A young servitor came to the table and Cartheron asked, ‘What would you like to celebrate, Jack?’ ‘Whisky.’ Cartheron raised a brow. ‘Well, well. Whisky, Jack?’ Then he slapped a hand to the table. ‘That’s it. Whiskyjack – the cunning bird. There you go.’ Urko’s forehead furrowed. ‘What?’ Cartheron pointed to the thin ropy fellow. ‘His name. Whiskyjack.’
