43) The Death of the Party

A glass was chinked. Vincent stood at the head of the table, his many violet rings clattering against the glass of red wind in his hand. He swept his long black hair away from his eyes and bowed ever so slightly.

‘Thank you all for coming, I hope you enjoyed your meals.’

Sniggers made the rounds from the shadowy figures sat at the table.

‘Tell me Garesh, what did you say the dish was?’

A hairy man wearing chain mail slammed his fist on the table.

‘It were Simon, the baker’s son,’

He threw the head of the baker’s son into the punch bowl, much to the amusement of the other guests.

‘Very good, very good,’ Vincent said, ‘Which brings me onto the last formality of the evening. It’s time to announce the Death of the Party.’

The dinner guests tapped their flagons against the table three times.

‘The votes are in. Garesh, your dinner was quite delicious but you’ve just fallen short. Tonight you are third.’

He cursed his luck under his breath and a long fingered female stroked his arm as a gesture of commiseration. Garesh perked up at this touch.

‘In second place is the darling Lara for her drowning of Farmer Pitchfork by making him chase an illusion of his dead daughter into the river.’

Lara was the long fingered female. She lapped up the applause by waving to the table and leaning forward to reveal her cleavage. Vincent lost himself for a moment. He was brought back by Garesh’s grumbling.

‘And yes, so that makes the ultimate winner me,’ he said, ‘For my castrating, skinning and crucifixion of the priest.’

Garesh made the loudest clap with his gigantic hands. He had wanted to win, but kudos had to go to Vincent this evening who drank up his wine. There was no way anyone could top that.

‘Actually Vinnie, I think you’re forgetting one death,’ Lara said, stroking her fingers on her chin.

‘And who would that be my dear,’ he said.

Lara tapped the glass. Vincent glanced around the room. He was the only one drinking red wine. He clutched his chest as the venom blocked his arteries. The glass shattered in his hand. His eyes flared red and bloodshot. A croak escaped his throat before he fell forward onto the table.

Lara looked around at everyone else. A golf clap was the appropriate reaction. They would miss Vincent, but a good deceitful death was always fun.