“Perhaps we should think about ending the night before someone winds up sleeping in the gutter?” Demeroven suggests.
“Nonsense,” Cunningham says, straightening up and wiping his mouth. “We’ve three more pubs to hit before dawn.”
Prince sags against Bobby’s shoulder, and Bobby and Demeroven exchange a look. “Cunningham, if we take this man to another pub, he won’t make it to his wedding tomorrow. Look at the poor sod.”
Cunningham gives Prince a once-over and sighs dramatically. “Fine, fine. Put him in a coach and we’ll drink to his honor.”
Prince hiccoughs and wraps his other arm around Bobby’s stomach. “Nighty-night.”
“I think I’ll see him home,” Bobby says, glancing from Cunningham to Demeroven.
Demeroven jumps in. “And if the groom is leaving, I think I should—”
“Nonsense, Demeroven, we’ve hours left!” Cunningham insists, reaching out to take Demeroven’s arm.
“I see only the strongest have survived,” a voice calls out.
Bobby looks over as Thomas Parker strolls across the street with Jeremy the bartender in tow. They’re a pair of grins with matching mustaches and overeager eyes. Cunningham whoops in excitement.
“The club’s gone quiet without you lot, so we thought we’d come and join the party,” Parker continues, glancing among them. “Cunningham show you the spots I recommended?”
“And then some,” Cunningham says brightly. “Just about to take Demeroven on to Sloughthams. Mason’s making Prince pack it in.”
Demeroven meets Bobby’s eyes, terror on his face. Cunningham, Parker, and Jeremy would eat him alive, and possibly get him tossed in jail. Bobby can’t leave the man alone with them.
“Demeroven, help me get Prince home? Cunningham, gentlemen, we’ll see you in the morning. Early, remember?”
“Of course, milords,” Cunningham says.
He sweeps into a deep bow, belches, and then turns to Parker and Jeremy. He merrily wraps his arms about their shoulders. Parker and Jeremy salute Prince, Demeroven, and Bobby, and the three of them saunter off, exchanging shouts of delight.
“If he makes it to the wedding in proper attire, I’ll be shocked,” Bobby mutters.
Demeroven hums exhaustedly. He steps up on Prince’s other side and gently tugs Prince’s arm from Bobby’s stomach. Bobby tries not to watch the way Demeroven maneuvers Prince’s arm over his shoulder. Tries to ignore the little smile he gives Prince as Prince blathers something about Demeroven being the best. Bobby’s focus needs to be on getting everyone home safely; that’s it.
“Think they’ll all even be alive by daybreak?” Demeroven mutters, shuffling under Prince’s weight as they head for the next coach stand. Their height difference definitely isn’t helping.
“Alive, yes. Functional, debatable,” Bobby says. “Cunningham’s beyond drunk.”
“What can you do with a drunken sailor?” Prince sings hoarsely.
Bobby and Demeroven both laugh. Bobby looks across and catches Demeroven’s eye, smiling.
“C’mon, Demeroven. We sang this every practice,” Prince whines.
“For what?” Bobby wonders. It’s hardly a good pace-keeper.
“When we brought the boats down to the river in winter. Kept up morale,” Demeroven says. “But, Prince, I really don’t—”
“Sing, or I’m lying down,” Prince threatens, digging in his heels.
Bobby lurches forward, as does Demeroven, the three of them nearly toppling headlong into the stone wall along the sidewalk.
“Weigh hey and up she rises,” Demeroven sings gruffly, blushing as Bobby tries not to laugh.
“Weigh hey and up she rises,” Prince repeats happily.
“Weigh hey and up she rises, early in the morning,” Demeroven continues.
