The Poetry Slam, Part 3


I took another full tray of Jägerbrews to the Theater door, and listened carefully to figure out if it was safe to enter.


I opened the door carefully, and quickly found out how good the soundproofing was. There was yelling, and the sounds of splintering wood and broken furniture, and howls of delight and pain. Overriding it all was a basso profundo voice belting out verse and other doggerel loudly.

I waited until the reader was done and a ragged chorus of applause broke out. I quickly dashed in, put down the full tray, grabbed as many empties as I could reach, and moved quickly back toward the exit. But not quickly enough it would seem. A chair leg flew right past my face and smacked the wall hard. I ducked and dove toward the door as the chair leg was followed by half a table and two Jägers who were locked in mortal combat.

As I closed the door, the chaos of noise decrescendoed sharply to a very quiet thump or two.

“What the hell is going on??” There was Ret, who had apparently been listening at the door. Her eyes were huge.

“Like I said. It’s a Poetry Slam.”

She blinked. “Emphasis on ‘slam’, it would seem.”

“Sure. These are Jägers — it’s a way they blow off steam.”

“There won’t be any dungeon equipment left by the time they finish in there.”

“Not at all. I moved all of that into the storage room this morning; the Jägers had a bunch of cheap furniture brought in this afternoon and thrown in there.”

Ret shook her head. “That’s quite a . . .”

Two Jägers suddently burst out of the Theatre. One of them had the other’s hat held out of reach.

“Ho! Hyu lost hyu het fair und sqvare!”

“Did not! Hyu cheated!”

“Ho, zo hyu zay. I von, and hyu is a sore looser!”

“No, hyu cheated! Meester Mikhel! Tell Vetch here vat hyu said about hanging vrom de zeiling!”

“Vetch, did you win a bet by hanging from the ceiling?”

“Hi did no such ting!”

The hatless Jäger jumped to retrieve his hat.

“Boys, boys! Remember that hyu . . . I mean, *you* have to keep all your fun in the Theater. Okay?”

“Sure ting, Meester Mikhel! C’mon, Andre. Lez zee if hyu can get hyu het beck!”

The two of them slammed back into the Theater, and it was quiet again.

There was a moment of blessed silence.

“Mikhel, how often do these folks come by?” Ret squeaked.

“Oh, this is the first time. I think they like the place, so I suspect they’ll be back regularly.”

” I might have to miss those.”

“I *knew* you were smart.”

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