Fresh Mackerel Pies

“So, how was the catch today?” Spaniel asked Codfish as they nursed their pints in the tiny pub on the outskirts of Fauquier Wood.

“Not good,” sighed Codfish. “I’m up to my gills in debt and the missus threatens to leave me.”

“Rough,” Spaniel said, patting his friend on the back.

“If things don’t pick up, I’m gonna have to sell my fishing boat.”

Bull—the barman—set fresh pints in front of them. “On the house, boys.”

“Good lad.” Codfish tipped his glass.

All the locals were at the Gull & Stag that rainy night. Dragon and Goat argued over the dartboard. Lion and Unicorn watched a replay of the semi-final between Chelsea and Fulham. Blue-footed Booby sat in the corner singing “The Bonny Black Hare” to Walrus’ squeezebox accompaniment. Peahen drank alone at the far end of the bar.

A stranger—a fox—sat across from Spaniel and Codfish. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” Fox said. “Tough fishing these days, eh?”

Codfish blustered. “What of it?”

“You ain’t from around here, are ye?” Spaniel eyed Fox over the rim of his glass.

“No, Sir,” the stranger continued, “I’m just seeking refuge from this weather. I believe I can assist you gents, though.”

Bull dried a glass behind the bar. “Salesman?”

“Better.” Fox’s eyes gleamed in the flickering TV light. “Wizard.”

Peahen sidled over to Fox. “Buy me a drink, Handsome?”

Fox ignored her and addressed Codfish directly. “What if I told you I have a powder that’ll guarantee a bountiful catch—each catch greater than the last?”

“I’d say you’re bonkers,” Spaniel laughed.

“Go on,” Codfish prodded, eyes narrowed.

Fox rummaged through his haversack. “Ah, yes.” He placed a worn leather drawstring pouch on the bar.

Codfish licked his lips. “This guarantees a bountiful catch? Every time?”

“Each greater than the last.”

“How much?”

“A mere twenty-five pounds sterling.”

“There’s gotta be a catch,” Spaniel growled.

“Of course there is! Each greater than the last!” Fox exclaimed—sharing a laugh at Spaniel’s expense.

Codfish laid his last twenty-five pounds on the bar.

“Barman! Another pint to toast our transaction,” Fox sang out.

“Make it two,” Peahen added.

Fox slid the pouch across the bar and Codfish peered inside. Spaniel sniffed with interest, tail wagging. The pub grew silent.

Fox whispered instructions as they marveled at the powder. “Sprinkle over the water; watch the magic.”

At that very moment, the service bell at the kitchen window dinged and Kookaburra hollered “Fresh mackerel pies!

The smell of steaming mackerel filled the tavern.

“Blimey, that was quick!” a salivating Spaniel exclaimed.

The pub erupted in raucous celebration.

“Better buy some more o’ that magic powder, Codfish!” Blue-footed Booby shouted.

Walrus played a lively reel; Lion and Unicorn danced.

Amidst the swirling commotion, Fox drained his pint and scooped up the money. “I’ve lost me appetite, Luv,” he told Peahen. “Go on, tuck into me mackerel pies.”

And with a peck on her cheek, Fox slipped out clean—leaving the revelry behind.