Well, I was enjoying the whole thing, I love to watch masters of a trade at their work, but Greyboar was in one of his impatient moods so he cut it short. He could always cut through long-winded argumentation, Greyboar. Three quick squeezes and the Trio fell as silent as the tomb.
“I don’t care about you claiming to be my cousin,” he grumbled, after he resumed his seat. “I would have let it go, anyway.” He chuckled. “Kind of amused me, actually, cozzening the porkers like that.”
Then he gave them a sour look, and said: “I hate to admit it, but you three worthless hounds happen to be in my good graces at the moment. On account of how I heard you fought to the last gasp when the Guard came to arrest the Cat.”
“Ye wunnerful Cat!” hacked Erlic.
“Natural we did’r best to defen’ th’Lady o’ the Flankn,” choked McDoul.
“Th’Light o’ Sfinctria,” gasped Geronimo Jerry.
“Speakin’ o’ last gasps an’ all,” said Erlic, massaging his throat, “ye wouldna ‘appen t’ave th’odd pot o’ ale lyin’ about now, would ye? Thirsty work, bein’ throttled an’ all.”
Jenny went to get some ale, and soon enough the Trio were sitting about on the floor drinking their pots and cheerful as could be. Not surprising, this was one of the few times they’d ever enjoyed Greyboar’s good graces.
“How did you get out of the Pile, anyway?” I asked. “For that matter, how’d you get out the time before that?”
The Trio grinned in unison.
“We informers,” Erlic announced proudly.
“On th’highest levels, no less,” added McDoul.
“Report direct to th’Queen’s Inspector General, we do,” said G.J.
“An’ to the Cruds!” cried Erlic. He was positively beaming.
“Been interviewed by th’Angel Jimmy Jesus hisself,” boasted McDoul.
“Come all th’way from the occupation in Prygg, ‘e did,” bragged G.J., “just t’question us personal.”
Well, I believe I’ll just summarize the story. Always enjoyed the Trio’s dialogue myself, but I admit it gets a tad difficult for the uninitiated to follow. And I’ll say it now, before I even begin, that you have to hand it to the Trio—nobody else could have pulled this one off.
They’d been in the Pile for some crime or other. I don’t remember the details, but it must have been a doozy because Jeffreys had sentenced them to the lowest dungeons. Then, as it turned out, the artist Benvenuti wound up in the very same cell, after he got convicted of defrauding the Church.
Greyboar interrupted them at that point, wanting to make sure they were talking about the same Benvenuti. But it only took the Trio a minute to satisfy him. It was Benny all right. The description was perfect.
(Weird coincidence, I thought at the time. Later, in light of ensuing events, I realized that it was the inexorable workings of fate. Shit happening, like it always does.)
Getting back to the Trio’s tale, what did you know but what the great lawyer Jauncey Utterwert Muroidea IV was the next one pitched into the cell with them. He’d somehow fallen out of momentary favor with the Queen, which is not hard to do. Greyboar and I recognized the name, of course, since Muroidea was one of the scummiest lawyers of Sfinctria (i.e., the Scum of Scum). Known as “the bonestripper” in the slums of the city, Muroidea. You could satisfy your regular lawyer with a pound of flesh nearest the heart, but not Muroidea—he always got the full measure.
Muroidea didn’t survive but a few minutes in the cell. The Trio would have slit his throat on general principles anyway, but beyond that—well, no need to go into the grisly details. Let’s just say that they saw to it that there were no remains of Muroidea and leave it at that.
Then, no sooner had they disposed of Muroidea when who should pop up into their cell, out of a tunnel he’d dug from below, but the famous Underground Artist of New Sfinctr, Vincent van Goph? The great painter sketched a triptych on the walls of their cell. Then, just as he’d finished, the porkers came into the cell looking for Muroidea, who had just been pardoned by the Queen and named her new Royal Adjudicator. (The Queen’s favor is fickle—you can fall into it as fast as you can out.)
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