year, I have seen fit to reawaken you to your responsibilities, in my capacity as Master of Ritual. etc., in which capacity I have the authority to make appearances at any moment in any classroom I choose in order to acquaint myself with the way in which your various knowledge is inculcated, and with particular regard to its effect upon the progress of the young Earl.
Deadyawn, Sir, I would have you impress your Staff with the magnitude of their office, and in particular...
But Bellgrove, his jaw suddenly hammering away as upon a white-hot anvil, flung the parchment from him and sank to his knees with a howl of pain which awoke Deadyawn to such a degree that he opened both his eyes.
'What was that?' said Deadyawn to The Fly.
'Bellgrove in pain, said the midget. 'Shall I finish the notice?'
'Why not?' said Deadyawn.
The paper was passed up to The Fly by Flannelcat, who had scrambled nervously out of the ashes, and was already imagining Barquentine in his classroom and the dirty liquid eyes of that one-legged creature fixed upon the ink that was even now trickling down the leather walls.
The Fly plucked the paper from Flannelcat's hand and continued after a preparatory whistle effected through a collusion of the knuckles, lips and windpipe. So shrill was the sound of it that the recumbent staff were jolted upright on their haunches as one man.
The Fly read quickly, one word running into the next, and finished Barquentine's edict almost at a single breath.
... would have you impress your Staff with the magnitude of their office, and in particular those members who confuse the ritual of their calling with mere habit, making of themselves obnoxious limpets upon the living rock; or, like vile bindweed round a breathing stem, stifle the Castle's breath.
Signed (as for) Barquentine, Master of Ritual. Keeper of the Observances, and hereditary overlord of the manuscripts by Steerpike (Amanuensis).
Someone had lit a lantern. It did very little, as it stood on the table, but illumine with a dusky glow the breast of the stuffed cormorant. There was something disgraceful about its necessity at noon in summer-time.
'If ever there was an obnoxious limpet swaddled in bindweed you are that limpet, my friend,' said Perch-Prism to Bellgrove. 'Do you realize that the whole thing was addressed to you? You've gone too far for an old man. Far too far. What will you do when they remove you, friend? Where will you go. Have you anyone that loves you?'
'Oh, rotten hell!' shouted Bellgrove, in so loud and uncontrolled a voice that even Deadyawn smiled. It was perhaps the faintest, wannest smile that ever agitated for a moment the lower half of a human face. The eyes took no part in it. They were as vacant as saucers of milk; but one end of the mouth lifted as might the cold lip of a trout.
'Mr... Fly...' said the Headmaster in a voice as far away as the ghost of his vanished smile. 'Mr... Fly... you... virus, where... are... you?'
'Sir?' said The Fly.
'Was... that... Bellgrove?'
'It was, sir,' said The Fly.
'And... how... is... he... these... days?'
'He is in pain,' said The Fly.
'Deep... pain...?'
'Shall I inquire, sir?' said The Fly.
'Why... not...?'
'Bellgrove!' shouted The Fly.
'What is it, damn you?' said Bellgrove.
'The Head is inquiring about your health.'
'About mine?' said Bellgrove.
'About 'yours',' said The Fly.
'Sir?' queried Bellgrove, peering in the direction of the voice.
'Come... nearer...' said Deadyawn. I... can't... see... you... my... poor... friend.'
'Nor I you, sir.'
'Put... out... your... hand,... Bellgrove, Can... you... feel... anything?'
'Is this your foot, sir?'
'It... is... indeed,... my... poor... friend.'
'Quite so, sir,' said Bellgrove.
'Now... tell... me... Bellgrove,... tell... me...'
'Yes, sir?'
'Are... you... unwell... my... poor... friend?'
'Localized pain, sir.'
'Would... it... be... the... mandibles...?'
'That is so, sir.'
