Wednesday, January 12, 2011

I move over to the Riders' table, not sure I like this at all. From what I know of Herne and his people, they could be buddy-buddy with you today and set the hounds on you tomorrow, just depending on their master's whim. But the fact is that only Keon can supply what I need - if he will.

I sit down at the table and launch into my best Irish brogue - which is pretty damn awful. "Excuse me, Mr. Keon, sor - might I beg a wee dram of yer pottle there? - 'tis in a guid cause, I can assure ye, sor."

Keon loses it. Well, if I'm ever looking over my shoulder and the hounds are gaining, I'll be thankful we had this time to bond….

Without a word, he pours me a shot of poteen, which I down like cough medicine. Minutes later, when my face is no longer blue and I can breathe again, I stagger to my feet and head to Ms. High-And-Mighty's table.

Nick implied I might have to act drunk for this. Trust me, with that stuff in me, it's no act.

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