The Irish Tales

Panic meeting : 5th March


Present : The Yearling, (part-time)The Calendarist, The Months, Tuesday, The Chief Constable of the Chronodogs


Absent through illness : March


The Yearling was, to be blunt, completely pissed.
Dragged out of an opium den after a lunch which lasted three days, he hadn't a clue where he was, who he was or what he was. Or more amusingly, what time it was.

He tried to grope Tuesday the moment he saw her, was kicked soundly in the delicate parts, urinated over the Chief Constable's hat, then threw up into the port decanter, which I have to admit showed an accuracy which was quite astonishing. If rather annoying for those of us who like a good port.

Nobody said a word.
Eventually, he collapsed into a corner and fell asleep.

After a moment, The Calendarist stood. He seemed shrunken, diminished; all his old authority and gravitas appeared to have drained away from him following that hideous evening at The Pond.
He spoke slowly, in such a low voice that we had to strain to hear.

Without any preamble, he described the meeting between the three of us, then what we had discovered on visiting The Pond.

At this point, he was obliged to officially explain the existence of the wretched pool to the rest of them, who were suitably astonished, surprised and so on, though a certain artificiality in some of their responses led me to suspect that I wasn't the only one who knew "things".

The Chief Constable alone remained unmoved, though as his dogs protected The Pond, this was only to be expected.

The information which really knocked all of them for six was that The Pond was leaking Time like a rich man leaks money at a casino.
I'd had a while to absorb the news and consider the implications, but for them, it must literally have seemed like the end of the world. Certainly their world.

When the hubbub died down a little, The Calendarist raised a hand for silence and was about to speak some more, when there was a brisk knock at the door, followed by the appearance of a Senior Dog who bowed to the company, then handed a note to the Chief Constable and whispered in his ear.

He glanced at it, started, then read it again before handing it to Cal and whispering something in his ear.
The Calendarist read it slowly, nodding occasionally as if its contents came as no surprise to him.

My mind - and my heart watch - raced. What now, I wondered ?

Cal look around the room and I suddenly noticed there was a tear slowly rolling down his cheek.
"This is a confession, from Friday, extracted without duress. I shall read it aloud." And he did.


"I, The Day of The Week known as Friday, do swear to the following :


1. In the first two months of this year, I did knowingly and with personal gain aforethought, secrete, then give, two days worth of Seconds to Martha Mumbless, a maiden of this district, who wished the time to spend with her dying mother, my former nanny. Though I received no payment for this act, I gained from the pleasure it brought them both and, ultimately, to myself.


2. I had hoped my action would escape undue attention, but upon realising from certain friends that it had not, I destroyed my records in a futile attempt to avoid prosecution.


I now accept full responsibility for my actions and can only offer my abject apologies for such un-Timely behaviour.
Yours, in resignation,
Friday."


Well, well, well, I thought to myself. That's all very well. But.....

The room exploded as the other Months bombarded Cal and the Chief Constable with questions, all of which missed the point. Only Tuesday and I stayed aloof from the baying.

Finally, January's shrill voice cut through.
"Where is the bloody bastard ? What a coward. Why does not he appear in person to explain himself to his betters, eh ?"

Cal smiled a smile of such icy tenderness, that my heart watch sped up.
"He can't. Friday has gone. He stopped his own clock voluntarily."

That shut them all up.
A self-termination hadn't occurred since Sinday lost his personal battle with Monday, all those centuries ago.
(You've never heard of Sinday ? Have a think !)

It was my old friend November who brought us back to the present time.
He coughed.
"Um, two days...bad. But...two days not explain eight days lost. Nor leaking Pond."

(Sorry about his English, Nov is half Finnish. Don't ask.)
He continued.
"How bad is Time now, please ?"

For a long moment, Cal said nothing.
Then he laid the Sacred Scroll on the table. It was open at 2010, revealing all the blank Fridays.
He sighed heavily.

"See for yourselves...."
And he turned the page, to reveal 2011.
Which was totally blank.

The Yearling stirred and looked around vacantly, a cheery smile on his face.
"Hullo ! Anyone fancy going clubbing ?"




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