You grab the sack from the tottering Clay Man and hurl the contents into the coal bunker as if it were a kitten. You may have strained something important, but the Clay Man Coalman and the regulars at the pub are all impressed.

The Coalman's voice is a megalithic rumble: 'THANKS. I COULD DO IT. BUT THANKS.' He furrows his brow, sending stress fractures up his forehead. 'NEED A HAND. STRONG ARM. TROUBLE.' Meanwhile, you notice that there's something tucked in the bottom of the empty coal sack.