“Those was just Stullens,” whined Fergus.
“And what about the Big Banjo?” demanded Greyboar. “When they came after him, we held ’em off for a whole day! They quit trying!”
“Them was just porkers and such,” whimpered Angus.
“An’ besides,” sniveled Danny Boy, “the Big Banjo’s hero of the people, the whole Flankn turned out that time.”
“Was just us this time,” blubbered Scotty, “and you wasn’t here, nor The Roach neither.”
But, like I said, Greyboar was in one of his rare unreasonable moods. He glared around the room. Everybody hung their heads. Then he cracked his knuckles, like the doom.
“I am not pleased,” he announced.
Now and then, you’ll sometimes hear it called The Running of the Bellies Through The Streets of New Sfinctr. Other times, The Great Flankn Stampede. But mostly, people call it The One Day The Trough Emptied Out.
Casualties were minimal, however, thanks to O’Neal. Don’t think it wasn’t appreciated, either. Never been a day since somebody doesn’t buy the poor fellow an ale pot and politely listen to him croak a word or two.
Naturally—I believe I’ve mentioned before that O’Neal was not quite bright?—this was the time O’Neal chose to stand his ground.
“And besides,” he’d grumbled, just as the stampede got started, “she’s only a woman. Shouldn’t even be hanging around in here at all, she shouldn’t, ’tisn’t ladylike. So why should—” His last words spoken in a normal tone of voice, here faithfully recorded for posterity.
I tried to tell Zulkeh the story, years later, but the wizard cut me off before I hardly even got started.
“Bah!” he oathed. “Am I an ignoramus, to be told of The One Day The Trough Emptied Out? ‘Tis the classic illustration in the literature of the theory of natural selection! Darwin Laebmauntsforscynneweëld himself devoted an entire chapter to the episode in his Evolution of Common Sense in Man.”
So it was O’Neal who saved the day. Kept Greyboar preoccupied while everybody else made their escape. The strangler even lingered over the job, not at all like his usual “give-’em-one-quick-crunch-and-move-on-to-the-next.” He was bound and determined, it seemed, to prove that the euphemism “wring his neck” was not a euphemism. O’Neal even survived the experience, unlike his vocal cords. By the time Greyboar went after the rest, they had a good head start. And as quick as he is with his hands, Greyboar’s not really built for a long stern chase, don’t you know. Like I said, light casualties.
Eventually, Greyboar came back to The Trough. I was there, perched on a barstool, chatting with Leuwen. Only customer in the place. (Not counting O’Neal, who didn’t regain consciousness for hours.) Leuwen paled when Greyboar came in, but he stayed put. Couldn’t have outrun the big guy anyway, as fat as he was.
“I can’t take sides in a brawl, Greyboar,” squeaked Leuwen. “I’m a barkeep. Professional ethics, you know?”
Greyboar glowered at him, but he let it go. Had a great respect for professional ethics, the strangler did.
Quick as a snake, Leuwen put a pot of ale in front of Greyboar. “On the house,” he squeaked.
Greyboar took a drink.
“And where was the Trio in B-Flat?” he demanded. “I was looking for those boys especial, looking to wring their mangy necks. I’ve been hearing Geronimo Jerry claimed to be my cousin last time he was in the Pile, so’s the guards would treat him good. Was going to let it pass, but—!” He glowered. “Mangiest dogs in the Flankn, the Trio.”
“Actually,” I responded, “if you hadn’t been so all-fired eager to throttle the collective throat of the alehouse world, you’d have done the intelligent thing like I did and stuck around and let Leuwen finish the story.”
“Trio’s in the Pile,” said Leuwen, his voice sounding more like its usual self. “They was the last row, you know, between the Cat and the Guard. Fought on, the boys did, longer than anyone. Kept the Guard at bay all by themselves, the last minute or so. Pissed off the Guard so much they was the only ones besides the Cat herself what got arrested as well as beat up.”
Greyboar frowned, took another pull of ale. Then—I loved it!—said: “Good lads, the Trio. Always said so.”