The way we do things around here

Fragments 2:2

“Shhh” he leans towards me, whispers.
“Talking work over dinner, will get you sconced.”
What?
“Sconced. You’re called to the top table. To pay the price.”
How much, I whisper back, co-conspirators in a sea of young men’s faces lit by table-lamps on the long rows of tables.
“A yard of ale.”
The penalty is beer?
“Two and a half pints, in a yard-long glass tube. You must drink it down in one breath. If not, you’re guilty. If you do, your accuser must drink a yard of ale himself. This goes on, until one of you coughs it up, or throws up.”

I imagine the Master’s beef wellington drowning in a bubbling brown torrent, dotted with lumps of carrot and stew.

Although we are whispering, a sharp-eared student leans across. “However, if your sconce is incorrect you get …” he looks around, no-one else seems interested, “the SHOE.” Leaning further forward. “Everyone chants SHOE, SHOE” until the false accuser removes one of his shoes, fills it with beer and drinks it down. Happens in Balliol a lot.” My toes curl up.
Any other things I shouldn’t talk about?

“Women, politics, religion, portraits. The usual stuff.”
”Didn’t they teach you anything at school.”
Not about Oxford. I come from a grammar school.
“Ah, that explains it.”
They smile.

frogs debate
the human experiment
anxious burps

Visual: Sconce via Bing Image Creator