1644
DAY FIFTEEN: SUNDAY
Oh praise the Lord - it’s a bright new day! Look at the sun shine! Look at the blue sky, with barely a cloud within it! Look at the small animal scurry up the tree with its nuts in hand! And that this wonderful day should have such things as birdsong, the beauty of nature, the - smell of the sewage, the sound of constant battle - oh bollocks. It was all going so well, until I realised where I was. Still, could be worse. And here’s how.
“Flit? Can I help you with something? And by help, I mean berate you until you feel tiny and inconsequential and scurry out of the room to never lend your visage around me again for the rest of the day?” Best to get the day started as you mean to go on, eh?
“Queue’s buildin’ fer the thing. Might wanna go and open up the Church, I’m thinkin’.”
“Well, stop thinking. I can smell the burning from here. What do we usually do when there’s a number of people in one place?”
“Bleed ‘em dry.”
“Exactly! Go out with refreshments, and make sure you water it down enough this time. Last month I almost tasted tea in that cup. If that happens again, I will drown you in the bloody tea and sell the outcome as an exotic blend. Now bugger off!” Ah, he does God’s work, does that man!
Okay, so here’s where it stands - there’s six days remaining, I have the spirit of an ancient Guardian inside me, protecting the bones of the Fairy King, because this other spirit or force wants to control the bones and by doing so somehow does something - look, whatever it is, there’s no sense in letting standards slip, is there? This whole strange affair has just entered its third week here in Upper Vaxham, and I’m no closer to knowing the truth of the matter now than understanding how that squirrel manages to find that many bloody nuts in this one garden?
Oh, shit, yes! I forgot! Today is the Church Fundraiser, my excuse to sell off as much as I can so as to hopefully pay off those bloody Roundabouts. Sod it. I’m depressed now. Oh well. Might as well go down there now? Try and rouse my mood by ripping off some locals. Yes, that usually makes me smile. Oh these stairs! I’m so fed up with these bloody stairs! What pillock decided everything was better built on the first floor? If I could find him and catch him, I’d kick him right up the -
“Rector! What was all that fuss with that fellow yesterday? Seemed quite a rude chap to me?” Ah, Gertie Soal. If I wasn't in such a bad mood I might - oh sod it! Why not!
“Yesterday? Sorry, I don't know to what you refer?”
“That tall chap, scar on his face, very insistent?”
“Are you sure? I don't remember anyone yesterday? Now, you know you’ve been rushed off your feet lately, don't you? Maybe a good lie down will help?”
“Perhaps - perhaps you’re right? I’m sure -“
“Oh, dear Mrs Soal! Don't you remember? I was in the Church all day yesterday?”
“Well -“
“That’s it! Go home and lie down a while!”
Oh, I feel so much better now! Tricking the elderly into thinking they made up some memory? Or that they thought they saw something they didn’t? I do love that sometimes! Renews the soul. Wherever that’s disappeared to.
Oh dear God! Just look at this bunch of no hopers?! No, I take that back. I think there might be a few serious buyers out there. More coin, you see? This stuff isn't cheap, you know! This is everything that isn't nailed down.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! So good of you all to turn up! Yes, this month’s Church Fundraiser is in aid of Hobsquzpetchu Sufferers in the Mundus Novus - what is commonly being called the New World? I am so glad to see how generous you have all been! And let me assure you, every last coin will go to Hobsquzpetchu Sufferers everywhere! But mainly in the New World, of course.“ Or in other words, my bloody pocket, “Please - enter! Ooh -“ Wow! Some people are bloody keen! Look at that lot! It’s as though they’ve never seen a wooden table full of bargains before! Hey! No biting! You know, I think they’ve been camping outside the Church nearly all night to get to be first in the queue?
Why? It’s all mostly pap. Expensive pap, however, but it is just tat, really. Think I better go inside.
“Excuse me?” Who said that? “Excuse me?”
“Ah, yes sir? How may I help -“
“How much is this?”
“Uh, it says there, on the bottom?”
“Yes, that’s what it says, but how much is it?”
“That’s the price?”
“You sure?”
“Fairly sure. I got my Curate to write it on there myself.”
“Is he sure?”
“Is he ever sure? But in answer to your question, that’s its price.”
“Look, are you totally -“
“Yes. Yes sir, I am positive. Absolutely, totally, unequivocally, honestly, stringently sure.”
“Nah. I’ll leave it.”
Annoying -
“Absolutely sure?” Is he trying to vex me?
“Alright. How much do you think it’s worth?”
“It’s not my place to say.”
“Well, in that case -“
“Fifty.”
“Sorry?”
“Alright. Forty five.”
“Fine. Forty five.”
“Hang on. Why so low? What’s wrong with it?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, sir.”
“I think you’re tricking me!” Look, in a minute, I’m going to get Flit to come over here and ensconce the bloody thing in your sodding skull!
“Then walk away.”
“Why? What are you hiding?” Right now? Murderous anger.
“Nothing sir. Now, if you’re finished, I have other -“
“Sixty! And not a coin less! Here!” Odd fellow. I mean, it was only marked down for twenty five. Look, if you don’t like these jokes now, your going to hate reading on!
Oh, look at her! Fingering everything, like she's about to fellate it or something! Hey! Those cakes were made by - okay, those cakes were stolen by Flit earlier, but finders-keepers! No one’s going to buy a cake with a sodding thumb-print dug into it! Unless - unless I sell it as a Saint’s Thumb Cake? Could work. Oh, as long as it brings the coin in, I’ll call it Jesus’s Last Supper’s Pudding. That reminds me. I need to move those bones from the philatory to - actually I’ve no idea where to? No! I got it! The standing st -
“Hello Rector! Nice stuff you got here!” Oh, here we go. Bloody Turney Groade. Harmless bloke, but a bugger to get rid of.
“Why thank you, Turney! Are you buying?”
“Well,” No, of course not. Pointless asking really, “I do like this here thing. How much?”
“All prices are on the bottom, Turney.”
“Ooh. Bit pricey. You couldn't -“
“No, sorry, Turney. Everything must go.”
“But -“
“Look. I know you think you want it, Turney, but, like always, you’ll walk away and wish you hadn’t bought it. I don’t want to be unkind,” actually right now, I bloody do, “But we both know you only think you like it. You don’t actually like it though, do you?”
“It is a nice shade of -“
“I’ll tell you what. If it’s unsold by the end of the day, I’ll give it to you. How’s that?”
“Yes! That sounds agreeable! Thank you Rector!” Wait for it. One more step, and, “Actually on second thoughts, I might forget it. I don’t really have the room, see?”
“No, quite, Turney.” Yes, it’s difficult to find shelf space in a tiny shed-like home, where there’s only enough room for a bed and a hook for your clothes. Poor man. Lost everything in the - you know what? That’s his business to tell, and I’ll leave it with him.
He’s not a bad sort, really. Should’ve really done everyone a favour and swung himself from a rope somewhere, however. What do you mean cruel? I say it’s crueller to keep people like that alive! What do you mean eugenics? What the Hell is that when it’s at home? Ah! Now this man looks like an opulent sort!
“Hello, sir! See anything you like?”
“Tell me - Rector?” Um, why is he looking down his nose at me? Oh, how I would like to smack that self-important, smug look off his - “Are these objects imported, by any chance?”
“Er, no? In fact, I don’t think there’s a single thing in here that hasn't come from Upper Vaxham at on time or another?” What kind of bloody question is that? Still, he seems - happy - with that answer? Well, he’s buggering off somewhere else, so that’s a bonus.
Oh, God help me, I need a break. I forgot how incredibly, indefinitely annoying these bloody things are! I need fresh air, and maybe a pint -
“Posster. Do you have time now to talk? After whatever that strangeness was yesterday? In fact, don’t explain it to me. I’ll just chalk it up to a further experience with the odd Rector of Upper Vaxham. Now - His Lordship?”
“Oh, Dash! How could I have got through another moment of the day without your hairy visage?”
“Hmm. I’ll ignore that. Well?”
“I woke up a little stuffed up -“
“I meant, expand on the explanation of the disappearance of Lord Anthony Cheetham-Hewe of the County of Moistershire, if you please? In fact, even if you don’t please.”
“I don’t know what it is you expect me to say about it, Dash? I mean, I was technically one of the last people to see him, but then so was Trish Treyne.”
“Oh, her? I’ve already tried with her.”
“Haven’t we all, Dash. Haven’t we all.”
“How vulgar! I didn’t mean -“
“No, you lot never do.”
“Just - tell me what you know. I have been told that around that time, a pugilist and cricketer also went missing - a William Street, I believe.”
“We all hear the rumours, Dash. Why would you think I have anything to do with it -“
“I never said you did? Why? Do you?”
“Don’t be absurd! Like I’d cover up a murder -“
“Who said anything about murder?!” Oh bollocks. I’m just digging a deeper hole here, aren't I? How do I get out of this? Wait, I got it.
“Well, there was a rumour I heard in Church, which I would ordinarily keep to myself - you know, to God’s ears, and so on?”
“Go on?” This could actually work!
“I heard this name - Walter Mudd?”
“Yes! I too heard that name only yesterday!”
“Really? How fascinating. There was a rumour, and I stress it is just a rumour, that this Walter Mudd kidnapped a so-called wealthy traveller, for ransom?”
“Really? Sounds a little far fetched?” Whoah! Reel him in slowly, my boy -
“What I hear is this William Street - was that his name? Well, this William Street was part of this conspiracy. You do know Lord Anthony Cheetham-Hewe is a second cousin twice removed from His Majesty?”
“Of course!”
“That’s why, you see? They were payed by that Parliamentary lot to do it, to hold it over the King? Now, I remind you, this is all subjective -“
“No. I understand. Yes, it could be -“ Oh, if there’s one thing I know about loyalist, ambitious and desperate people like you Dash, it’s that you’ll fall for a conspiracy.
“Now, I hope you can see why I kept quiet about it. Don’t want something like that getting out, do we?”
“No, of course, you’re right.”
“Well, I hope this helps. And if I hear any more, I’ll keep you informed. As long as the two of us know, there’s always something we can do, if it be only to pray for him.”
“Quite, well, thanks, Rector. You’ve been - most helpful.”
And there you go! Leave the pillock in the middle of the road! I’m starting to feel a little better.
You know what? I never thought I’d say this, but I’m beginning to get worried, and I don’t ever get worried about anything that isn't about me.
It’s this - where is Sticks lately? I mean, sure, he’s more annoying than salt and lemon on a paper cut, but - you know? He might be the product of my loins, as scary as that sounds. I mean, who do I ask? Where do I ask? Most of the time people ignore poor Sticks. Unless they want to make fun of him. That’s the modern, progressive 17th Century for you, I suppose. I just hope the poor kid hasn’t walked into the middle of the battleground or something equally as stupid. I mean, as far as I can tell, he isn't mad, just - touched. No! Not like that! Christ Almighty! I mean, he’s a little - different. He’s not dangerous, he’s not unkind. He’s just - confused. Listen to me? Like I’m his Dad or something! I mean, he’s harmless, isn't he? Oh, great. Now it’s raining. Looks like it isn't going to let up, either. That’s it. I’m going to the pub. I’ll ask around in there I suppose?
Oh Christ. Would you believe it? Because I know I would, as it’s right in front of my bloody eyes! It’s only Major General Francis Laud and Lieutenant James Bootridge? Or Frank and Jimmy Boots to their customers. I mean, Jimmy, sure. I kind of expect him to be everywhere I don't want him to be, but Frank? That’s unexpected. Maybe if I keep my head down, he might not notice -
“Rector Wilfred Posster. Come here. I understand you have a Fundraiser going on at the Church?”
“That’s the thing. See, I’m trying to make up the money I owe -“
“And as soon as you pay that, it will go up by another amount. Don’t you see, Posster? I own you. And as soon as you stop paying and run away, I’ll find you and cut your limbs off, starting first with the fingers, then the toes. Then move up to the knee, then the elbow -“ Ah. I think he’s come stuck on his biology demonstration somewhere.
“You have to -“
“I have to, do I? Posster! I don’t have to do anything! Certainly not anything you tell me. Maybe I should take a finger now, as down payment?”
“Please -“
“Guv. Maybe -“
“Are you questioning me Jimmy? Have we forgotten already how I made you? Tell me, Jimmy Boots, where would you like your next scar?” This is wrong. On so many levels.
“Please - uhm, what is it you want me to do? I mean, I can go back to the Church and give you what I’ve got already?”
“Oh Posster, Posster, Posster! Of course you’re going to do that! And so much more! Decide.”
“Decide?”
“Yes. Decide.”
“Decide what, though?”
“Which finger.”
Oh God! Is he serious? Uhm, I better answer, “The little one?”
“Jimmy. Take the little finger from his left hand.”
“Yes sir! Wrap it immediately, Posster. It’ll stop the bleeding.”
And, for the sake of delicate ears, the next bit has been censored -
Censored, censored censored! Censored censored censored, censored, censored! Censored! Censored, censored - censored, censored, censored - and the sodding horse you rode in on!
Thank God this is only a story, or that would've really hurt. What? This is for real you say? Then - oww! Oww! Oww - sodding, bloody - oww!
Anyway, now that’s over, onward and upward, and back to the story -
“I’d suggest you leave, Posster. Go.”
“Th - thanks Jimmy.”
“Remember, Posster. Frank is watching.” Yes Frank. And when I get the chance I’m going to take your bloody eyes and shove them up your arse, so you can keep an eye on - oh, I’m in too much pain to continue the insult! I need to dull it somehow.
I know! The Apothecary. That’s just round the corner here. I seem to remember he did this cure-all remedy? Professor Bornostmere’s Restorative Elixir. Tastes like rat piss, but it gets you blotto. And I need a little blotto right now.
Here it is. I think - yep, it’s right here. That’s the stuff. Up to the counter and - there’s your bloody money. Literally. Sorry about that. Can’t help it dripping, see? Anyway, here’s looking at you, and bottom’s up!
Ahh! That’s it! Right between the eyes! Now that bottle’s done, time for another. Oh. My head’s getting a little zwimmy. Zwimmimy? Yup it’s hitting the, erm, zit. Bottom’s up! Oo-er! Botties!
Out we goze. Ah. She looks a bit of alrighty. Wassername? Cor, look at ‘em bazoobies! Gis a feel! Wassatfor? Bloodily womenen. I’d get yer for that, ‘cept my tootsies’ve stopped working! Oh, izzat three Dash’s? What? The letter ‘O’? Warramisayin?
Right! I’m gonna go into the bloody Shurch - Churt - Shursh - oh sod it. In there. ‘Ello everyone! Wee! Aww, wassamatta? Loss yer wassisname? Sense of humour? Or summut? Hey! Wanna fight? ‘Cause I got - aww, I lost me finger! Who’s got me finger?! Thassit! I want every one of you sons of bitches to get out of my bedroom - “Whayawant?”
“Is this a genuine Milton?” Watcha wanna know fer? Oh, forgot. Out loud.
“Yep. Certainly is! Got it from the man himself! Saved his life, apparently!”
“Really?”
“You callin’ me a liar?”
“No, sorry! I said it in surprise rather than as an accusation. I am a collector, hence why I asked.”
“You want it?”
“Well, the price -“
“Tell you what.”
“What?”
“Eh?”
“You said, ‘tell you what’, then stopped.”
“Did I? Oh, well.”
“The Milton?”
“Where? Oh, that. What about it?”
“The price, I was saying -“
“Look, how many times do I have to tell you bloody people! It’s on the sodding bottom, you bottom!” Oops. Nearly slipped there. ‘Ang on. Why am I on my kneeses?
“I can see the price, it wasn't that - look, are you okay?”
“Yeah? Why?”
“You seem - drunk? And your hand is bleeding.”
“So is yours.”
“Uhm, no it’s not.”
“Look, you want the thing, or not? I got, erm, people to do, places to see - no, wait, thass wrong -“
“I - I happened to notice some of your incredible relics also, Rector. Those bones wouldn't be for sale would they?”
“Right. Wait? What? No! Who said they were?”
“Well, No one did, but I thought I’d ask - look, it’s fine. I’ll buy the Milton. Here.”
“Watcha expect me to do with this? Oh. Money. Have a nice day!” Right. Where’s that little barstool Flint, the cu -
“Rector? You look a little discombobulated?”
“Thass easy for you to say. It really is. Discombombularated - son of a -“
“I think the stress has got to you. Will you look at that rain? It’ll never stop at this rate.”
“Do I know you?” Do I?
“Of course! Maggie Trussed? My Dad is Irwin Trussed? You married him, remember?”
“Did I? I thought that was illegal -“ Aww. She gor sush a purdy laugh!
“No! To Edna Lundergrass.”
“Really? I don -“
“Look, let me help you to bed. You need your rest. You’ve got a tough day tomorrow.” You know, you’d think I would’ve heard that differently? I really muss be drunk. Anyway, how’s she know how my day’s gunna be? Ooh. This finger’s starting to hurt. Must be - sobering - up.
Wow! That was a big yawn! I think I’ll just -
Oh praise the Lord - it’s a bright new day! Look at the sun shine! Look at the blue sky, with barely a cloud within it! Look at the small animal scurry up the tree with its nuts in hand! And that this wonderful day should have such things as birdsong, the beauty of nature, the - smell of the sewage, the sound of constant battle - oh bollocks. It was all going so well, until I realised where I was. Still, could be worse. And here’s how.
“Flit? Can I help you with something? And by help, I mean berate you until you feel tiny and inconsequential and scurry out of the room to never lend your visage around me again for the rest of the day?” Best to get the day started as you mean to go on, eh?
“Queue’s buildin’ fer the thing. Might wanna go and open up the Church, I’m thinkin’.”
“Well, stop thinking. I can smell the burning from here. What do we usually do when there’s a number of people in one place?”
“Bleed ‘em dry.”
“Exactly! Go out with refreshments, and make sure you water it down enough this time. Last month I almost tasted tea in that cup. If that happens again, I will drown you in the bloody tea and sell the outcome as an exotic blend. Now bugger off!” Ah, he does God’s work, does that man!
Okay, so here’s where it stands - there’s six days remaining, I have the spirit of an ancient Guardian inside me, protecting the bones of the Fairy King, because this other spirit or force wants to control the bones and by doing so somehow does something - look, whatever it is, there’s no sense in letting standards slip, is there? This whole strange affair has just entered its third week here in Upper Vaxham, and I’m no closer to knowing the truth of the matter now than understanding how that squirrel manages to find that many bloody nuts in this one garden?
Oh, shit, yes! I forgot! Today is the Church Fundraiser, my excuse to sell off as much as I can so as to hopefully pay off those bloody Roundabouts. Sod it. I’m depressed now. Oh well. Might as well go down there now? Try and rouse my mood by ripping off some locals. Yes, that usually makes me smile. Oh these stairs! I’m so fed up with these bloody stairs! What pillock decided everything was better built on the first floor? If I could find him and catch him, I’d kick him right up the -
“Rector! What was all that fuss with that fellow yesterday? Seemed quite a rude chap to me?” Ah, Gertie Soal. If I wasn't in such a bad mood I might - oh sod it! Why not!
“Yesterday? Sorry, I don't know to what you refer?”
“That tall chap, scar on his face, very insistent?”
“Are you sure? I don't remember anyone yesterday? Now, you know you’ve been rushed off your feet lately, don't you? Maybe a good lie down will help?”
“Perhaps - perhaps you’re right? I’m sure -“
“Oh, dear Mrs Soal! Don't you remember? I was in the Church all day yesterday?”
“Well -“
“That’s it! Go home and lie down a while!”
Oh, I feel so much better now! Tricking the elderly into thinking they made up some memory? Or that they thought they saw something they didn’t? I do love that sometimes! Renews the soul. Wherever that’s disappeared to.
Oh dear God! Just look at this bunch of no hopers?! No, I take that back. I think there might be a few serious buyers out there. More coin, you see? This stuff isn't cheap, you know! This is everything that isn't nailed down.
“Ladies and Gentlemen! So good of you all to turn up! Yes, this month’s Church Fundraiser is in aid of Hobsquzpetchu Sufferers in the Mundus Novus - what is commonly being called the New World? I am so glad to see how generous you have all been! And let me assure you, every last coin will go to Hobsquzpetchu Sufferers everywhere! But mainly in the New World, of course.“ Or in other words, my bloody pocket, “Please - enter! Ooh -“ Wow! Some people are bloody keen! Look at that lot! It’s as though they’ve never seen a wooden table full of bargains before! Hey! No biting! You know, I think they’ve been camping outside the Church nearly all night to get to be first in the queue?
Why? It’s all mostly pap. Expensive pap, however, but it is just tat, really. Think I better go inside.
“Excuse me?” Who said that? “Excuse me?”
“Ah, yes sir? How may I help -“
“How much is this?”
“Uh, it says there, on the bottom?”
“Yes, that’s what it says, but how much is it?”
“That’s the price?”
“You sure?”
“Fairly sure. I got my Curate to write it on there myself.”
“Is he sure?”
“Is he ever sure? But in answer to your question, that’s its price.”
“Look, are you totally -“
“Yes. Yes sir, I am positive. Absolutely, totally, unequivocally, honestly, stringently sure.”
“Nah. I’ll leave it.”
Annoying -
“Absolutely sure?” Is he trying to vex me?
“Alright. How much do you think it’s worth?”
“It’s not my place to say.”
“Well, in that case -“
“Fifty.”
“Sorry?”
“Alright. Forty five.”
“Fine. Forty five.”
“Hang on. Why so low? What’s wrong with it?”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, sir.”
“I think you’re tricking me!” Look, in a minute, I’m going to get Flit to come over here and ensconce the bloody thing in your sodding skull!
“Then walk away.”
“Why? What are you hiding?” Right now? Murderous anger.
“Nothing sir. Now, if you’re finished, I have other -“
“Sixty! And not a coin less! Here!” Odd fellow. I mean, it was only marked down for twenty five. Look, if you don’t like these jokes now, your going to hate reading on!
Oh, look at her! Fingering everything, like she's about to fellate it or something! Hey! Those cakes were made by - okay, those cakes were stolen by Flit earlier, but finders-keepers! No one’s going to buy a cake with a sodding thumb-print dug into it! Unless - unless I sell it as a Saint’s Thumb Cake? Could work. Oh, as long as it brings the coin in, I’ll call it Jesus’s Last Supper’s Pudding. That reminds me. I need to move those bones from the philatory to - actually I’ve no idea where to? No! I got it! The standing st -
“Hello Rector! Nice stuff you got here!” Oh, here we go. Bloody Turney Groade. Harmless bloke, but a bugger to get rid of.
“Why thank you, Turney! Are you buying?”
“Well,” No, of course not. Pointless asking really, “I do like this here thing. How much?”
“All prices are on the bottom, Turney.”
“Ooh. Bit pricey. You couldn't -“
“No, sorry, Turney. Everything must go.”
“But -“
“Look. I know you think you want it, Turney, but, like always, you’ll walk away and wish you hadn’t bought it. I don’t want to be unkind,” actually right now, I bloody do, “But we both know you only think you like it. You don’t actually like it though, do you?”
“It is a nice shade of -“
“I’ll tell you what. If it’s unsold by the end of the day, I’ll give it to you. How’s that?”
“Yes! That sounds agreeable! Thank you Rector!” Wait for it. One more step, and, “Actually on second thoughts, I might forget it. I don’t really have the room, see?”
“No, quite, Turney.” Yes, it’s difficult to find shelf space in a tiny shed-like home, where there’s only enough room for a bed and a hook for your clothes. Poor man. Lost everything in the - you know what? That’s his business to tell, and I’ll leave it with him.
He’s not a bad sort, really. Should’ve really done everyone a favour and swung himself from a rope somewhere, however. What do you mean cruel? I say it’s crueller to keep people like that alive! What do you mean eugenics? What the Hell is that when it’s at home? Ah! Now this man looks like an opulent sort!
“Hello, sir! See anything you like?”
“Tell me - Rector?” Um, why is he looking down his nose at me? Oh, how I would like to smack that self-important, smug look off his - “Are these objects imported, by any chance?”
“Er, no? In fact, I don’t think there’s a single thing in here that hasn't come from Upper Vaxham at on time or another?” What kind of bloody question is that? Still, he seems - happy - with that answer? Well, he’s buggering off somewhere else, so that’s a bonus.
Oh, God help me, I need a break. I forgot how incredibly, indefinitely annoying these bloody things are! I need fresh air, and maybe a pint -
“Posster. Do you have time now to talk? After whatever that strangeness was yesterday? In fact, don’t explain it to me. I’ll just chalk it up to a further experience with the odd Rector of Upper Vaxham. Now - His Lordship?”
“Oh, Dash! How could I have got through another moment of the day without your hairy visage?”
“Hmm. I’ll ignore that. Well?”
“I woke up a little stuffed up -“
“I meant, expand on the explanation of the disappearance of Lord Anthony Cheetham-Hewe of the County of Moistershire, if you please? In fact, even if you don’t please.”
“I don’t know what it is you expect me to say about it, Dash? I mean, I was technically one of the last people to see him, but then so was Trish Treyne.”
“Oh, her? I’ve already tried with her.”
“Haven’t we all, Dash. Haven’t we all.”
“How vulgar! I didn’t mean -“
“No, you lot never do.”
“Just - tell me what you know. I have been told that around that time, a pugilist and cricketer also went missing - a William Street, I believe.”
“We all hear the rumours, Dash. Why would you think I have anything to do with it -“
“I never said you did? Why? Do you?”
“Don’t be absurd! Like I’d cover up a murder -“
“Who said anything about murder?!” Oh bollocks. I’m just digging a deeper hole here, aren't I? How do I get out of this? Wait, I got it.
“Well, there was a rumour I heard in Church, which I would ordinarily keep to myself - you know, to God’s ears, and so on?”
“Go on?” This could actually work!
“I heard this name - Walter Mudd?”
“Yes! I too heard that name only yesterday!”
“Really? How fascinating. There was a rumour, and I stress it is just a rumour, that this Walter Mudd kidnapped a so-called wealthy traveller, for ransom?”
“Really? Sounds a little far fetched?” Whoah! Reel him in slowly, my boy -
“What I hear is this William Street - was that his name? Well, this William Street was part of this conspiracy. You do know Lord Anthony Cheetham-Hewe is a second cousin twice removed from His Majesty?”
“Of course!”
“That’s why, you see? They were payed by that Parliamentary lot to do it, to hold it over the King? Now, I remind you, this is all subjective -“
“No. I understand. Yes, it could be -“ Oh, if there’s one thing I know about loyalist, ambitious and desperate people like you Dash, it’s that you’ll fall for a conspiracy.
“Now, I hope you can see why I kept quiet about it. Don’t want something like that getting out, do we?”
“No, of course, you’re right.”
“Well, I hope this helps. And if I hear any more, I’ll keep you informed. As long as the two of us know, there’s always something we can do, if it be only to pray for him.”
“Quite, well, thanks, Rector. You’ve been - most helpful.”
And there you go! Leave the pillock in the middle of the road! I’m starting to feel a little better.
You know what? I never thought I’d say this, but I’m beginning to get worried, and I don’t ever get worried about anything that isn't about me.
It’s this - where is Sticks lately? I mean, sure, he’s more annoying than salt and lemon on a paper cut, but - you know? He might be the product of my loins, as scary as that sounds. I mean, who do I ask? Where do I ask? Most of the time people ignore poor Sticks. Unless they want to make fun of him. That’s the modern, progressive 17th Century for you, I suppose. I just hope the poor kid hasn’t walked into the middle of the battleground or something equally as stupid. I mean, as far as I can tell, he isn't mad, just - touched. No! Not like that! Christ Almighty! I mean, he’s a little - different. He’s not dangerous, he’s not unkind. He’s just - confused. Listen to me? Like I’m his Dad or something! I mean, he’s harmless, isn't he? Oh, great. Now it’s raining. Looks like it isn't going to let up, either. That’s it. I’m going to the pub. I’ll ask around in there I suppose?
Oh Christ. Would you believe it? Because I know I would, as it’s right in front of my bloody eyes! It’s only Major General Francis Laud and Lieutenant James Bootridge? Or Frank and Jimmy Boots to their customers. I mean, Jimmy, sure. I kind of expect him to be everywhere I don't want him to be, but Frank? That’s unexpected. Maybe if I keep my head down, he might not notice -
“Rector Wilfred Posster. Come here. I understand you have a Fundraiser going on at the Church?”
“That’s the thing. See, I’m trying to make up the money I owe -“
“And as soon as you pay that, it will go up by another amount. Don’t you see, Posster? I own you. And as soon as you stop paying and run away, I’ll find you and cut your limbs off, starting first with the fingers, then the toes. Then move up to the knee, then the elbow -“ Ah. I think he’s come stuck on his biology demonstration somewhere.
“You have to -“
“I have to, do I? Posster! I don’t have to do anything! Certainly not anything you tell me. Maybe I should take a finger now, as down payment?”
“Please -“
“Guv. Maybe -“
“Are you questioning me Jimmy? Have we forgotten already how I made you? Tell me, Jimmy Boots, where would you like your next scar?” This is wrong. On so many levels.
“Please - uhm, what is it you want me to do? I mean, I can go back to the Church and give you what I’ve got already?”
“Oh Posster, Posster, Posster! Of course you’re going to do that! And so much more! Decide.”
“Decide?”
“Yes. Decide.”
“Decide what, though?”
“Which finger.”
Oh God! Is he serious? Uhm, I better answer, “The little one?”
“Jimmy. Take the little finger from his left hand.”
“Yes sir! Wrap it immediately, Posster. It’ll stop the bleeding.”
And, for the sake of delicate ears, the next bit has been censored -
Censored, censored censored! Censored censored censored, censored, censored! Censored! Censored, censored - censored, censored, censored - and the sodding horse you rode in on!
Thank God this is only a story, or that would've really hurt. What? This is for real you say? Then - oww! Oww! Oww - sodding, bloody - oww!
Anyway, now that’s over, onward and upward, and back to the story -
“I’d suggest you leave, Posster. Go.”
“Th - thanks Jimmy.”
“Remember, Posster. Frank is watching.” Yes Frank. And when I get the chance I’m going to take your bloody eyes and shove them up your arse, so you can keep an eye on - oh, I’m in too much pain to continue the insult! I need to dull it somehow.
I know! The Apothecary. That’s just round the corner here. I seem to remember he did this cure-all remedy? Professor Bornostmere’s Restorative Elixir. Tastes like rat piss, but it gets you blotto. And I need a little blotto right now.
Here it is. I think - yep, it’s right here. That’s the stuff. Up to the counter and - there’s your bloody money. Literally. Sorry about that. Can’t help it dripping, see? Anyway, here’s looking at you, and bottom’s up!
Ahh! That’s it! Right between the eyes! Now that bottle’s done, time for another. Oh. My head’s getting a little zwimmy. Zwimmimy? Yup it’s hitting the, erm, zit. Bottom’s up! Oo-er! Botties!
Out we goze. Ah. She looks a bit of alrighty. Wassername? Cor, look at ‘em bazoobies! Gis a feel! Wassatfor? Bloodily womenen. I’d get yer for that, ‘cept my tootsies’ve stopped working! Oh, izzat three Dash’s? What? The letter ‘O’? Warramisayin?
Right! I’m gonna go into the bloody Shurch - Churt - Shursh - oh sod it. In there. ‘Ello everyone! Wee! Aww, wassamatta? Loss yer wassisname? Sense of humour? Or summut? Hey! Wanna fight? ‘Cause I got - aww, I lost me finger! Who’s got me finger?! Thassit! I want every one of you sons of bitches to get out of my bedroom - “Whayawant?”
“Is this a genuine Milton?” Watcha wanna know fer? Oh, forgot. Out loud.
“Yep. Certainly is! Got it from the man himself! Saved his life, apparently!”
“Really?”
“You callin’ me a liar?”
“No, sorry! I said it in surprise rather than as an accusation. I am a collector, hence why I asked.”
“You want it?”
“Well, the price -“
“Tell you what.”
“What?”
“Eh?”
“You said, ‘tell you what’, then stopped.”
“Did I? Oh, well.”
“The Milton?”
“Where? Oh, that. What about it?”
“The price, I was saying -“
“Look, how many times do I have to tell you bloody people! It’s on the sodding bottom, you bottom!” Oops. Nearly slipped there. ‘Ang on. Why am I on my kneeses?
“I can see the price, it wasn't that - look, are you okay?”
“Yeah? Why?”
“You seem - drunk? And your hand is bleeding.”
“So is yours.”
“Uhm, no it’s not.”
“Look, you want the thing, or not? I got, erm, people to do, places to see - no, wait, thass wrong -“
“I - I happened to notice some of your incredible relics also, Rector. Those bones wouldn't be for sale would they?”
“Right. Wait? What? No! Who said they were?”
“Well, No one did, but I thought I’d ask - look, it’s fine. I’ll buy the Milton. Here.”
“Watcha expect me to do with this? Oh. Money. Have a nice day!” Right. Where’s that little barstool Flint, the cu -
“Rector? You look a little discombobulated?”
“Thass easy for you to say. It really is. Discombombularated - son of a -“
“I think the stress has got to you. Will you look at that rain? It’ll never stop at this rate.”
“Do I know you?” Do I?
“Of course! Maggie Trussed? My Dad is Irwin Trussed? You married him, remember?”
“Did I? I thought that was illegal -“ Aww. She gor sush a purdy laugh!
“No! To Edna Lundergrass.”
“Really? I don -“
“Look, let me help you to bed. You need your rest. You’ve got a tough day tomorrow.” You know, you’d think I would’ve heard that differently? I really muss be drunk. Anyway, how’s she know how my day’s gunna be? Ooh. This finger’s starting to hurt. Must be - sobering - up.
Wow! That was a big yawn! I think I’ll just -
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