Edward Kane and The Voice of the Spider. Chapter 13: No Return on That Investment
The kettle was on in the Kane household for that prodigiously strong cuppa, but all was not well.‘You in pain, Mr K?’ Horse sat at the table, smoking his long clay pipe and drinking from his old tin mug.
The young Advocate sat by the fire, book on his lap, rubbing his stomach.
‘Not in pain, Mr Horse. I just think somewhat – shall we say – ‘backed up’’.
‘I’ll get some castor oil out the cupboard and that’ll soon get you cleared out, sir.’
Kane put up his hand: ‘No use, I’m afraid. I went to the medicine box before you came home, Mr Horse, and treated myself to a healthy dose.’
The manservant grinned: ‘And?’
‘And, shall we just say, no return on that investment yet.’
‘What you need is some Bitter Apple, sir,
‘Bitter Apple?’
‘Bitter Apple Tincture, Mr K. I only used it once, when I got bit costive, sir, but I’m telling you,’ he pointed his pipe to his nether regions for emphasis, ‘it were explosive down there.’
Kane gave a weak smile: ‘That might…’
Horse went on: ‘Never seen nothing like it, sir. Just a couple of spoonfuls of the Bitter Apple and – “boom!” – everything come out all at once…’
‘I think that I understand your…’
The manservant persisted: ‘Everything, sir. I looked down into the pan and thought I’d lost a kidney…’
‘Mr Horse…’
‘Believe me, Mr K – and I had “the trots” for about a week after. I’ll get us a bottle of Bitter Apple tomorrow, sir.’
The whole conversation was making Kane queasy. He held up his book: ‘Thank you, Mr Horse. I should like to get on with my reading now.’
Horse nodded over: ‘Whatcha reading, sir?’
Kane read aloud: ‘“Tales of a Grandfather” by Sir Walter Scott.’
‘Oh, I know that one – that’s a good ’un, sir – I’ve read that.’
This seemed to Kane unlikely. He could not keep the scepticism from his voice: ‘You have read Sir Walter Scott?’
‘Yes, sir – but in one of them little chapbooks – you know the ones – the little paper books you get for a few pennies.’
The young Advocate nodded. Sometimes, when attending at his barber, he had noted, lying around on tables, those thin volumes with their lurid illustrations and sensationalised versions of popular tales. Kane smiled and nodded to the book: ‘I’m currently on the part dealing with Robert the Bruce…’
Horse warmed to this: ‘Oooh, sir – that’s a good bit, ennit. They kill his brother, they kill his wife and then they put some old woman in a cage, don’t they!’
Kane smile and nodded his head in agreement. Horse’s chapbook version may have been lurid, but Horse’s narration was an entirely accurate account of what was, undoubtably, a more colourful time. The young Advocate pointed to the page he was on: ‘I have just reached the part where Robert the Bruce encounters the spider…’
The manservant gave a loud guffaw: ‘Another bloomin’ spider! Oh, Mr K – your life is filled with spiders at the moment. You sure you ain’t been cursed?’
Kane raised a mock telling-off finger: ‘The spider in this story is a blessing, Horse – not a curse. Robert the Bruce – a fugitive in his own land – is in hiding. He has lost his last six battles. He wonders if he should just give up the whole thing and go and fight in the Holy Land instead. He is lying in bed and looking up to the rafters.’
Horse interrupted: ‘“Rafters”? Mr K. “Rafters”? I thought he were meant to be hiding in a cave?’
Kane pointed to the text: ‘Not in this version, Mr Horse.’
The manservant nodded: ‘I knows the story, sir. The Bruce is lying there, thinking “I might as well bucket and chuck it” – but that little spider up there just keeps going…trying to get from one rafter to the next…’
‘Six attempts, Horse…’
‘Just like your man, the Bruce. Lost his last six battles with the English. So he lays a bet with himself: if the spider does the business on the seventh try, then Bruce will have another go at the English. If the spider don’t make it, then Bruce will go off and annoy another country instead.’
Kane smiled. ‘That appears to sum it up, Horse’. He read from the book: ‘While Bruce was forming this resolution, the spider made another exertion with all the force it could muster, and fairly succeeded in fastening its thread to the beam which it had so often in vain attempted to reach. Bruce, seeing the success of the spider, resolved to try his own fortune…”
Horse rubbed his stubbly chin: ‘So it was seventh time lucky, then, sir.’
Kane smiled: ‘Yes – seven was the charm.’ He grinned: And – of course – after that, Bruce led his Scottish army to victory at Bannockburn.’
Horse leaned in: ‘You know how the Scotch army was able to win that battle, don’t you, sir?’
‘Do tell, Mr Horse.’
‘’Coz I wasn’t fighting for the English that day.’
Master and man laughed.
Horse got up from the table: ‘I’ll get to the shop and pick up some Bitter Apple.’ He pointed over to Kane: ‘Believe me, sir,’ he winked, ‘two tea-spoonfuls of that stuff, and you won’t have to ‘try, try again’ …’
Tomorrow in The Scotsman: When in Wicklow
Edward Kane and Mr Horse: Volume II of the Collected Short Stories. Available from Amazon and Kindle