Spivey here:
What the devil…Oh, dear, I’m not myself, we never mention him around here.
What happened? Tell me who nobbled Princess Desirée. What? Oh, is that so, well I wouldn’t tell you something if you were the last persons left alive, either…but surely you’ll tell me since I’m not exactly viable?
Blast your hides. I shall not forget your uncivil behavior toward me.
Oh, I’ll give you another chance. I was diverted, you see, took my eye off things because I had to “sit” through a lecture from Reverend Smiles. In front of my entire angel class, no less. All because I had a little collision. Not even a really disastrous one, just a lot of bouncing about and turning upside down, you know what I mean. No, I don’t suppose you do.
I flew straight into King George III. No, I’m not joking. I looked at him, recognized him, and the sight of him shocked me so much I forgot to slow down. He hasn’t changed. Not a bit of it. Looks a bit more pasty than the last time I saw him—that would be when he knighted me—but apart from that, and my never having seen him without his wig before (disturbing, that, seems too…intimate) and of course, he wasn’t wearing the crown, but apart from those minor changes, he was his old puffed-up self. Slip of the tongue there, I meant he was very—royal.
Anyway, Reverend Smiles didn’t care about my being surprised and couldn’t give a fig about the King having knighted me. I saw the Reverend’s little smile when he told me such trifles were not important around here. He just kept saying, “Chaos in class is not acceptable.”
I digress…again. Back to the matter in hand. The Princess out and about on her own and getting into a pickle? How did that happen? What a slipup and who was responsible? Damn him whoever he is because we now have the entire Mayfair Square Militia mobilized to get in our way.
And would one of you tell me what that girl, Desirée, is thinking of? Don’t answer that! She’s a female—doesn’t think. But if she continues making outrageous remarks to Adam in front of Jean-Marc, he’ll lock her away until he marries her off—and that won’t be to Adam Chillworth.
Also, I’m concerned about Rolly Spade-Filbert. I do have a definite plot in mind, y’know, and…no, I won’t tell you about it. You don’t help me so I will not share with you, either. Don’t interrupt me again. I have a plan and I am still impressed with my brilliance in choosing a Busy rather than an Empty accomplice. The empty minds were an admirable idea since their owners could be so easily told what to do, even if they did get my instructions all wrong sometimes. But the busy mind is also, in most cases, a good mind and there should be no misunderstanding. The problem with Rolly Spade-Filbert is that I fear he may be too involved in his own selfish agenda to pay the necessary attention to mine. And all this chatter of his with the Williams girl—what does he think he’s about there?
Fear not, I shall prevail.
I almost forgot to tell you what HRH said to me. He warned me about the evils of leeching, said the best thing is to keep one’s blood to oneself and never to trust doctors. Really, he spoke as if I were his dear friend, most gratifying but, given my stature among architects at the time, not surprising.
I say—oh, it’s nothing really, just a stray thought in passing, about keeping one’s blood to oneself. If that were possible one might take the suggestion seriously. But there is certainly one heartening thing about being bloodless—one doesn’t have to worry about leeches after all.