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

  He stopped in the entrance, leaving an arm resting on top of one of the swing doors, realising he shouldn't have let Seamus off the hook. As Earl scowled at the gobshite , he could see the kid staring shiftlessly 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!"

  But the boy's smirk was uncertain, and as he proceeded to wave the hand at a couple passing by, Earl's temper flashed hot. It must've shown, because Seamus and the other mouldy old drunks turned on Zapoi. The chased the big-headed kid away under a torrent of booing, not even allowing him 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 the boy ran along the bunkhouse.

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

  The old man shrugged apologetically, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. Likely, the drunken mob'd pressured Zapoi into this act of lewdness. It was no secret they weren't too fond of the boy who looked like his shirts were wearing him.

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  On a whim, Earl tossed Seamus his saddlebag. "Here, hold this," he said flatly.

  A second later, Rascal came running out from underneath Bern's swing doors, making a noise like a growl, but more like a mudslide going down a rocky hill. Seamus' pint slipped out of the old man's hand as the dog came at him. Shards of pottery went everywhere as the precious dark liquid seeped into the dusty wooden planks.

  "Wha's goin' on out there?" 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 old fart.

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

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

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

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

  "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."