Rian stood outside the Sláinte Alehouse door, his smile lighter than a ghost’s whisper. For seven long years, he had been a wild rover, wandering the rugged corners of the world and acting the maggot, spending his hard-earned coin on nothing but fleeting pleasures and bad company. After a while, a sudden wave of sense had finally hit him. He was knackered, homesick, and utterly disgusted with the rovin’ trade. It was time to change his ways.
He pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped into the warmth of the pub. The familiar scent of woodsmoke filled the air. Behind the bar stood the landlady, a sharp-eyed woman who had known Rian since he was knee-high to a grasshopper.
Rian put on his best rogue’s grin and sidled up to the counter. ‘Grand evening, custom’s looking healthy,’ he said, trying to sound like a man of means. ‘Tell me, love, would you pour me a pint of the black stuff?’
The landlady looked him up and down, noting his frayed cuffs and the mud on his boots. She scoffed, wiping down the bar with a rag that had seen better days. ‘And have you the coin to pay for it, Rian? Or are you expecting charity?’
‘Ay, come on now,’ Rian pleaded, putting on his most charming face. ‘I’m flat out broke tonight, it’s true. Just put it on my tab. I’m good for it, I swear on my enemy’s grave.’
She laughed, a harsh sound that cut through the chatter of the pub. ‘Your tab? You’ve got more cheek than a corrupt politician, Rian. I wouldn’t trust your credit as far as I could throw you. No money, no stout. I’m not running a charity for broke chancers.’
Rian reached deep into his pocket and hauled out a heavy leather pouch, dropping it onto the counter with a loud, metallic thud. He untied the drawstring and tipped it forward, spilling a brilliant cascade of bright gold sovereigns across the dark wood. ‘Ye kno’, I’ve been working hard across the water, and I’ve returned with more gold than you could shake a stick at.’
The landlady’s eyes went as wide as saucers. She beamed at him, her previous hostility vanishing like mist on a summer morning. ‘Oh, Rian, my favourite customer! I was only jesting with you. Of course, I’ll get you a pint, and the best meat pie in the house is on its way to you right now!’
A strange sense of clarity washed over Rian. He looked at the gold, then looked around at the pub, realising how easily people could be bought and sold.
When the landlady returned with a foaming pint of stout, Rian wasn’t there anymore.
He was already out in the mist, heading towards his parents’ small cottage down the lane, thinking about the quiet, honest life he had abandoned so long ago. He felt a sudden, fierce determination to make amends and never look back.
‘I’m going home,’ Rian murmured, ‘and I’ll play the wild rover no more.’
