Modeled after Giovanni Boccaccio's classic from the 14th Century, this collection similarly brought 100+ short stories to Wattpad readers. The original's premise was simple: ten individuals entertained themselves over a span of ten days by telling a...
The polite applause settled, and the room became quiet once again. All eyes turned to her with expectation. She had been so engrossed in the last story, it had slipped her mind it was her turn. She swallowed her drink in one gulp and cleared her throat. "Funnily enough, this next story also starts in a pub...
Decameron 2.0–Triskele
@MNJGreenhill
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The doors opened, and two bedraggled wet tourists rushed into the pub. Despite their resemblance to a pair of drowned rats, they were in high spirits as they called out for, "Two pints of your best larger and a pack 'o crisps."
How the publican heard their order above the blare from the footy on the TV, or the chaos from the crowded county inn, was anyone's guess.
"Eh up! Another lot that I reckon needs a visit to the nut house."
Robert threw his partner a cold stare. The kid they shackled him with was not only loud, he was xenophobic, homophobic, dysmorphophobic—and any other number of phobic's that solidified him as a first-class twat. It was beyond him how Damien had been recruited into MI5. However, the agency had changed over the years, perhaps Britain had run out of people with brain cells to recruit.
"This is the Lake District," said Robert, "tourists come here to walk through the hills and valleys. They expect the occasional downpour."
Damien chugged back the last of his ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Igits! Why would they pay that much dosh to walk? You can do that at home... for free."
Instead of killing his partner in any of the two dozen ways he knew to leave no trace, Robert fingered his watch and made contact with the silver triskele medallion fused to the back. Whenever his mind was in turmoil he used the triskele as an anchor. Not only did this mission not sit well with him, but he'd been saddled with a cocky agent who wanted to make his mark—anyway he could.
Maybe it's time to think of a new career?
Damien threw himself back into his chair and glanced at the clock above the bar. "Are you sure she'll turn up?"
Robert's jaw tightened. "Have patience."
"I have patience old man; I just don't think your intel's right. We should've done the job at her place."
Robert leaned forward and placed his arms on his knees so that his hands were draped in the middle. "You know as well as I do, the house has surveillance everywhere. Whenever she comes up, she always calls in for a pub meal before heading back to London. She's about to head through the most dangerous road in the UK, this is the perfect opportunity."
"I just hope you're right." Damien reached for his empty glass and made a motion to stand. "The guvna will be pissed if she turns up at that hearing tomorrow. She's a traitor to the crown and deserves what's coming to her."
