He sat up. The nurse held a goblet of the green liquid to his lips. The Bar in blue turned.
“Aye,” he said. “Give him some of the liquor; it will do him good. It will put the old energy back in his bones.”
The voice rang oddly familiar in Watson's ears. The words were Thomahlian; not until Chick had drained his glass did he comprehend their significance.
“Who are you?” he asked.
The Bar with the red hair grinned.
“Whist, me lad,” using Chick's own tongue. “Get rid of these Thomahlians. 'Tis a square game we're playin', but we're takin' no chances. Get 'em out of the way so we kin talk.”
Watson turned to the others. He made the request in his adopted tongue. They bowed, reverently, and withdrew.
“Who are you?” Chick asked again.
“Oi'm Pat MacPherson.”
“How did you get here?”