Back on the porch, Bern's most devoted clients were doing what what came natural. As little as possible. As Earl came out, a younger member of the order rushed out into the square ahead of him. He recognised the skinny kid as an out of town day-labourer named Zapoi. His manic, bloodshot eyes told Earl something was up.

Stopping in the entrance, with an arm resting on top of one of the swing doors, he realised he shouldn't have let the ancient off the hook. As Earl scowled at Seamus, he could see the kid shiftless stare in his periphery. Without warning, the kid put his hand down his pants and rubbed it around a bit.

Pulling it out, he smelled his own fingers and said, "mmm... smells like teen spirit!"

The boy's smirk was uncertain. But as he proceeded to wave the hand at a couple passing by, Earl's temper flashed hot. It must have showed, because Seamus and the other mouldy drunks turned on Zapoi. The big-headed kid, with even bigger ears, was chased away under a torrent of booing. Not even allowed to finish his drink, which to the order of drunk-fellows was close to sacrilege.

"Get aff withcya, an schtop actin the buck," Seamus yelled at Zapoi's back, as he ran along the bunkhouse.

"Schorry about that marschal, kidsch thesche daysch, theysch have no reschpect I tellsch ya!"

The old man shrugged in an apologetic manner, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. Likely, the drunken mob'd pressured Zapoi into this act of lewdness. It was no secret that they weren't too fond of the boy who looked like his shirts were wearing him. On a whim, Earl tossed Seamus his saddlebag.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Here, hold this," he said flatly.

A second later, Rascal came running out from underneath Bern's swing doors. Making a noise like growling, if growling sounded like a landslide going down a rocky hill. Seeing the dog coming at him, Seamus' pint slipped out of the old man's hand. Shards of pottery went everywhere, as the precious dark liquid seeped into the dusty wooden planks.

"Wha's goin' on," Fannie yelled.

"Nothing! Seamus just dropped his pint! But he'll pay for the stein!"

From inside, Fannie muttered something about how Seamus'd never dropped a pint in his life, but she wasn't about to get involved.

"That's right, isn't it? You'll pay for it," Earl asked, his cool anger focused on the gobshite.

"Rite ya're marshal!" Most of his slur had vanished. "I'll afsolutely pay for it!"

"Good! Now, you hold on to that bag for me until I get back!" He started down the stairs.

"Y-ya can't jus' leave us like this!"

The old-timer was trapped. Rascal was sitting right in front of him with its head on his knee sniffing the saddlebag. As dog'd come at him, Seamus stumbled backwards into his chair and it was leaning on the railing at a precarious angle.

"Stay still, maybe you'll get lucky and keep all your limbs."

Earl turned back and pointed with his whole hand at the nervous group of hooch-goblyns, "and that goes for the rest of you as well!"

He left them with mouths hanging open like they were catching flies. He almost felt sorry for them. Even so, he went back to the office to pick up some supplies. He'd have to get an early start and have supper on the way to Fenmark.

"Guess the mutt isn't completely useless after all," he said smiling. "Lets hope Seamus has enough sense to keep his hands out of the bag."