Several weeks previously, during the initial allocations relating to our Spartacist nomenclature, the number 1 spot had been appropriated by a certain unreconstructed gentleman. And, now that numbers 3 through 39 had been so expeditiously gone through, the wheel had as it were turned full circle, and the time had come for this particular gentleman to settle his accounts. The gentleman in question was Mr Jupiter, who was very much in the mould of an Alph, inasmuch as like Mr Luvvertory before him, and also like his friend or at least associate Caliban, he lay with innumerable nymphs, and thereby sired innumerable wingless putti, whom his insouciance condemned to live upon the parish. —
Mr Luvvertory, Mr Jupiter
Whatever the truth of the matter, the day of destiny found us all in the Spa Elysium, grouped as usual in a ragtag semi-circle round burping Charybdis. Mr Jupiter had been arrayed in a sort of winding sheet or toga, and was garlanded with laurels about his brow. To stray into his proximity was reluctantly to know that he had been anointed with the yobspray Jason, much in the manner of John Virgil Haruspex and his quondam colleague Caliban, but not in the manner of Mr Luvvertory, who as ever rocked the natural odours of a fat unhealthy unwashed old man, withal he had bathed in the tears of the minor goddess Perspira. —
Charybdis (Pex ‘n’ Quads)
- Well, said Herod, exhibiting a good cheer which I for one found unutterably sinister, it seems that our Josephus Problem brings us right back to where we started. —
Herod
- But why you put laurels to his head? urged Farokh the Engineer somewhat plaintively, he is polluter of everything. Everywhere, he spit and piss. He will spit and piss in this Charybdis. And then you will tell me, ‘Farokh you Engineer, you climb now into this Charybdis and kill this xrafstar worm and make pure the lair of this xrafstar worm’. Already, you do this impure man an honour that he do not deserve —
Farokh
Pearls to be trampled by swine, I thought, but this time kept my counsel, being fearful lest embittered Petra Mountjoy or that pervert Stig O'Dump or that bandy little dwarf Rodolfo Mather-Steiner should finger me anew as their suspect in the case of the Phantom Crapper. I found myself staring at and very much resenting Peggy, who had just joined our assembly and was grinning moronically at my discomfort, and whom I still then strongly suspected of culpability in the case of the Phantom Crapper. —
Peggy
- Oh yes of course, said Herod as if coming to his senses, we still haven’t melted the krugerrands. Right, Mr Jupiter old chap, be a good fellow and hop into Charybdis. —
Krugerrands
We did the usual thing then. We stood and watched Mr Luvvertory’s homoeopathic preparation exerting absolutely no effect upon either Mr Jupiter or the A.hydrophila lurking in the bowels of Charybdis. Personal trainers, subcontracted by House of Rurik Solutions SARL withal working to the orders of John Virgil Haruspex, barred the exits to prevent bored spectators quitting that sham, until they themselves grew bored and drifted away through the doors and down the stairwell. I would fain have joined the earliest deserters, but was unwilling to draw attention to myself for the reason mentioned earlier, and therefore delayed my departure until there were relatively few of the faithful yet remaining. —
Aeromonas hydrophila
I do not suppose, dear Reader, that you will be at all astounded to learn of the howl of rage and disgust which, shortly before my departure, was heard to emanate from the stairwell. When I came upon the scene, I found Rodolfo Mather-Steiner balanced on one foot, leaning for support on the not-unredoubtable form of Petra Mountjoy. One shoe, sundered from its wearer, bore the mark, inevitably, of the Phantom Crapper’s foulness. Those two personages as I approached, looked daggers at me, for it was evident that they yet harboured strong suspicions as to my complicity in the case. I steadfastly met their gaze, and said then —
Rodolfo Mather-Steiner, Petra Mountjoy
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