Leaving the distracted and recently deafened Rifkin to tend to the, still weirdly wounded Doberman, Barbella walks over to Henshaw, who remains staring over the toothy ledge.
Casting a slightly too casual look over his shoulder, the swarthy stabber-for-hire, loudly asks.
“Any sight of them?”
Before sneakily whispering into Henshaw’s oversized, pink and sticky-out ear.
“I was finking about what that Wizard Moody said before Fortu slit his throat. He told us that the adventurers didn’t really care about me, you and Doberman and that they’d sacrifice us as soon as it was advantageous to them.”
Henshaw furtively glances at the apparently deaf Rifkin before whispering back.
“I can’t say I appreciated the way Arowe shouted at me when I questioned why he was sending Doberman out first…”
Barbella interrupts his lanky friend.
“As Canon fodder!”
Henshaw sighs.
“The Elf was frustrated and under pressure though… And he did offer us a larger share of the loot from now on.”
Barbella sneers.
“Look around you; this tower was a prison, not a treasury. A half share of nothin’ ain’t no more than a third share of nothin’. It was just a costless bribe, just in case we was thinking of betraying them and they was definitely willing to ‘sacrifice’ Doberman to gain that ‘advantage' Moody was talking about.”
The blond-haired Henshaw sneaks another crafty peek over his shoulder.
“In fairness though, I’m surprised Doberman’s still alive anyway. He stupidly barrels into every skirmish with no concern for his own safety. He just chops away with whatever weapon he happens to have to hand. He's got no finesse whatsoever!”
Barbella smiles.
“That’s true. In Doberman’s stubby fingers, everythink’s an axe. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s not been killed just by all the foul crap he mindlessly stuffs down his cake-hole!”
Henshaw laughs out-loud but Rifkin still doesn't seem to notice their conversation.
“Doberman’s so fat, he can surround a group of enemies all by himself!”
It’s Barbella’s turn to choke with laughter.
“Doberman’s so stupid, he could pick a fight wiv himself in an empty room!”
After a while their shared mirth subsides and they gaze back at Rifkin and Doberman, who are both sitting upright now. Then, Henshaw, with a serious expression falling again across his face, finishes their conversation.
“Doberman may be a fat idiot but he’s our fat idiot. It ain’t right that they treated him like he was just expendable.”
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