'It wears off,' said Hwel.
'You're a dwarf, aren't you?'
Hwel didn't feel he could deny this.
'I can tell you're a Fool,' he said.
'Yes. It's the bells, isn't it?' said the Fool wearily, rubbing his ribs.
'Yes, and the bells.' Tomjon grimaced and kicked Hwel under die table.
'Well, I'm very grateful,' said the Fool. He stood up, and winced. 'I'd really like to show my gratitude,' he added. 'Is there a tavern open around here?'
Tomjon joined him at the window, and pointed down the length of the street.
'See all those tavern signs?' he said.
'Yes. Gosh. There's hundreds.'
'Right. See the one at the end, with the blue and white sign?'
'Yes. I think so.'
'Well, as far as I know, that's the only one around here that's ever closed.'
'Then pray allow me to treat you to a drink. It's the least I can do,' said the Fool nervously. 'And I'm sure the little fellow would like something to quaff.'
Hwel gripped the edge of the table and opened his mouth to roar.
And stopped.
He stared at the two figures. His mouth stayed open.
It closed again with a snap.
'Something the matter?' said Tomjon.
Hwel looked away. It had been a long night. 'Trick of the light,' he muttered. 'And I could do with a drink,' he added. 'A bloody good quaff.'
In fact, he thought, why fight it? 'I'll even put up with the singing,' he said.
'Was' the nex' wor'?'
'S'gold. I think.'
'Ah.'
Hwel looked unsteadily into his mug. Drunkenness had this to be said for it, it stopped the flow of inspirations.
'And you left out the 'gold',' he said.
'Where?' said Tomjon. He was wearing the Fool's hat.
Hwel considered this. 'I reckon,' he said, concentrating, 'it was between the 'gold' and the 'gold'. An' I reckon,' he peered again into the mug. It was. empty, a horrifying sight. 'I reckon,' he tried again, and finally gave up, and substituted, 'I reckon I could do with another drink.'
'My shout this time,' said the Fool.
'Hahaha. My squeak. Hahaha.' He tried to stand up, and banged his head.
In the gloom of the bar a dozen axes were gripped more firmly. The part of Hwel that was sober, and was horrified to see the rest of him being drunk, urged him to wave his hand at the beetling brows glaring at them through the gloom.
'S'all right,' he said, to the bar at large. 'He don't mean it, he ver' funny wossname, idiot. Fool. Ver' funny Fool, all way from wassisplace.'
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