It's not that Flarb was cognizant of overmuch, but he knew a ratchethead when he saw one, and Kwips was a Royal Ratchethead. Bounding all about the quay, Kwips lifted barrel lids and sniffed under canvas, disturbingly perplexed. Flarb tailed him from a distance until his curiosity got the better of him, and so approached.
"Whatever has engaged you thus? quoth Flarb.
"Never you mind. I'll find it."
"Find what, pray tell?"
"It's here someplace." And off he kwipped in the direction of all ratchetheads, downwharf.
It was time for Flarb to draw the line. Give a wharf rat an inch, he'll get you re-assigned to alley patrol.
"Here now, I say..." Flarb cornered Kwips, grabbed him by the scruffneck and hoisted the little petard. Kwips wailed, or rather rattled and spewed, then, suspended, went silently eye to eye with Flarb. When off to the left, in no one's line of vision, Kwip's quarry, the plot kernel, skulked away on tippy toes.
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