The quiet pub's conversation was suddenly disrupted by a loud off-key basso-profundo voice:
"O Saaaill, bonnie booooat.. like a biirrrd on the wiiing..."
The bartender rushed over. "Sir! Please!"
"O'er the seeeea to Skye! Another shandy if ya will Guvnor!
Caaarry the lad, who was booorn t' be King..."
"I must insist, sir!" The 'keep looked around nervously, and leaned closer to the loud customer. He caught a whiff, and thought better of it. "That ballad will still get ye killed in certain parts o' Bret..."
"Bahh!! Has all of Sirius become milquetoast cabbages, then? Afraid of their own shadows? A shandy, I said!"
The barkeep suddenly noticed the faded sigil emblazoned on the left breast of the man's dirty robe. "Hold now! You're one o' them wot stole our Kentigearna away! Why, I should.."
"Hush! Or I'll summon Fair Brigid to put a pox on ya!"
The barkeep glowered, and motioned to two burly kilted figures in the corner. Mal saw the gesture, and staggered to his feet.
"Fine then! You can.. how do ye poofy laddies say it.. "Pog me Thon!"