"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?"
From behind the noisy one, the quiet one said, "Who says-ik?"
Inigo took a step from his stoop, trying desperately to make his eyes focus through the brandy. "'Says-ik'? Is that a joke you made?"
The quiet one said, "Played."
Inigo gave a cry and started staggering forward: "Fezzik, it's you!"
"TRUE!" And he reached out, grabbed Inigo just before he stumbled, brought him back to an upright position.
"Hold him just like that," the noisy Brute said, and he moved in quickly, right arm raised, as he had done to Falkbridge.
S
P
L
A
T
!
Fezzik dumped the noisy Brute into the wagon beside Falkbridge, covered them both with a soiled blanket, then hurried back to Inigo, whom he had left leaning propped against a building.
"It's just so good to see you," Fezzik said then.
"Oh, it is ... it ... is, but..." Inigo's voice was winding steadily down now. "I'm too weak for surprises" were the last sounds he got out before he fainted from fatigue and brandy and no food and bad sleep and lots of other things, none of them nutritious.
Fezzik hoisted him up with one arm, took the wagon in the other, and hurried back to Falkbridge's house. He carried Inigo inside, placed him upstairs on Falkbridge's feather bed, then hurried away to the entrance of the Thieves Quarter, dragging the wagon behind him. He made very sure that the dirty blanket covered both the victims, and outside the entrance the Brute Squad held a boot count of those they had removed. The total came out right, and, by eleven in the morning, the great walled Thieves Quarter was officially empty and padlocked.
Released from active duty, Fezzik followed the wall around to a quiet place and waited. He was alone. Walls were never any problem for him, not so long as his arms worked, and he quickly scaled this one and hurried back through the quiet streets to Falkbridge's house. He made some tea, carried it upstairs, force-fed Inigo. Within a few moments, Inigo was blinking under his own power.
"It's just so good to see you," Fezzik said then.
"Oh, it is, it is," Inigo agreed, "and I'm sorry for fainting, but I have done nothing for ninety days but wait for Vizzini and drink brandy, and a surprise like seeing you, well, that was just too much for me on an empty stomach. But I'm fine now."
"Good," Fezzik said. "Vizzini is dead."
"He is, eh? Dead, you say ... Vizz..." and then he fainted again.
Fezzik began berating himself. "Oh, you stupid, if there's a right way and a wrong way, trust you to find the dumb way; fool, fool, back to the beginning was the rule." Fezzik really felt idiotic then because, after months of forgetting, now that he didn't need to remember anymore, he remembered. He hurried downstairs and made some tea and brought some crackers and honey and fed Inigo again.
When Inigo blinked, Fezzik said, "Rest."
"Thank you, my friend; no more fainting." And he closed his eyes and slept for an hour.
Fezzik busied himself in Falkbridge's kitchen. He really didn't know how to prepare a proper meal, but he could heat and he could cool and he could sniff the good meat from the rotted, so it wasn't too great a task to finally end up with something that once looked like roast beef and another thing that could have been a potato.
The unexpected smell of hot food brought Inigo around, and he lay in bed, eating every bite Fezzik fed him. "I never realized I was in such terrible condition," Inigo said, chewing away.
"Shhh, you'll be fine now," Fezzik said, cutting another piece of meat, putting it into Inigo's mouth.
Inigo chewed it carefully down. "First you appearing so suddenly and then, on top of that, the business of Vizzini. It was too much for me."
"It would have been too much for anybody; just rest." Fezzik began to cut another piece of meat.
"I feel such a baby, so helpless," Inigo said, taking the next bite, chewing away.
"You'll be as strong as ever by sundown," Fezzik promised, getting the next piece of meat ready. "The six-fingered man is named Count Rugen and he's here right now in Florin City."
"Interesting," Inigo managed this time before he fainted again.
Fezzik stood over the still figure. "Well it is so good to see you," he said, "and it's been such a long time and I've just got so much news."
Inigo only lay there.
Fezzik hurried to Falkbridge's tub and plugged it up and after a lot of work he got it filled with steaming water and then he dunked Inigo in, holding him down with one hand, holding Inigo's mouth shut with the other, and when the brandy began to sweat from the Spaniard's body, Fezzik emptied the tub and filled it again, with icy water this time, and back he plunged Inigo, and when that water began to warm a bit back he filled the tub with steaming stuff and back went Inigo and now the brandy was really oozing from his pores and that was how it went, hour after hour, hot to icy cold to steaming hot and then some tea and then some toast and then some steaming hot again and more icy cold and then a nap and then more toast and less tea but the longest steamer yet and this time there wasn't much brandy left inside and one final icy cold and then a two-hour sleep until by mid-afternoon, they sat downstairs in Falkbridge's kitchen, and now, at last, for the first time in ninety days, Inigo's eyes were almost bright. His hands did shake, but not all that noticeably, and perhaps the Inigo of before the brandy would have bested this fellow now in sixty minutes of solid fencing. But not too many other masters in the world would have survived for five.