At the Strand of Nightmares

[Cup of Wonder] Prologue

First chapter of my new story, y'all! I really hope you enjoy, I worked very hard on this. Please comment what you think!

Note: There is mention of various English currencies in this book, so just keep in mind this:

Mite<Farthing<Halfpenny<Pound

Just to avoid any confusion :)
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"Two farthings, now that was the agreement, and not a mite less!" the bushy-mustachioed man said.

"No, you imbecile!" the man to the left rebuked, "We bet on a farthing and six mites!"

The coy-looking man in the corner joked, his thick Scotch accent coming out, "And I thought you wanted two Ha'pennies..."

"Shut it!" the mustachioed one snapped. "Come on, Martin, let's figure this out."

"Maybe we just out to play another round, eh, Jeffery?" Martin chuckled, "Better that than squabbling over a few mites..."

"Ah, I agree..." Jeffery chuckled back. "Would the knave be so kind as to write down the nature of this bet?"

"I'm no knave!" the man holding the lantern above their heads sassed.

"Well, can the Not-Knave write it down, then?" Jeffery retorted, an annoyed look in his eye.

The Not-Knave gave Jeffery an indignant look before setting the lantern down atop his playing cards. "Hope you don't mind me, dearie," he said before flashing a passive aggressive smile. He walked over to a stand aside from the table, grabbed a paper and quill, and set the implements in front of Jeffery, "You write down your own bloody bets!"

The Scotchman chuckled, "Stay cool, Evans, stay Cool..." he then bent down before Jeffery, "Please excuse John, he can't actually write. Perhaps you upset him."

"Oh, come off your high horse!" John sneered. "I'm not stupid!"

"Can we just settle on the bet, gentlemen?" Martin said, a part of him seemingly dying inside. He hated to see these squabbles his friends always managed to get into.

Jeffery sighed, "Oh, perhaps you're right. Barriemore, you've been awfully quiet, what do you think it should be?"

The singularly silent man piped up, "Um, two, no, three pounds?"

"This is just a causal game!" Jeffery said, quite obviously shocked at Barriemore's proposition. "Do you want to start a brawl?"

Barriemore tried to keep in his mild amusement as he replied, "Well then, in that case, let's start with one mite. No one will fight over that, right?"

Jeffery scribbled down the number, "One mite, perfect. You hear it, Ian, right?"

The Scotchman nodded, "It's your money, Jeff. Not mine."

Jeffery loudly exhaled to show his ever rising annoyance before dealing out cards to the three players. Everyone put their mites in the pot, and then Jeffery said, "Alright, everyone, show your hands..."

The men all turned over their hands, and sure enough, quiet Barriemore's hand won out. Barriemore poured the pot out into his hand, and he exclaimed, "Haha, boys! All of this chicken clucking later and looks who's the master! Yes, that's right! Me! Barriemore Barlow him-"

"Will you shut the bloody hell up!" Jeffery shouted, standing up, and kicking his chair behind him to the floor. Once he saw the shocked expressions of his friends, however, he said, "I-I'm sorry.... I don't know what came over me- I, I don't know what happened... I burst out like a common peasant-no offense, John."

John mocked, "Yeah, yeah... 'no offense, John' indeed!"

Before the tension could rise any more in the room, the voice of Ian's wife came from just outside the door. "There's some men outside here to see all of you guys in there! It seems rather urgent!"

"Do you think it's the abbot? I don't want to be a monk! Please, please, Lord Ian! Don't make me become a monk!" John begged.

Ian laughed yet again, "No, Evans, I'm pretty sure that's not what they are here for... probably just here to check up on something in the castle..."