Get Lucky

economics.’

  ‘Oh, Bbee,’ said Permission, very impressed.

  'Your giving away lottery tickets – for free?' asked shylock, suspiciously.

  'Well, actually' Bb flustered. 'They're not exactly current.'

  'What!' said Shylock. 'You're giving them old lottery tickets?'

  'Well, to be fair, I never suggested otherwise on the note' replied Bb quietly, somewhat shagrined – but only somewhat.

  Then suddenly, while they were still deciding what to do about Bb's admission, Permission bumped into the person in front – well to be more precise, a goat. Shylock bumped into Permission and Bb in turn, bumped into him – wiping the slightly supercilious smile from his face. ‘Come along there,’ Bb said angrily, to the goat. ‘Move aside if you will.’

  ‘I will most certainly not do any such thing,’ replied the goat, gruffly.

  ‘But you’ll not get a lottery ticket,’ said Bb.

  ‘Who wants a lottery ticket?’ grunted the goat.

  ‘You don’t want a lottery ticket!’ said Bb, aghast. ‘Everybody wants lottery tickets.’

  ‘Not everybody,’ replied the goat. ‘Can’t stand the flavour, you see.’

  ‘The flavour?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Lemon. Much too bitter for me,’ replied the goat.

  ‘You eat them?’ asked Permission.

  ‘Of course I eat them. What do you think I’d do with them? You don’t see any trouser pockets to keep them in, do you?’ rebuked the goat, haughtily.

  ‘Bbb..uuut’ stuttered Bb, truly horrified.

  ‘And that’s exactly what I’ll do, if you don’t get back in line and leave me alone,’ the goat said, threatening them with his long curly horns.

  ‘Perhaps there’s something else we can offer you?’ suggested Shylock.

  ‘I doubt it,’ replied the goat.

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to foresee any Troll-related difficulties in the future by any chance, would you?’ asked Shylock.

  ‘Troll difficulties?’ asked the goat, puzzled. ‘Now why would you think that?’

  ‘Just a hunch,’ replied Shylock. ‘Do I take it the answer is no?’

  ‘Au contraire, my friend,’ said the goat. ‘It is for that very reason that I have been butt-practicing on the people in front of me in this line. How do you think I got so far up? Anyway, yes, I have been forewarned of just such an eventuality. Crossing a rickety old bridge I believe.’

  ‘Well,’ said Shylock, nodding towards Permission. ‘What if we gave you permission to pass without interruption? A rickety-bridge permit, so to speak.’

  ‘You can do that?’ asked the goat.

  ‘I can,’ replied Permission, picking up on Shylock’s lead. ‘And would be most happy to do so.’

  ‘Certainly would be a useful thing to have,’ muttered the goat, to himself as much as anyone else. ‘Kind of like a get-out-of-jail-free card. Okay! I’ll do it.’

  Permission quickly wrote out a permit-to-cross-a-rickety-bridge and stuffed it into the collar round the goat’s neck. The goat moved aside, Bb handed his note offering a free lottery ticket to the person immediately in front of them, and their rapid movement through the line started once again. They quickly lost count of how many people, animals and goodness-knows-whats they passed, the goat having long since disappeared into the distant past, when again they bumped into a non-conformist in the line.

  ‘And who do you think you might be, barging around in the line like that. You ought to be shown some manners!’ yelped the rather surly character in front of them. Shylock reckoned him at just over seven feet tall, with a disproportionately large head and no neck to notice such that his head appeared to sit directly on top of his broad shoulders. A jagged mop of fire-red hair and matching beard gave him a wild and fearsome appearance.

  ‘Now just hold on,’ said Shylock, bravely stepping in between the stranger and Permission. ‘We didn’t mean you to take offence.’

  ‘I never touched the fence! Don’t know what your talking about,’ replied the angry mop-head.

  ‘No, no! Not a fence,’ explained Shylock. ‘Offence, you know…don’t be annoyed, upset, insulted or take umbrage. Don’t take resentment, be miffed or go in a huff.’

  'Very good' muttered Bb.

  ‘Hmmm, I see. Well, too late for all that. I’ve already taken some,’ the strange curly-top replied after thinking about it. Then, pulling a large gnarled wooden club from his belt and swinging it over his head he squeaked in a high pitched voice. ‘So what are you going to do about it? Come on, defend yourself!’

  ‘Wait!’ shouted Shylock, ducking to avoid the first deadly swipe of the club. ‘You’ll never scare anyone properly with a voice like that!’

  ‘Who says?’ squealed the angry obstructor.

  ‘Me, for one,’ answered Shylock ducking for a second time and nodding to the others.

  ‘And me,’ said Permission.

  ‘And me,’ added Bb.

  Their protagonist let his club fall by his side as he considered their words. ‘You really mean that, don’t you?’

  They all nodded.

  ‘No-one’s ever gotten past my club, so I’ve never needed a loud voice before,’ he replied, tears welling in his eyes.

  ‘Well, perhaps we can help?’ offered Bb.

  ‘How?’ asked the blockage-in-their-path.

  ‘Aren’t you a Troll?’ asked Bb.

  ‘Yes,’ answered the stumbling-block in their way, confused. ‘So?’

  ‘It just so happens, that I’ve a Troll potion I can send you which will take care of your little….predicament. Your plight, source of difficulty or little situation,’ offered Bb.

  ‘You mean give me a loud gruff voice?’ asked the Troll.

  ‘Precisely,’ agreed Bb.

  ‘Where is it?’ asked the Troll, holding out his hand.

  ‘Ah, well. I’m afraid I don’t happen to be carrying it with me at the moment. But I’d be glad to send it to you, if you give me your address,’ Bb finished.

  ‘How do I know you would really send it?’ asked the Troll.

  ‘Oh, that’s easy. I’ll give you this bit of paper in it’s place,’ said Bb, removing a somewhat familiar scrap of paper from the purse attached to a belt around his waist, and handing it to the Troll. ‘It’s called an I.O.U.’

  ‘Hurrmmphh,’ muttered the Troll, trying to make sense of the scribbled writing on the scrap of paper. ‘I.O.U….whatever you want? Is that it?’

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Shylock. ‘You can’t give him that!’

  ‘Ssshhhh!’ Permission whispered, pulling Shylock to one side. ‘We can get on with our journey this way.’

  ‘But….but…’ stammered Shylock, unable to explain his concern quickly enough to Permission, and only able to watch as the Troll carefully folded up the promissory note and placed it in his pocket.

  ‘I guess that’ll do,’ agreed the Troll. You can pass now,’ he said, stepping aside as all the others had already done.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Bb, moving on.

  ‘Yes, thank you indeed,’ said Permission. ‘It was a pleasure meeting you.’

  ‘Same for me,’ murmured Shylock, passing by. ‘By the way,’ he added, realising he’d probably have to recover his IOU sometime and looking back over his shoulder. ‘You couldn't let me have your address, could you?’

  ‘Easy to remember,’ said the Troll. ‘Basement apartment, Under-the-Rickety-Bridge, Goat-fell!’

  Choices

  Together they made their way without further incident, other than buying ice-cream cones from an enterprising Mr. Whippy red spoon – from which Shylock hid - to what appeared to be a simple small thatched cottage. They paused outside, Shylock at last having stopped sniping at Bb for having given away his IOU, and together they considered the instructions printed in black on a yellow poster at the side of the entrance......

  Firstly, and most importantly, the owners of this Transportstation accept no responsibility for anyone travelling in any form of tr
ansport what-so-ever from this location to anywhere, or any-when. From the instant you arrive on our property, you are on your own – we have no liability for anything at all, none, nil, nada!

  You may choose whatever form of transport you wish, as we are not liable for the correct functioning of any of them, we don’t actually care, but perhaps you do.

  The availability of transport type may not match your arrival at the front of what to us has represented a wonderfully long and secure future-profit backlog, or the line, to you. In fact, given the enormous number of passengers and the limited transport available, due to the deliberate short-term under-investment mentality of the owner, you will basically have to take whatever comes along.

  Please treat the transport with great care, and DO NOT PUT YOUR FEET, if you have any, ON THE SEATS, if there are any.

  Have a nice trip.

  Management

  Shylock finished reading the notice first and turned towards Bb, noticing, as he had suspected, that Bb was not reading it at all. ‘One of yours?’ he asked.

  ‘Well….’said Bb.

  ‘I thought so,’ interrupted Shylock. ‘Only you could describe short-term under-investment in such glowing terms.’

  ‘But if it’s your transportation,’ said Permission. ‘Why did we have to wait in the line at all?’

  ‘What!’ squealed Bb, waving his hand towards the near-infinite soul-line behind him. ‘But these are all paying customers!’

  As Permission, torn with indecision, turned towards Shylock for guidance he merely shrugged, ducked and entered the low open doorway ahead of him. So, swallowing her frustrations, she did likewise and together with Bb bringing up the rear they followed Shylock into the brightly lit interior.

  ‘Oh, my,’ said Bb. ‘This is