle Fredo…has all of his limbs, well, is a little creative embellishment so wrong if it helps you face your present with equanimity?”
Isolde held up a hand to forestall Tristan commenting further while the man in the shadows was speaking. It was pointless.
“That’s Hans Holstein,” the man in the shadows concluded. “Painter to the stars. Portraits start at two pounds ten. Ask about our bulk nostalgia deals!”
Isolde waited a couple of seconds to ensure that the man was finished, then said, “Poison.”
“You want to kill yourself?” Tristan was both repelled and excited by the idea.
“This life is intolerable. My only hope is escape.”
“I’m with you!” Tristan exulted. “But, how -“
“Life not giving you what you most truly desire?” the man in the shadows responded on cue. “You don’t need a miracle – you need Sorcery ‘R’ Us. We have all the latest spells, potions and novelties to fulfill all of your dreams. Need a Prince turned into a frog? We have just the potion! Too much straw and not enough gold? We have scoured Europe for just the spell! And, for our loyal customers, buy any magic wand in the next 24 hours, and get the second one for half price! Sorcery ‘R’ Us – serving the Greater London Area since 989!”
Tristan and Isolde finished their meal in silence. Each knew that this was one offer they would follow up on.