Given the notoriously extensive acknowledgement of the requirements of single birds upon their elevation to high office, it was very little to be wondered at when the newly minted Mayor took to him a wife. —
The wedding ring
The nuptials were held some very few days subsequent to Mr Ian Corby’s coronation as the Mayor. It was a low-key ceremony, for there was something about the reticent demeanour of his bride, which had persuaded her swart groom that the banns were not to be published beyond the minimal legal extent stipulated under Lex Matrimonia Avum. Thus, whereas Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet had previously in one of his expansive moments floridly pressed upon Miss Bianca Columbina the plenitudinous accoutrements of the Cathedral for the wedding then envisaged between those parties, Mr Ian Corby soberly resolved, in a manner very much in keeping with the Presbyterian garb in which he presented himself to the world, to splice himself unto the aforementioned party under the unpretentious aegis of the Registrars in the Old Council House in Corn Street. —
The Old Council House in Corn Street, Lex Matrimonia Avum, Bianca Columbina, Ian Corby, Hawksmoor Perroquet
The marriage took place on a Saturday. The bride resplendent in her customary whiteness, was given away by Sir Ezra Tertiary-Syphilis, who had ’coptered in that very morning from St Peter Port to a sequestered nook of Filton Aerodrome. Miss Bianca Columbina was as dignified as could be hoped, and bestowed almost no guano upon the sanctified confines of that purlieu. Upon the conclusion of the formal proceedings, the guests, who numbered very few and were mostly low types from the taverns and stews and jakes and kennels which Mr Ian Corby democratically frequented, were gathered into charabancs and conveyed with very little to-do straight unto Anchor Road, where at the behest of the Pierpont Morgan thereof they savoured a canapé and a glass of fizz, and afterwards were thrust unceremoniously back out onto the pavement, and left to continue the festivities in the ale-houses of their choosing, inasmuch as the aforementioned investment banker never did bear the cant. Neither did Sir Ezra Tertiary-Syphilis tarry, but directly sought out Mr Jagtar Singh to carry him to Filton Aerodrome, and ’coptered out again most expeditiously, no doubt wishing to avoid such cant as the Excise Men might bring to bear on him. —
Filton Aerodrome
That evening, Mr Ian Corby went home for the first time with his bride. Howsomever, the hearth over which he carried her was not upon that branch in Dogging Wood in which he had been accustomed to make his nest. For rather more well-appointed accommodations had been secured, which better accorded with the dignity which had lately been bestowed upon that corvid. To put matters plainly, the duns had been dismissed from the apartments in Southville previously occupied by Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet, this process also taking place at the prompting of the Sigmund Warburg of Millennium Square, the minions whereof then promptly invited Mr Ian Corby and the freshly minted and very fragrant Mrs Bianca Corby to take up residence therein. —
Dogging Wood
I do not purpose to enlarge upon the discourse which then ensued between these two parties, for to do so would be an intrusion and to very little consequence. Suffice to say, what passed between them did not go unobserved, for none other than Mr Hawksmoor Perroquet perched upon the ledge outside, looking very bedraggled and down at heel. I cannot say that his appearance was the result solely of the inclement weather oppressing all who ventured out of doors that night, for he had of late engaged in terrible debaucheries. At all events, now he pressed his beak against the window, and by this means heaped coal upon the fire of his own rancour. —
Hawksmoor Perroquet
“I am not at all sure that I apprehend your meaning,” said the courteous stranger manifesting not the least diminishment in his considerable stock of sanguinity, “but no matter. Allow me to introduce myself. Tristram Acridotheres at your service.” —
Mr Tristram Acridotheres
“I’m sure I do not know what you mean,” answered Mr Tristram Acridotheres with unwavering geniality, “for you speak in riddles. Nevertheless, I can see that you are troubled. And with that I can sympathise, inasmuch as I am myself by no means a stranger to tribulation.” —
Mr Tristram Acridotheres
“It is so. They were sick. They were taken to the animal doctors at Perky Pets. The doctors there worked them off. Both of them. With Nembutal, a poison. And so they are both dead.” —
Nembutal
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