A night out
Once in a while I go down to the little village at the edge of the swamp. They have an ale-house—the Throat and Razor—that serves particularly good beers. It's a funny place though. Nobody speaks, even though I'm certain I hear the sounds of revelry from inside before I open the door. Also, I always seem to arrive just as most people have to be somewhere else. Well, I do get there rather late, I suppose.
I visited last night, and was just about to taste my third pint of Jock McSquirty’s Bowel Purger when I was approached by a young lady. Well, I assumed she was a lady, because she didn’t have much of a moustache. I was right, as it turned out, but that came later.
Her eyes moved independently, a feature I found fascinating, as was her ability to belch the sentence “Do I know you?”
Her question, however, confused me. How did she expect me to know whether she knew me or not? I was sure I didn’t know her, but did that necessarily preclude the possibility that she knew me? I decided to play safe.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Good ‘nuff,” she said. “Whass yer name?”
Now, I have a lot of names. My father, when naming me, couldn’t make up his mind so he gave me a whole raft of names and let me choose which to use. This woman didn’t seem to be in a suitable condition to hear them all, so I just picked one.
“Phineas,” I said.
"Finearse?” She roared with laughter, which I suppose is what made her sway so much.
“Phin-e-as” I said it slowly because she clearly wasn’t listening at normal speed. At this point I began to wonder what she wanted. Usually my trips to this bar are uneventful, and the people leave me alone.
“Buy a girl a drink, Finearse?”
Aha, she wanted drink, and had no money. My red velvet drinking-jacket stood out among the brown sackcloth of the villagers, so she had gravitated towards the one who looked most likely to have spare cash. At last, a logical explanation. I glanced at her waist, which could not have been much more than twenty inches around, and wondered how she managed to fit thirty feet of intestine in there. My curiosity was aroused.
She was drinking Broken Glass, a spirit I had tried once but had been disappointed to find was purely liquid. I admit it felt like broken glass on the way out though, which is presumably where the name came from. I bought her a bottle and invited her home.
As we left, I noticed the eyes of the locals were narrower than usual, but paid them no heed. They must have very light-sensitive eyes, these villagers. Perhaps I should wear a less bright jacket on my next visit.
Back at the castle, her behaviour became somewhat bizarre. She leaned on me as though she had no legs, and kept trying to touch my mouth with hers. Most unhygienic. Still, she did remove most of her clothing herself before she passed out, which made it easier to prepare her for the laboratory. I just wished I hadn’t had to carry her up all the stairs. I should get a winch installed.
So it was a late night in the laboratory last night, but a highly informative one. Apparently it’s all in the way the small intestine is folded.
