Dorothy's pulse quickened as Geoffrey entered the bar. He showed no sign of recognition. "I pray thee, barmaid, bring me of mighty golden ale a pint."
"Make it two, my pretty," called the witch. "Chaucer, darling. You came."
Geoffrey kissed her gnarled hand. "I did, my sweete leef. For nevere was there a sorceresse with skin so greene and nose so longe."
The witch giggled, and Dorothy's heart fell. She scribbled three words onto a scrap of paper, her blue gingham dress swishing alluringly against her thighs. She slipped the paper into Geoffrey's hand. Stroking his distinguished beard, he glanced at it and smiled.
His steely gaze penetrated Dorothy's very soul. Yes, he did know her. How could she have doubted him? "Nowher so wise a womman as thee ther n'as," he murmured.
"Why, thank you," said the witch.
Dorothy filled two mugs. She set them on the bar, her hand brushing Geoffrey's taut arm. A wave of longing sent her over the rainbow as he rose to his full five feet six inches, both ales in his hands.
"Going so soon?" the witch said. "Why our little party's just beginning. Hand me my golden ale."
"Ful wel I give thee golden ale!" Geoffrey shouted, tossing the liquid into her face.
"Noooo! Not again!" the witch screamed as she dissolved onto the floor. "How could you, you wretched man!"
Geoffrey smiled as Dorothy rushed into his arms. "Have ye forgoth, o wicked one? All thing which that shineth as the gold, Ne is no gold, as I have herd it told."