The noisy one picked up Falkbridge, tried dusting his clothes.
“Is he alive?” Yellin asked.
“See, I didn’t know you wanted him breathing in the wagon; I thought you only wanted him in the wagon breathing or not, so—”
“Enough,” Yellin interrupted and, upset, he hurried out of the alehouse while the noisy one brought Falkbridge. “Is that everyone then?” Yellin asked as various Brutes were visible leaving the Thieves Quarter pulling various wagons.
“I think there’s still the fencer with the brandy,” the noisy one began. “See, they tried getting him out yesterday but—”
“I can’t be bothered with a drunk; I’m an important man, get him out of here and do it now, both of you; take the wagon with you, and be quick! This quarter must be locked and deserted by sundown or the Prince will be mad at me, and I don’t like it much when the Prince is mad at me.”
“We’re going, we’re going,” the noisy one replied, and he hurried off, letting the quiet one bring the wagon with Falkbridge inside. “They tried getting this fencer yesterday, some of the standard enforcers, but it seems he has certain sword skills that made them wary, but I think I have a trick that will work.” The quiet one hurried along behind, dragging the wagon. They rounded a corner, and from around another corner just up ahead, a kind of drunken mumbling was starting to get louder.
“I’m getting very bored, Vizzini” came from out of sight. “Three months is a long time to wait, especially for a passionate Spaniard.” Much louder now: “And I am very passionate, Vizzini, and you are nothing but a tardy Sicilian. So if you’re not here in ninety more days, I’m done with you. You hear? Done!” Much softer now: “I didn’t mean that, Vizzini, I just love my filthy stoop, take your time…”
The noisy Brute slowed. “That kind of talk goes on all day; ignore it, and keep the wagon out of sight.” The quiet one pushed the wagon almost to the corner and stopped it. “Stay with the wagon,” the noisy one added, and then whispered, “Here comes my trick.” With that he walked alone around the corner and stared ahead at the skinny fellow sitting clutching the brandy bottle on the stoop. “Ho there, friend,” the noisy one said.
“I’m not moving; keep your ‘ho there’” said the brandy drinker.
“Hear me through, please: I have been sent by Prince Humperdinck himself, who is in need of entertainment. Tomorrow is our country’s five hundredth anniversary and the dozen greatest tumblers and fencers and entertainers are at this very moment competing. The finest pair will compete personally tomorrow for the new bride and groom. Now, as to why I’m here: yesterday, some of my friends tried rousting you and they said, later, that you resisted with some splendid swordwork. So, if you would like, I, at great personal sacrifice, will rush you to the fencing contest, where, if you are as good as I am told, you might have yet the honor of entertaining the Royal Couple tomorrow. Do you think you could win such a competition?”
“Breezing.”
“Then hurry while there’s still time to enter.”
The Spaniard managed to stand. He unsheathed his sword and flashed it a few times across the morning.
The noisy one took a few quick steps backward and said, “No time to waste; come along now.”
Then the drunk started yelling: “I’m—waiting—for—Vizzini—”
“Meanie.”
“I’m—not—mean, I’m—just—following—the—rule—”
“Cruel.”
“Not—cruel, not—mean; can’t you understand I’m…” and here his voice trailed off for a moment as he squinted. Then, quietly, he said, “Fezzik?”
