1644
DAY EIGHT: SUNDAY
If you stop and think about it, it’s been a week since this all started. Doesn't time fly? It certainly does when you’re trying to hit Flit with a clock. And it’s just like that first morning last week, desperate for ideas to bleed these people dry of their money. I’ve woken yet again before the curtains are pulled. And it remains only thirteen days, you know, until - well, let’s wait and see what until. Still, I’ve got a scheme or two I could try, but with limited resources - Christ! What was that noise?
“Flit? Are you out there? You’re not chopping down the support beams on the Rectory again, are you?” Is he out there? I can’t tell. Suppose I’ll have to open my own curtains. Oh, there he is, by the window, “Did you not hear me?”
“There’s a coach broken down outside.”
“And that means you can ignore your duties, does it?” I am so going to thrash him with a switch later.
“Just, it looks like a cross-country one. Usually have rich bods on ‘em.” Oh, Flit! I could kiss you! If I wasn't worried about catching rabies or something.
“Right! Flit, my clothes, before - oh, that was quick! Okay, I better get down there.” You know, sometimes fate deals a winning hand. Although mostly it just presents a shit covered finger. Here they come. Tits and teeth! Tits and teeth!
“Oh, Dennis! I don’t think I could have stood another minute in that carriage! Thank you, Driver!”
“As you please, dear. Take my arm, my darling. It is a little muddy underfoot.” Right. New money, them two. I would imagine they rent or lease everything, just so they've got cash to show around. Easy money. Next one.
“Watch your step there, Lady Midcastle.”
“Why thank you, Major General.” Ah, I recognise her. The Dowager. Has the beautiful Agerever House, over on the Bothack Estate. Minted. She might even crap money, as far as I know. Oh, I have plans for you, my dear! The Officer, however - never seen him before? Notoriously hard to con and exploit. Not because they're clever or anything. Pretty much because most of them haven’t been payed in some time, so he’s likely only got the money in his purse and no more. Still, every little helps. Helps me, of course, not him, “Oh! What is that terrible odour?” Should I tell her it’s most likely Flit? Because he’s just appeared by the door to the Rectory. You know, I’ve lost my sense of smell around him? Mostly. There are times during the summer, when it’s hot and I’ve got him doing some particularly dirty work. I’ve been told I have to warn the town on those days, so the people can prepare, basically, by closing their windows. I have to stay downwind of him too. Usually several miles downwind, in a different County. Where did these girls come from?
I think I might have gone deaf. The next off the coach appears to be some popular musician, I think? Those girls certainly know who he is, and young girls do have a nose for fame. And where there’s fame, there’s money. And where there’s money, there’s me, with my hands on it and running away. The girls are still chanting the word Ollie. Either that’s his name or - actually I don't want to know, if it’s some kind of youth-speak or euphemism. I think I would prefer to live in ignorance, quite frankly.
Who’s next? Exciting isn't it? It’s like a growing list of confidence tricks, don't you think? I know I’m looking forward to it, even if you're not. And if you're not, why the Hell are you reading this? You odd people. Anyway -
Hang on, I think I missed one? That man over there. Slid right past that famous kid. Boy does he look dodgy? And it takes one to know one. I’ll keep a special eye on him.
Ah, here he is! The Fish! A Tourist. The best kind of con. Almost too easy. Just look at that exuberant grin! Oh, how I’m going to enjoy wiping that from his face! Theres a certain joy in the moments before a con, don’t you think? The anticipation? Oh, that’s right. You're all goody two-shoes, aren't you? Never done anything dishonest, I bet? Yeah, right. Sure. I believe you. Cough - bullshit - cough.
“Are you the Rector?” It’s the uniform, isn't it? That’s what gave it away?
“I am.”
“My name is Elizabeth Card, and this is my husband, Dennis Card? We were on our way to our Country Estate -“
“When the coach broke down? How sad. How may I be of service?” Oh, this level of smarminess hurts my soul - if I’ve still got one, “And the delightful Lady Agnes Midcastle, I see? Your reputation precedes you,” By the way, her reputation is of a dirty old girl who drops them at a moment’s notice. Promiscuous is the word, I believe, “And Officer? I’m afraid we haven't been acquainted?”
“Major General Donnan Cholmondeley, Rector.” Right. Still nothing, though I suppose that doesn't matter. As long as his coin matches everyone else’s, we’ll be fine.
“Where are we, if you don't mind me asking, Rector? Oh, I’m Lenny. Lenny Boatswain. A traveller, I suppose you could call me?” I’d prefer a mark, or a fish? Whatever it takes to get that smile from your face, and the money from your bags.
“Ah, this little town is Upper Vaxham. In the County of Moistershire.”
“Never heard of it.” That’s funny, because it’s never heard of you either, Lenny.
“Who were those other two I saw get off the coach?” Well I need to know who it is I’ll be conning later, don't I?
“Ah, the young chap, that’s Oliver Pryce. He’s a big sensation in the Capital. A Baroque guitar player, I believe? Girls swoon over him. The other is Sir Alan Coleby. I’ve no idea what he does? He kept mainly to himself on the coach. Tell me Rector, where is there to explore in Upper Vaxham? I would be fascinated to see your deepest, darkest places?”
“Oh, there are many places in the town one could visit, but trust me, they are too dangerous for the uninitiated.”
“Oh, Rector, there’s no need to worry! I’m what you might call an adventurous type? I can look after myself you know.” Can you, you condescending - right, okay, if you think you can handle it -
“Okay. There is the Street of Veins, Marker’s Alley and Viscera Square. The last one is particularly - special.”
“Then I thank you, Rector!” Yeah, right up to the point where I have Flit follow you, beat you up, mug you and wipe that bloody smug sanctimonious grin from your sodding face.
“I say, Rector?” It’s the Cards.
“Yes, Mrs Card? How may I help?”
“It seems we will be stuck in this town for at least the next few hours. I wonder if myself and my husband might use the vestry of your Church? You know how it is?” I do, Mrs Card. Unfortunately, you do not. This is my territory, my dear.
“The Church sounds like a fine idea, Rector, if you have no objections?”
“Of course not, Major General.” See? That’s how to do it. Politeness. Costs nothing. As it happens, it’s going to cost him, but he doesn't know that yet, “Oh, Your Ladyship? If you would prefer, I will make the Rectory available to you?”
“Most kind, Rector. Most kind.” Yep. Plus it means I have you isolated so I can use my magic. Figurative magic, of course. I’m no wizard.
“Flit? Show the Lady Midcastle to the Morning Room?”
“The what?”
“The room you use for laundry. And clean that crap up.”
“Righto.” Annoying little shit.
Now for the others, “Alright, you three? If you would follow me?” Ah, there’s the kid, over there in the Market Square. Wow. I think that’s virtually every young girl in the town around his feet? And a few of the older ones too. Oh, and Trish Treyne. She would turn up to the opening of a sodding apple, that tart. At least she's keeping shut about the Lord. She's probably forgotten it, knowing her. Must be the syphilis. Mind you, she didn't have much to begin with. It’s a short trip to insanity for that woman. And I use the term woman in its widest possible description.
Right, I’ll just open the Church, “Make yourselves at home.” And I bet they do. Still, at least I know where they are. Makes it so much easier. Less of that running around? Not at my age. Right, I’m off to the pub for my breakfast - a Beer with a Beer chaser. It’s so much better now I don’t have to sneak around Ranker. He’s almost - pleasant. Almost. I still think, however, he has his suspicions of me concerning his Niece’s husband, but as long as I’m allowed in, I don't much care. Probably wants to keep his enemies close. I don't blame him. But he’ll never find the truth. I hope. Okay, let’s not tempt fate, eh? Do I sound nervous? I don’t think I do. Do I?
Ah, so that’s where the other passenger got to? Sir Alan Coleby. I need to know more about him. I don't like it when mysterious people come into Vaxham - and I don't know how to exploit them. I’m a people person, what can I say?
“Drink?” Standard opener, I’m sure you will agree?
“I’m fine.” Right. Might be a little harder than I first thought.
“You off the coach?”
“Yep.” Wow, what a talker -
“Sir Alan Coleby, I believe?”
“How did you know that?” Okay. That got a response.
“Oh, just one of your fellow passengers told me? No offence meant.”
“Right.” Alright, Coleby! Give me something to work with, will you?
“So -“
“If you don't mind, Rector, I would just like to drink my Beer in quiet contemplation?” Ooh! Touchy little git, isn't he? You know what? I think I’ll just let him stew. I’m sure he wants to open up, and why not to a Rector? So I’ll leave him with the old classic, the ‘never fails’ plan.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, my son. But you should know my door is always open to the gift of confidential and humble approach?” There. That should work. I mean, he’s obviously some kind of collaborator, or some such. Maybe even a spy? He certainly has a private agenda, and if I know my shadowy people, which I should, having grown up with many of them, he’ll want to spill the beans, if for nothing more than to poke me for local information. He’s after someone, or some thing. If it’s me, and I doubt it, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion he’s here for someone else. That one’s a slow burner, and no mistake. Anyway, there are easier marks already in play and I’m simply neglecting my hosting responsibilities, am I not?
Look, there goes that idiot, Lenny Boatswain. I mean, I don’t think there’s anyone who ever looked more like a tourist than him? Just look at those clothes? And - is that a map? Where the Hell did he get a map from? Oh, I’d forgotten the Driver.
“Rector?”
“I’m sorry we were not introduced earlier? My apologies.”
“Never mind. Neil Jent, at your service? You wouldn't know where I could get the Old Girl repaired, would you?”
The Old Girl? Oh, the coach, “Indeed. Go to Trent’s Yard. It’s a lovely little quiet place. Tell him I sent you. Actually, don’t. He might charge you extra.”
“Thank you Rector!”
“You’re welcome, my son.” There’s something about him too. You sense there’s something he wants to say, but doesn’t. Ah, I’ll get it out of him. First, the Cards. Let them fall where they may. Come on! That’s a good one! Really? Oh, sod you then.
As soon as I enter the Church, I’m going down the smugglers hole. I need something against the Cards. Ah, the Officer is in quiet thought. Time to slip into the - hole - wow it’s a tight fit! I used to be able to fit in here no problem. Must be Flit’s doing, somehow. I’m not quite sure right now, but it has to be him? It’s certainly not me and the Beer, no sir. Right. There’s a hole in the wall here that leads to the - oh God. I hope I didn't see what I just thought I saw? Yep. It is.
Mr Card is wearing his wife’s clothes, it would seem. And I just got a face full of the arse end. I may be sick. But I do have the ammunition I’m looking for. Even if it’s a pair of bollocks in a pair of panties. Yep. I’m definitely going to be sick now. I’m getting out of this pit. It smells of Flit. And no one should be intentionally subjected to that.
“Rector. May I have a word?” Shit.
“Uhm, this may look like a secret pit, but it’s actually -“
“I am here on official business, you should know.”
“Whatever they say I did, it’s a lie.”
“Sorry? I meant I am looking for deserters from the war. Know you of some?” Well, yes, but should I betray - what am I saying? Did going into that hole give me brain damage or something?
“I may, Officer. But you understand this is a small town? Most everyone knows everyone else. If I were to - you know - I would be in personal danger.”
“Hmm. Then there must be something we can do?” Yes, there must. Wait for it - “I have an idea. How about I make a contribution to the Church funds? Then, what about I leave it a few days -“
“A week perhaps? It’s just that then I will be out of town?” I won’t but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. I’ll let it slip to someone, then they run away, making it someone else’s problem. Whatever. It won’t be my concern by then.
“Alright. A week. Then my men will come in and arrest them. Will that work, Rector?”
Here, now - I present to you my humblest smile, “It will be for the better, I know. That a man should shirk his responsibilities -“
“Very true, Rector. May I remain here until the coach is repaired?”
“Of course, my son!” Mi casa es su casa. Whatever that means. Probably something Catholic, I’ve no doubt. Well, let’s hope Mr Card is decent in the vestry now? I’d hate to walk in on him mid-dress. Think of that? Eww. I just did. Still, better knock, just in case -
“Come.”
“Ah, Mr and Mrs Card. Is everything to your liking?”
“Well, there is a draft coming from a hole over there.”
“So sorry. And yourself, Mr Card?”
“He’s fine. Thank you.”
Oh, I can’t hold it back anymore. Not at my age, “You’re a fraud, you know.” No point beating about the bush, is there?
“Who told you? I mean, I beg your pardon?” Hmm. Telling, wouldn't you say?
“I meant - in deportment. You don’t hold yourselves right.”
“What could you mean?”
“That you are borrowed gentry. Everything you have, you’ve leased or rented. Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with aspiration. But one must carry themselves properly. For instance, I know your husband here prefers to wear your clothes. Don’t look shocked! It’s not like I would reveal such a dark secret, is it? I do happen to know a reporter for the number one newsbook for the forties, the National Insider, who is down here for the war, though?” I don’t, but does that matter?
“Is that a threat?”
“No, of course not. Just a friendly warning.”
“What is it you want then?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A contribution to the Church?” Believe it or not, I do hate the direct approach. It’s usually so messy and leaves too many witnesses. But I’m desperate, so sod it.
“What if we reported it to your Bishop?”
“What? And say that you contributed money to the Church? Because that will be the truth?”
“Hmm. I always thought the Puritans were corrupt.”
“Not corrupt, dear. Just cautious. Please, feel free to stay in the vestry for the remainder?” Besides, I’ll get Flit down the smuggling hole again to keep an eye on them. I’ll leave them to their contemplation. There’s still the kid, the spy and the Driver. But first, the Dowager.
That kid again! Still plucking away on his instrument, much like most of those girls and women would like to do to him. But I have my own instrument that needs plucking. And I know just where to get it restrung. I think I may have lost the metaphor somewhere along the way then. Anyhow. Back in the Rectory -
Just as I thought. The old girl’s curled up by the fire. Time to work my magic. Not that type of magic, however. I have an aversion to being burned alive, funnily enough. No, this is the gift of the gab, as they say - the verbal diarrhoea? Talking bullshit, if you prefer. I don’t, but then perhaps I’m more sophisticated than you. Okay, enough of the laughter. There’s a story going on here, you know! How rude -
“Lady Midcastle? Don’t look startled! It’s only me, the Rector.”
“Rector?”
“Please, call me Wilfred. I’m off duty.”
“Wilfred? My fourth husband was called Wilfred.”
“Really?” Of course I knew that.
“He was a despicable man of low morals and lower company.”
“In that case, call me Wilf?”
“Alright, Wilf. I suppose you may call me - uhm - I want to say Ursula?”
“Agnes.”
“Quite!”
“Tea?”
“Can’t stand the stuff. Do you have any brandy?”
“Medicinal only.”
“Good enough.” It’s true. She’s a woman of the people - if those people are of a dignified class. Luckily for me, Clergy is counted as such in her circles. I do my homework, you know? I just happen to know a lot about certain of the gentry, and if they are to journey my way, like the Dowager Lady Midcastle, then what can I say? Ker-ching comes to mind. She owns about a quarter of the North West, you know? Well, her husband did. Now she does. Lucky cow.
“I’ve only got these ceramic pots, I’m afraid.” I’m going to kill Flit when I find him! He should have stopped me selling all the good stuff! What a selfish little git he is!
“Oh, that’s alright, Wilf. Reminds me of my youth.” When was that exactly? Like which Monarch was on the throne? The old buzzard, Henry? Or his Daughter? It certainly wasn't Jimmy or Chuck, I can tell you. Not unless Northern living ages you by several decades. She’s one gust of wind from turning to dust and blowing away. Still, apparently she goes like a prossie half her age. She's probably trying to hurry up, in case it’s her last go, I’d imagine?
“Well, Agnes, isn't this cosy? Couldn't you just live like this for the rest of your life?”
“Is that a proposal?” Bloody Hell, she does work fast!
“- Surely there should be some wooing -“
“Look, I’m old. Very old. In fact I’m so old they were building pyramids when I was a girl. Not really, but I certainly feel that old.”
“You’re only as old as the man you feel -“
“Oh, come now, Wilf! You can do better than that! I might think again with lines like that one. Look, I know I haven't got long, but I want to spend almost all of that time in bed. With a man, of course. I want to die while in the arms of a lover. And you’re close enough.” You know, I almost feel violated? That someone should be doing my job instead me?
Oh, bugger it. Why not? Oh, trust me, she’ll be dead in a month or two. And if not, I’ll just have to try and adjust. I mean, she has to die eventually, doesn't she? Dear God, I hope so.
“Then Lady Midcastle - Agnes -“
“Who? Oh, me.” I’ll ignore that.
“Agnes, I accept! Now, about a dowry -“
“You get half now, half upon completion of the ceremony. I’ll arrange it with my Secretary and give you a date by which to attend our nuptials. Agreed?” Bloody Hell! Sounds more like a committee meeting than a bloody proposal! Where do I sign? Christ -
“I agree.”
“Good. How about a taster?”
“Such as?” I dread to think.
“Come here.” What now? Oh God. Oh God! Is she - ooh, I think she is! It’s - ahhh - it’s - ooh - actually quite pleasant? That’s it! Right there, you little minx! I - ooh - never mind. Oh dear. However, it has been a while, “Alright, Wilf. Send in your Curate now. I like them dirty.”
Okay, the least said about that, the better. In fact I’m going to wipe it from my mind. There. Gone.
Nope. It’s not. Excuse me while I throw up in this bucket. Better. On to the next victim. Eww. I don’t remember eating carrot?
Where’s that kid? Probably still in the Market Square. I’ll go and look. Yup. Over there. Oh? He’s on his tod, poor kid. Ah, right. His guitar looks damaged. The modern music of today. They can’t survive without some toy or other, can they? Better go and help, though. Ever helpful, is my raison d’être.
“Kid? Everything alright?”
“Not really. One of them girls got a bit too energetic. Broke my guitar. You wouldn't happen to know somewhere I could have it fixed?” Look who you're talking to kid! Of course I do!
“Hmm. I may do. So, how goes the music business?”
“Oh, it’s a flooded market, Rector. People like me, we come and go, unfortunately. But I know I have so much more to offer? I even write my own songs, you know! Want to hear one?”
“Not right now kid. Besides, it’d be wasted on old ears like mine. Anyway, you need that guitar repaired.”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Idiot boy. This should be fun.
“Look. You seem a good kid to me. You look like you've got it, whatever it is. Trust me, I might be old, but I know a talent when I see it.”
“Really?” Of course not, you idiot! I just told you I don’t have an ear for music!
“Oh, yes. Tell you what, I know a guy - no. Forget I said that.”
“Why?”
Time to reel the little bugger in, “It’s - no, I can’t. He told me not to. I couldn't do that to him. Or could I? No. I was right the first time. Sorry I brought it up.”
“Oh.” God. Do I have to force feed the idiot?
“But - I suppose if - look, what if I were to become your Manager - on a temporary basis, of course? Then I could introduce you to my friend. He doesn't accept unsolicited clients, you see? With me there, I can act as the go-between. Oh, but of course! I’m only an old, fuddy-duddy Rector -“
“Oh, no! In fact, my Mother would be pleased!“
“Religious lady, is she?”
“Very! She goes to communion every day!” Bite your tongue, Wilfred! Bite it now! For the con! Come now!
“Oh - I - see -“ That’s it! Smile’s on straight! Keep going!
“So, what would I need to do?”
“Well, I have to contact my man, Sugen, and maybe have a couple of copies of the sheet music, just for security, you know how it is? So -“
“Erm, I have this money, if -“ Ooh! That’s a big purse!
“Alright. That should just about do it. Now, give me an address where I can contact you? And be ready, kid. Sugen doesn't like to be kept waiting, you know.”
“Uhm, Oliver Pryce, 3, The Cornhouse, Rindy Grove, Dellingford -“
“Alright. I know the place.” I don’t. I didn't even write it down. Look? Isn't that a pretty flower I drew on this paper?
“So, where can I get the guitar repaired?”
“Oh, of course! How could I forget? You know Milson Street? No, of course you wouldn’t. Right. Go to the end of this road, turn left, turn left again, right, down the alley, left, down the other alley, right, and then - no hold on, that’s for the Woodworker - okay. I got it. To the end of this road, turn right - no, wait, I said left before, didn't I? Why would I have said that? It’s in completely the wrong direction? Okay. This time I’ve got it -“
“It’s fine, Rector. I’ll go searching for myself. Speak soon, I hope!” I don’t. But keep waving, and keep smiling. Don’t give it away now, you fool! Ah, he’s gone. Thank God for that. I think I need another drink. Flit should be back soon, with Lenny’s stuff. Poor kid. But he brought it on himself, didn't he? By being a naive idiot. Look, I’m thinning out the herd. What’s wrong with that? Keeps the gene pool fresh.
Ah. Al’s still at the bar Let’s see how that festering wound is pulsating, shall we?
“Sir Alan Coleby. Still here? Oh, sorry, I forgot. You want to drink privately. Forgive me. A pint, please Ranker?”
“Oh, Rector. Right. Actually, I wonder if I could have a word, you know, pertaining to that which you imparted to me earlier, that you would be willing to listen to me?” See? Am I good, or am I good?
“Of course, my son. A seat over there, by the fire? I believe it’s quite a private spot?”
“Certainly. After you. Oh, Landlord? Put his drink on my order, if you please?”
“You sure, sir? Well, I suppose you know what you're doing.” Cheeky Ranker!
“So, how can I help you, my son?”
“Well, first let me say I stand in no preference to either side in this war -this conflict?”
“Nor I.”
“With that in mind, I am looking for - information - on a certain group of men? I believe they call themselves the Roundabouts?” Shit on a stick!
“I may have heard of them in passing, Sir Alan.”
“Please. You can call me Al.” Not a word. Okay?
“Alright - Al.”
“There is a reward for information on these men.”
“Right.” I did hear that right, didn't I? He did say reward? It’s just that I’ve got money on the brain, and I hear it everywhere I go at the moment.
“Do you know of anyone who could give me information about them?”
Dare I? Dare I betray - “I do.” - them? Dare I - hold on! Did I just say something there? I think I might have.
“You do?”
“Yes.” Wait a minute! Whose that answering for me?
“Then?”
Right, I’m going to take control of my mouth before - “They are an unlawful money lending organisation, as far as my knowledge extends. There are a number of them active about the country, but right now, the leader is upon the battlefield, up Vaxham Hill, in an encampment under the Officership of General Lord Wilberforce Justice. The actual leader of the Roundabouts is Major General Francis Laud, brother of the Archbishop.” - I say something to get me killed. Wait. I did it again, didn't I? Bloody Hell!
“Laud? Justice? Interesting. We’ve never been able to get that much information before. The informants usually disappear before we can get to names. That’s very interesting, Rector. Is there any more?”
Not another word! I’m already - “The other men include Lieutenant James Bootridge, Conor Redmerry, Freddie Snaps, Wilhelm Freemanns -“ - in serious trouble as it is! That’s it! I’m going to sew my mouth shut!
“Well! This is amazing information! I don’t know if it’s possible, but can you accept a reward?”
Look, if I accept money now, my life is - “I cannot accept it personally, but I can accept a donation to the church.” - done. Bollocks. Might as well dip my head in the open fireplace, the good my life’s going to be from now on?
“Then it is my pleasure to give you this purse, Rector! It was fortuitous that we indeed bumped into each other. God’s work, I imagine!” Yes. He sodding well does move in mysterious bloody ways, doesn't he? Look, I think it’s just a race now, for which one of us is cut into little pieces and fed to the birds. I hope it’s him first. Perhaps it’ll give me enough time to run away. I need to clear my head. I should probably go and see what Flit’s managed to do, I suppose? Alright, think positive, Wilfred. There’s still time. Theres always time.
Where did I say to the Driver? Oh, I remember. Trent’s Yard. Just over there. Oh, and here comes Flit - “So? Where did you leave him?”
“Penhole Alley. I made sure he was still breathin’.”
“Well, okay. Poor kid. Still, serves him right.”
“Does it?”
“Alright, Flit. No cheek. Oh, the Dowager wanted to see you in the Rectory. Try not to make too much of a mess, will you?” Ah, everyone has to wet their whistle once in a while. See? I really am a nice man! And there’s the Driver. What was his name again? Oh, yes. Jent.
“Mr Jent? How goes it?”
“Ah, Rector! Oh, fine, fine. Nearly done. See, the sprocket fell out with the difference -“
“Oh, please, I’m no good with the technical details of modern travel.”
“Ah, alright. Sorry. Though I did want a word with you. I was wondering, hope against hope, that you might know of an investor or two? See, I drive for Fradby Travel, and I see so much more they could do. Plus they never listen to my ideas. I want to start my own company, see? I know I could do a better job than most of them companies out there.”
“I see what you’re saying, my son, but I couldn't possibly -“
“Oh, I’m sure you’re not -“
“Wait, my son. I was merely going to say I could not go into business with you. A conflict of interest with the Church, see? But I do know the name of an investment company that might help. They're out near Astbunton. They're called Rail, Parc and Puedam Investments. Good bunch of chaps, so I hear. Hope that helps?”
“Oh, I couldn't thank you more, Rector! Uhm, there is one thing further -“
“Really?”
“Could you - could you hold onto this purse, in your Church? See, this is my life’s savings and I would hate to lose them to a bandit on the road? I nearly got caught several times on my way here. Would you?”
“Me?” Right. I didn't see this coming. I was too busy counting the hours until Jimmy Boots came into town to cut off part of my anatomy. Plus I know a bandit or two who might - take care of that problem - for me!
You know, things might be looking up? Look, there’s a first time for everything. Besides, I’m sure Sir Alan won’t be getting on the coach for the rest of his trip. He’s going to ask the wrong person the wrong question and they'll take care of the problem.
I really shouldn't worry, you know. I keep forgetting how cutthroat this town is. Actually, I’m feeling quite buoyant right now! You know what? I’m actually happy! Here, give me your money, Cartman! Sod you and the horse you rode in on! I’m off to treat myself at the Bakers! The Roundabouts? Sod them! Sod them all!
I’m finally feeling alive for the first time in a long time! Sod them all! I think I will partake of my new fiancee!
Flit. I forgot Flit! The little bastard!
However, there is always - “Erm, Trish? You on this afternoon?”
“What? No, but I’m open fer business?”
“That’s what I meant you - oh, bugger it. Let’s go!”
“You want me to bugger it?”
Why am I suddenly regretting my decision?
If you stop and think about it, it’s been a week since this all started. Doesn't time fly? It certainly does when you’re trying to hit Flit with a clock. And it’s just like that first morning last week, desperate for ideas to bleed these people dry of their money. I’ve woken yet again before the curtains are pulled. And it remains only thirteen days, you know, until - well, let’s wait and see what until. Still, I’ve got a scheme or two I could try, but with limited resources - Christ! What was that noise?
“Flit? Are you out there? You’re not chopping down the support beams on the Rectory again, are you?” Is he out there? I can’t tell. Suppose I’ll have to open my own curtains. Oh, there he is, by the window, “Did you not hear me?”
“There’s a coach broken down outside.”
“And that means you can ignore your duties, does it?” I am so going to thrash him with a switch later.
“Just, it looks like a cross-country one. Usually have rich bods on ‘em.” Oh, Flit! I could kiss you! If I wasn't worried about catching rabies or something.
“Right! Flit, my clothes, before - oh, that was quick! Okay, I better get down there.” You know, sometimes fate deals a winning hand. Although mostly it just presents a shit covered finger. Here they come. Tits and teeth! Tits and teeth!
“Oh, Dennis! I don’t think I could have stood another minute in that carriage! Thank you, Driver!”
“As you please, dear. Take my arm, my darling. It is a little muddy underfoot.” Right. New money, them two. I would imagine they rent or lease everything, just so they've got cash to show around. Easy money. Next one.
“Watch your step there, Lady Midcastle.”
“Why thank you, Major General.” Ah, I recognise her. The Dowager. Has the beautiful Agerever House, over on the Bothack Estate. Minted. She might even crap money, as far as I know. Oh, I have plans for you, my dear! The Officer, however - never seen him before? Notoriously hard to con and exploit. Not because they're clever or anything. Pretty much because most of them haven’t been payed in some time, so he’s likely only got the money in his purse and no more. Still, every little helps. Helps me, of course, not him, “Oh! What is that terrible odour?” Should I tell her it’s most likely Flit? Because he’s just appeared by the door to the Rectory. You know, I’ve lost my sense of smell around him? Mostly. There are times during the summer, when it’s hot and I’ve got him doing some particularly dirty work. I’ve been told I have to warn the town on those days, so the people can prepare, basically, by closing their windows. I have to stay downwind of him too. Usually several miles downwind, in a different County. Where did these girls come from?
I think I might have gone deaf. The next off the coach appears to be some popular musician, I think? Those girls certainly know who he is, and young girls do have a nose for fame. And where there’s fame, there’s money. And where there’s money, there’s me, with my hands on it and running away. The girls are still chanting the word Ollie. Either that’s his name or - actually I don't want to know, if it’s some kind of youth-speak or euphemism. I think I would prefer to live in ignorance, quite frankly.
Who’s next? Exciting isn't it? It’s like a growing list of confidence tricks, don't you think? I know I’m looking forward to it, even if you're not. And if you're not, why the Hell are you reading this? You odd people. Anyway -
Hang on, I think I missed one? That man over there. Slid right past that famous kid. Boy does he look dodgy? And it takes one to know one. I’ll keep a special eye on him.
Ah, here he is! The Fish! A Tourist. The best kind of con. Almost too easy. Just look at that exuberant grin! Oh, how I’m going to enjoy wiping that from his face! Theres a certain joy in the moments before a con, don’t you think? The anticipation? Oh, that’s right. You're all goody two-shoes, aren't you? Never done anything dishonest, I bet? Yeah, right. Sure. I believe you. Cough - bullshit - cough.
“Are you the Rector?” It’s the uniform, isn't it? That’s what gave it away?
“I am.”
“My name is Elizabeth Card, and this is my husband, Dennis Card? We were on our way to our Country Estate -“
“When the coach broke down? How sad. How may I be of service?” Oh, this level of smarminess hurts my soul - if I’ve still got one, “And the delightful Lady Agnes Midcastle, I see? Your reputation precedes you,” By the way, her reputation is of a dirty old girl who drops them at a moment’s notice. Promiscuous is the word, I believe, “And Officer? I’m afraid we haven't been acquainted?”
“Major General Donnan Cholmondeley, Rector.” Right. Still nothing, though I suppose that doesn't matter. As long as his coin matches everyone else’s, we’ll be fine.
“Where are we, if you don't mind me asking, Rector? Oh, I’m Lenny. Lenny Boatswain. A traveller, I suppose you could call me?” I’d prefer a mark, or a fish? Whatever it takes to get that smile from your face, and the money from your bags.
“Ah, this little town is Upper Vaxham. In the County of Moistershire.”
“Never heard of it.” That’s funny, because it’s never heard of you either, Lenny.
“Who were those other two I saw get off the coach?” Well I need to know who it is I’ll be conning later, don't I?
“Ah, the young chap, that’s Oliver Pryce. He’s a big sensation in the Capital. A Baroque guitar player, I believe? Girls swoon over him. The other is Sir Alan Coleby. I’ve no idea what he does? He kept mainly to himself on the coach. Tell me Rector, where is there to explore in Upper Vaxham? I would be fascinated to see your deepest, darkest places?”
“Oh, there are many places in the town one could visit, but trust me, they are too dangerous for the uninitiated.”
“Oh, Rector, there’s no need to worry! I’m what you might call an adventurous type? I can look after myself you know.” Can you, you condescending - right, okay, if you think you can handle it -
“Okay. There is the Street of Veins, Marker’s Alley and Viscera Square. The last one is particularly - special.”
“Then I thank you, Rector!” Yeah, right up to the point where I have Flit follow you, beat you up, mug you and wipe that bloody smug sanctimonious grin from your sodding face.
“I say, Rector?” It’s the Cards.
“Yes, Mrs Card? How may I help?”
“It seems we will be stuck in this town for at least the next few hours. I wonder if myself and my husband might use the vestry of your Church? You know how it is?” I do, Mrs Card. Unfortunately, you do not. This is my territory, my dear.
“The Church sounds like a fine idea, Rector, if you have no objections?”
“Of course not, Major General.” See? That’s how to do it. Politeness. Costs nothing. As it happens, it’s going to cost him, but he doesn't know that yet, “Oh, Your Ladyship? If you would prefer, I will make the Rectory available to you?”
“Most kind, Rector. Most kind.” Yep. Plus it means I have you isolated so I can use my magic. Figurative magic, of course. I’m no wizard.
“Flit? Show the Lady Midcastle to the Morning Room?”
“The what?”
“The room you use for laundry. And clean that crap up.”
“Righto.” Annoying little shit.
Now for the others, “Alright, you three? If you would follow me?” Ah, there’s the kid, over there in the Market Square. Wow. I think that’s virtually every young girl in the town around his feet? And a few of the older ones too. Oh, and Trish Treyne. She would turn up to the opening of a sodding apple, that tart. At least she's keeping shut about the Lord. She's probably forgotten it, knowing her. Must be the syphilis. Mind you, she didn't have much to begin with. It’s a short trip to insanity for that woman. And I use the term woman in its widest possible description.
Right, I’ll just open the Church, “Make yourselves at home.” And I bet they do. Still, at least I know where they are. Makes it so much easier. Less of that running around? Not at my age. Right, I’m off to the pub for my breakfast - a Beer with a Beer chaser. It’s so much better now I don’t have to sneak around Ranker. He’s almost - pleasant. Almost. I still think, however, he has his suspicions of me concerning his Niece’s husband, but as long as I’m allowed in, I don't much care. Probably wants to keep his enemies close. I don't blame him. But he’ll never find the truth. I hope. Okay, let’s not tempt fate, eh? Do I sound nervous? I don’t think I do. Do I?
Ah, so that’s where the other passenger got to? Sir Alan Coleby. I need to know more about him. I don't like it when mysterious people come into Vaxham - and I don't know how to exploit them. I’m a people person, what can I say?
“Drink?” Standard opener, I’m sure you will agree?
“I’m fine.” Right. Might be a little harder than I first thought.
“You off the coach?”
“Yep.” Wow, what a talker -
“Sir Alan Coleby, I believe?”
“How did you know that?” Okay. That got a response.
“Oh, just one of your fellow passengers told me? No offence meant.”
“Right.” Alright, Coleby! Give me something to work with, will you?
“So -“
“If you don't mind, Rector, I would just like to drink my Beer in quiet contemplation?” Ooh! Touchy little git, isn't he? You know what? I think I’ll just let him stew. I’m sure he wants to open up, and why not to a Rector? So I’ll leave him with the old classic, the ‘never fails’ plan.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, my son. But you should know my door is always open to the gift of confidential and humble approach?” There. That should work. I mean, he’s obviously some kind of collaborator, or some such. Maybe even a spy? He certainly has a private agenda, and if I know my shadowy people, which I should, having grown up with many of them, he’ll want to spill the beans, if for nothing more than to poke me for local information. He’s after someone, or some thing. If it’s me, and I doubt it, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion he’s here for someone else. That one’s a slow burner, and no mistake. Anyway, there are easier marks already in play and I’m simply neglecting my hosting responsibilities, am I not?
Look, there goes that idiot, Lenny Boatswain. I mean, I don’t think there’s anyone who ever looked more like a tourist than him? Just look at those clothes? And - is that a map? Where the Hell did he get a map from? Oh, I’d forgotten the Driver.
“Rector?”
“I’m sorry we were not introduced earlier? My apologies.”
“Never mind. Neil Jent, at your service? You wouldn't know where I could get the Old Girl repaired, would you?”
The Old Girl? Oh, the coach, “Indeed. Go to Trent’s Yard. It’s a lovely little quiet place. Tell him I sent you. Actually, don’t. He might charge you extra.”
“Thank you Rector!”
“You’re welcome, my son.” There’s something about him too. You sense there’s something he wants to say, but doesn’t. Ah, I’ll get it out of him. First, the Cards. Let them fall where they may. Come on! That’s a good one! Really? Oh, sod you then.
As soon as I enter the Church, I’m going down the smugglers hole. I need something against the Cards. Ah, the Officer is in quiet thought. Time to slip into the - hole - wow it’s a tight fit! I used to be able to fit in here no problem. Must be Flit’s doing, somehow. I’m not quite sure right now, but it has to be him? It’s certainly not me and the Beer, no sir. Right. There’s a hole in the wall here that leads to the - oh God. I hope I didn't see what I just thought I saw? Yep. It is.
Mr Card is wearing his wife’s clothes, it would seem. And I just got a face full of the arse end. I may be sick. But I do have the ammunition I’m looking for. Even if it’s a pair of bollocks in a pair of panties. Yep. I’m definitely going to be sick now. I’m getting out of this pit. It smells of Flit. And no one should be intentionally subjected to that.
“Rector. May I have a word?” Shit.
“Uhm, this may look like a secret pit, but it’s actually -“
“I am here on official business, you should know.”
“Whatever they say I did, it’s a lie.”
“Sorry? I meant I am looking for deserters from the war. Know you of some?” Well, yes, but should I betray - what am I saying? Did going into that hole give me brain damage or something?
“I may, Officer. But you understand this is a small town? Most everyone knows everyone else. If I were to - you know - I would be in personal danger.”
“Hmm. Then there must be something we can do?” Yes, there must. Wait for it - “I have an idea. How about I make a contribution to the Church funds? Then, what about I leave it a few days -“
“A week perhaps? It’s just that then I will be out of town?” I won’t but let’s cross that bridge when we come to it. I’ll let it slip to someone, then they run away, making it someone else’s problem. Whatever. It won’t be my concern by then.
“Alright. A week. Then my men will come in and arrest them. Will that work, Rector?”
Here, now - I present to you my humblest smile, “It will be for the better, I know. That a man should shirk his responsibilities -“
“Very true, Rector. May I remain here until the coach is repaired?”
“Of course, my son!” Mi casa es su casa. Whatever that means. Probably something Catholic, I’ve no doubt. Well, let’s hope Mr Card is decent in the vestry now? I’d hate to walk in on him mid-dress. Think of that? Eww. I just did. Still, better knock, just in case -
“Come.”
“Ah, Mr and Mrs Card. Is everything to your liking?”
“Well, there is a draft coming from a hole over there.”
“So sorry. And yourself, Mr Card?”
“He’s fine. Thank you.”
Oh, I can’t hold it back anymore. Not at my age, “You’re a fraud, you know.” No point beating about the bush, is there?
“Who told you? I mean, I beg your pardon?” Hmm. Telling, wouldn't you say?
“I meant - in deportment. You don’t hold yourselves right.”
“What could you mean?”
“That you are borrowed gentry. Everything you have, you’ve leased or rented. Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with aspiration. But one must carry themselves properly. For instance, I know your husband here prefers to wear your clothes. Don’t look shocked! It’s not like I would reveal such a dark secret, is it? I do happen to know a reporter for the number one newsbook for the forties, the National Insider, who is down here for the war, though?” I don’t, but does that matter?
“Is that a threat?”
“No, of course not. Just a friendly warning.”
“What is it you want then?”
“Oh, I don’t know. A contribution to the Church?” Believe it or not, I do hate the direct approach. It’s usually so messy and leaves too many witnesses. But I’m desperate, so sod it.
“What if we reported it to your Bishop?”
“What? And say that you contributed money to the Church? Because that will be the truth?”
“Hmm. I always thought the Puritans were corrupt.”
“Not corrupt, dear. Just cautious. Please, feel free to stay in the vestry for the remainder?” Besides, I’ll get Flit down the smuggling hole again to keep an eye on them. I’ll leave them to their contemplation. There’s still the kid, the spy and the Driver. But first, the Dowager.
That kid again! Still plucking away on his instrument, much like most of those girls and women would like to do to him. But I have my own instrument that needs plucking. And I know just where to get it restrung. I think I may have lost the metaphor somewhere along the way then. Anyhow. Back in the Rectory -
Just as I thought. The old girl’s curled up by the fire. Time to work my magic. Not that type of magic, however. I have an aversion to being burned alive, funnily enough. No, this is the gift of the gab, as they say - the verbal diarrhoea? Talking bullshit, if you prefer. I don’t, but then perhaps I’m more sophisticated than you. Okay, enough of the laughter. There’s a story going on here, you know! How rude -
“Lady Midcastle? Don’t look startled! It’s only me, the Rector.”
“Rector?”
“Please, call me Wilfred. I’m off duty.”
“Wilfred? My fourth husband was called Wilfred.”
“Really?” Of course I knew that.
“He was a despicable man of low morals and lower company.”
“In that case, call me Wilf?”
“Alright, Wilf. I suppose you may call me - uhm - I want to say Ursula?”
“Agnes.”
“Quite!”
“Tea?”
“Can’t stand the stuff. Do you have any brandy?”
“Medicinal only.”
“Good enough.” It’s true. She’s a woman of the people - if those people are of a dignified class. Luckily for me, Clergy is counted as such in her circles. I do my homework, you know? I just happen to know a lot about certain of the gentry, and if they are to journey my way, like the Dowager Lady Midcastle, then what can I say? Ker-ching comes to mind. She owns about a quarter of the North West, you know? Well, her husband did. Now she does. Lucky cow.
“I’ve only got these ceramic pots, I’m afraid.” I’m going to kill Flit when I find him! He should have stopped me selling all the good stuff! What a selfish little git he is!
“Oh, that’s alright, Wilf. Reminds me of my youth.” When was that exactly? Like which Monarch was on the throne? The old buzzard, Henry? Or his Daughter? It certainly wasn't Jimmy or Chuck, I can tell you. Not unless Northern living ages you by several decades. She’s one gust of wind from turning to dust and blowing away. Still, apparently she goes like a prossie half her age. She's probably trying to hurry up, in case it’s her last go, I’d imagine?
“Well, Agnes, isn't this cosy? Couldn't you just live like this for the rest of your life?”
“Is that a proposal?” Bloody Hell, she does work fast!
“- Surely there should be some wooing -“
“Look, I’m old. Very old. In fact I’m so old they were building pyramids when I was a girl. Not really, but I certainly feel that old.”
“You’re only as old as the man you feel -“
“Oh, come now, Wilf! You can do better than that! I might think again with lines like that one. Look, I know I haven't got long, but I want to spend almost all of that time in bed. With a man, of course. I want to die while in the arms of a lover. And you’re close enough.” You know, I almost feel violated? That someone should be doing my job instead me?
Oh, bugger it. Why not? Oh, trust me, she’ll be dead in a month or two. And if not, I’ll just have to try and adjust. I mean, she has to die eventually, doesn't she? Dear God, I hope so.
“Then Lady Midcastle - Agnes -“
“Who? Oh, me.” I’ll ignore that.
“Agnes, I accept! Now, about a dowry -“
“You get half now, half upon completion of the ceremony. I’ll arrange it with my Secretary and give you a date by which to attend our nuptials. Agreed?” Bloody Hell! Sounds more like a committee meeting than a bloody proposal! Where do I sign? Christ -
“I agree.”
“Good. How about a taster?”
“Such as?” I dread to think.
“Come here.” What now? Oh God. Oh God! Is she - ooh, I think she is! It’s - ahhh - it’s - ooh - actually quite pleasant? That’s it! Right there, you little minx! I - ooh - never mind. Oh dear. However, it has been a while, “Alright, Wilf. Send in your Curate now. I like them dirty.”
Okay, the least said about that, the better. In fact I’m going to wipe it from my mind. There. Gone.
Nope. It’s not. Excuse me while I throw up in this bucket. Better. On to the next victim. Eww. I don’t remember eating carrot?
Where’s that kid? Probably still in the Market Square. I’ll go and look. Yup. Over there. Oh? He’s on his tod, poor kid. Ah, right. His guitar looks damaged. The modern music of today. They can’t survive without some toy or other, can they? Better go and help, though. Ever helpful, is my raison d’être.
“Kid? Everything alright?”
“Not really. One of them girls got a bit too energetic. Broke my guitar. You wouldn't happen to know somewhere I could have it fixed?” Look who you're talking to kid! Of course I do!
“Hmm. I may do. So, how goes the music business?”
“Oh, it’s a flooded market, Rector. People like me, we come and go, unfortunately. But I know I have so much more to offer? I even write my own songs, you know! Want to hear one?”
“Not right now kid. Besides, it’d be wasted on old ears like mine. Anyway, you need that guitar repaired.”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Idiot boy. This should be fun.
“Look. You seem a good kid to me. You look like you've got it, whatever it is. Trust me, I might be old, but I know a talent when I see it.”
“Really?” Of course not, you idiot! I just told you I don’t have an ear for music!
“Oh, yes. Tell you what, I know a guy - no. Forget I said that.”
“Why?”
Time to reel the little bugger in, “It’s - no, I can’t. He told me not to. I couldn't do that to him. Or could I? No. I was right the first time. Sorry I brought it up.”
“Oh.” God. Do I have to force feed the idiot?
“But - I suppose if - look, what if I were to become your Manager - on a temporary basis, of course? Then I could introduce you to my friend. He doesn't accept unsolicited clients, you see? With me there, I can act as the go-between. Oh, but of course! I’m only an old, fuddy-duddy Rector -“
“Oh, no! In fact, my Mother would be pleased!“
“Religious lady, is she?”
“Very! She goes to communion every day!” Bite your tongue, Wilfred! Bite it now! For the con! Come now!
“Oh - I - see -“ That’s it! Smile’s on straight! Keep going!
“So, what would I need to do?”
“Well, I have to contact my man, Sugen, and maybe have a couple of copies of the sheet music, just for security, you know how it is? So -“
“Erm, I have this money, if -“ Ooh! That’s a big purse!
“Alright. That should just about do it. Now, give me an address where I can contact you? And be ready, kid. Sugen doesn't like to be kept waiting, you know.”
“Uhm, Oliver Pryce, 3, The Cornhouse, Rindy Grove, Dellingford -“
“Alright. I know the place.” I don’t. I didn't even write it down. Look? Isn't that a pretty flower I drew on this paper?
“So, where can I get the guitar repaired?”
“Oh, of course! How could I forget? You know Milson Street? No, of course you wouldn’t. Right. Go to the end of this road, turn left, turn left again, right, down the alley, left, down the other alley, right, and then - no hold on, that’s for the Woodworker - okay. I got it. To the end of this road, turn right - no, wait, I said left before, didn't I? Why would I have said that? It’s in completely the wrong direction? Okay. This time I’ve got it -“
“It’s fine, Rector. I’ll go searching for myself. Speak soon, I hope!” I don’t. But keep waving, and keep smiling. Don’t give it away now, you fool! Ah, he’s gone. Thank God for that. I think I need another drink. Flit should be back soon, with Lenny’s stuff. Poor kid. But he brought it on himself, didn't he? By being a naive idiot. Look, I’m thinning out the herd. What’s wrong with that? Keeps the gene pool fresh.
Ah. Al’s still at the bar Let’s see how that festering wound is pulsating, shall we?
“Sir Alan Coleby. Still here? Oh, sorry, I forgot. You want to drink privately. Forgive me. A pint, please Ranker?”
“Oh, Rector. Right. Actually, I wonder if I could have a word, you know, pertaining to that which you imparted to me earlier, that you would be willing to listen to me?” See? Am I good, or am I good?
“Of course, my son. A seat over there, by the fire? I believe it’s quite a private spot?”
“Certainly. After you. Oh, Landlord? Put his drink on my order, if you please?”
“You sure, sir? Well, I suppose you know what you're doing.” Cheeky Ranker!
“So, how can I help you, my son?”
“Well, first let me say I stand in no preference to either side in this war -this conflict?”
“Nor I.”
“With that in mind, I am looking for - information - on a certain group of men? I believe they call themselves the Roundabouts?” Shit on a stick!
“I may have heard of them in passing, Sir Alan.”
“Please. You can call me Al.” Not a word. Okay?
“Alright - Al.”
“There is a reward for information on these men.”
“Right.” I did hear that right, didn't I? He did say reward? It’s just that I’ve got money on the brain, and I hear it everywhere I go at the moment.
“Do you know of anyone who could give me information about them?”
Dare I? Dare I betray - “I do.” - them? Dare I - hold on! Did I just say something there? I think I might have.
“You do?”
“Yes.” Wait a minute! Whose that answering for me?
“Then?”
Right, I’m going to take control of my mouth before - “They are an unlawful money lending organisation, as far as my knowledge extends. There are a number of them active about the country, but right now, the leader is upon the battlefield, up Vaxham Hill, in an encampment under the Officership of General Lord Wilberforce Justice. The actual leader of the Roundabouts is Major General Francis Laud, brother of the Archbishop.” - I say something to get me killed. Wait. I did it again, didn't I? Bloody Hell!
“Laud? Justice? Interesting. We’ve never been able to get that much information before. The informants usually disappear before we can get to names. That’s very interesting, Rector. Is there any more?”
Not another word! I’m already - “The other men include Lieutenant James Bootridge, Conor Redmerry, Freddie Snaps, Wilhelm Freemanns -“ - in serious trouble as it is! That’s it! I’m going to sew my mouth shut!
“Well! This is amazing information! I don’t know if it’s possible, but can you accept a reward?”
Look, if I accept money now, my life is - “I cannot accept it personally, but I can accept a donation to the church.” - done. Bollocks. Might as well dip my head in the open fireplace, the good my life’s going to be from now on?
“Then it is my pleasure to give you this purse, Rector! It was fortuitous that we indeed bumped into each other. God’s work, I imagine!” Yes. He sodding well does move in mysterious bloody ways, doesn't he? Look, I think it’s just a race now, for which one of us is cut into little pieces and fed to the birds. I hope it’s him first. Perhaps it’ll give me enough time to run away. I need to clear my head. I should probably go and see what Flit’s managed to do, I suppose? Alright, think positive, Wilfred. There’s still time. Theres always time.
Where did I say to the Driver? Oh, I remember. Trent’s Yard. Just over there. Oh, and here comes Flit - “So? Where did you leave him?”
“Penhole Alley. I made sure he was still breathin’.”
“Well, okay. Poor kid. Still, serves him right.”
“Does it?”
“Alright, Flit. No cheek. Oh, the Dowager wanted to see you in the Rectory. Try not to make too much of a mess, will you?” Ah, everyone has to wet their whistle once in a while. See? I really am a nice man! And there’s the Driver. What was his name again? Oh, yes. Jent.
“Mr Jent? How goes it?”
“Ah, Rector! Oh, fine, fine. Nearly done. See, the sprocket fell out with the difference -“
“Oh, please, I’m no good with the technical details of modern travel.”
“Ah, alright. Sorry. Though I did want a word with you. I was wondering, hope against hope, that you might know of an investor or two? See, I drive for Fradby Travel, and I see so much more they could do. Plus they never listen to my ideas. I want to start my own company, see? I know I could do a better job than most of them companies out there.”
“I see what you’re saying, my son, but I couldn't possibly -“
“Oh, I’m sure you’re not -“
“Wait, my son. I was merely going to say I could not go into business with you. A conflict of interest with the Church, see? But I do know the name of an investment company that might help. They're out near Astbunton. They're called Rail, Parc and Puedam Investments. Good bunch of chaps, so I hear. Hope that helps?”
“Oh, I couldn't thank you more, Rector! Uhm, there is one thing further -“
“Really?”
“Could you - could you hold onto this purse, in your Church? See, this is my life’s savings and I would hate to lose them to a bandit on the road? I nearly got caught several times on my way here. Would you?”
“Me?” Right. I didn't see this coming. I was too busy counting the hours until Jimmy Boots came into town to cut off part of my anatomy. Plus I know a bandit or two who might - take care of that problem - for me!
You know, things might be looking up? Look, there’s a first time for everything. Besides, I’m sure Sir Alan won’t be getting on the coach for the rest of his trip. He’s going to ask the wrong person the wrong question and they'll take care of the problem.
I really shouldn't worry, you know. I keep forgetting how cutthroat this town is. Actually, I’m feeling quite buoyant right now! You know what? I’m actually happy! Here, give me your money, Cartman! Sod you and the horse you rode in on! I’m off to treat myself at the Bakers! The Roundabouts? Sod them! Sod them all!
I’m finally feeling alive for the first time in a long time! Sod them all! I think I will partake of my new fiancee!
Flit. I forgot Flit! The little bastard!
However, there is always - “Erm, Trish? You on this afternoon?”
“What? No, but I’m open fer business?”
“That’s what I meant you - oh, bugger it. Let’s go!”
“You want me to bugger it?”
Why am I suddenly regretting my decision?
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