"Do you have an idea?"
"No," Miss Featherpenny lied. "But you'd let him drink himself to death, if he didn't think of anything."
"You want a lift in the car?" Blahrog asked, uninsulted.
"I'd be pleased, if you don't mind. I just walked in from the port."
Andy was not, as Blahrog had suggested, very drunk. He was only hung over. "Get your tooth fixed?" he asked cheerlessly.
"Yes."
"Good dentist?"
Miss Featherpenny nodded. "He had some entirely new equipment. Extremely powerful, and quite precise."
"Oh?" Andy straightened in the old arm chair. "I've been trying to think. And drinking. Throatduster isn't working this time." He paused to reconsider. "Except that it makes me drunk. Everything keeps getting fuzzy, and my head is wider than my shoulders."