15 May 2007
The Mystery of the Missing Moustache – Part Two
May, 1856
“I swear, sir! I do not know anything about the whereabouts of your moustache! I really, truly, know nothing, milord,” Botter ranted, as I towered over him, giving him my very sternest of looks.
“Botter, Botter. Do calm down, and take a seat. Now, this is how this interview will proceed,” I said, holding up a small piece of wood in front of Botter’s face. “This stick that I have in my hand is the ‘talking stick’. When I am holding it, I alone may talk, and you shall listen. Do you understand?”
“Yes, milord,” said Botter.
“Clearly, you do not, as I have not yet passed you the stick, you insolent little shit.”
“But, my lord, you asked – “
“I am still holding the stick, Botter….”
“B-but I…I…”
“Botter, do not force me to use this…” I said, producing a far bigger stick from within my coat.
“Wh-what’s that, milord?”
“It is the ‘failure to understand the talking stick’ stick, Botter,” I explained.
“And how does that work?”
“Allow me to demonstrate,” I said, then clobbered the unfortunate urchin around the head with the bigger stick. He yelped in pain. “Every time you fail to adhere to the rules of the ‘talking stick’, you shall receive a thrashing from the ‘failure to understand the talking stick’ stick. It is as simple as that.”
“Fuck, that hurt,” mumbled Botter, for which he received a further blow to the head. He cried out loudly, which forced me to lash at him again, only for him to repeat his earlier outburst, thus earning himself an additional beating. This farcical cycle carried on for a further ten minutes, before Botter finally seemed to grasp the principals behind the respective sticks, and shut up.
“Good,” I said, as peace descended upon the room. “We are finally getting somewhere. Now, why did you not alert me to the absence of my beautiful moustache earlier, Botter?”
Botter eyed me cautiously, and remained silent.
“Marvelous! You have finally learnt something in your miserable life. Here, you may have the ‘talking stick’,” I said, handing Botter the twig.
“Thank you, milord. In answer to your question, I did not mention your lack of moustache as I thought you might react badly, and blame it on me, and then possibly beat me.”
“And what would ever give you that idea?” I asked.
“Um…milord…you…you are not holding the ‘talking stick’…”
I sighed, and produced a third, larger stick, which I then whipped across Botter’s stinking head.
“OW!” he exclaimed. “Wh-what was that?”
“This?” I replied, wiping the third stick clean of Botter’s greasy residue. “This is just a general ‘beating Botter’ stick, that I use whenever it takes my fancy. Bear that in mind.”
“Right, sir.” Botter replied in a dull tone, as he rubbed the back of his head.
“Good. Now, when did you last see my fantastic facial fuzz, Botter?”
Botter’s brow furrowed into a deep frown, as he tried to recall his memories from deep within the fetid recesses of his mind. I sighed, and started pacing up and down on the carpet, pausing occasionally to glance at my watch, or menacingly wave a stick in front of my hapless servant’s face. It seemed as if several ice ages had passed before Botter finally opened his wretched mouth. But then he was rudely interrupted by the chime of the front door bell.
“Shitting arse-cracks! Who the Hell could that be?” I snarled, snatching the ‘talking stick’ from Botter’s grubby hands. “You wait here, and try and hold on to that thought. I will return forthwith.”
I hastened down the hallway, unlocked the front door and swung it open.
“What in the name of cockery do you want?” I snapped, growing increasingly irritated by this whole affair.
The reply came in the form of a swift punch to my lordly face.
- Lord Likely
