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avevale_intelligencer) wrote2006-09-22 05:16 pm
avevale_intelligencer) wrote2006-09-22 05:16 pm
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Sir Louis Comes To A Decision
Sir Louis returned to his rooms in the Club With A Nail In It that evening entirely out of sorts. Even the cheerful greeting of Pikestaff the porter, not to mention the excellent grilled lamb chops prepared by the redoubtable Mrs Piddock, failed to lift his spirits, and he knew better than to linger at the bar in his current mood.
He had demanded an interview with the young trainee who had carried out Master Shadman's function upon his own teacher, but the young man who had seemed so nervous in court had acquired from somewhere in the interim an impenetrable self-possession from which Sir Louis's verbal fusillades rebounded futilely. The knight had quitted the halls of justice no wiser than when he had entered them to hear the verdict, and with a weight of foreboding on his soul that refused to lift. He slammed his door behind him, plumped into his favourite armchair, poured himself a glass of Scotch whisky from the decanter he kept always to hand, and lapsed into a stillness that some might have found uncharacteristic of the Sir Louis they knew. It was very seldom that shouting, sulking or hitting things failed to gain him his desires; but on those occasions when they did, he was not too proud to avail himself, as a last resort, of thinking.
He was thinking now, bushy brows hooding his blue eyes as they gazed sombrely into nothingness, the whisky untasted in his hand while the other hand stroked his moustache. For a long time he sat, as motionless as an oil painting of himself; then, at last, his thoughts began to express themselves in hoarse, disjointed muttered phrases.
"Doom was a nonsense...go there, fetch that...do it on his head. As absurd as the blasted charge. Question is, then...boy merely incompetent...or somethin' else at work here? Don't know...don't know a blasted thing. Somethin's wrong. Feel it in my water. Whole affair a travesty...child could see that. Shadman may be a lot of things...might do a lot of things...never betray his callin'. No, this is somethin' different. Dark. Can't fathom it on my own. Never had the brains. Chap gets hauled up in court on a trumped-up charge...gets handed a ridiculous Doom. Why? Ambition? Not that spotty brat standin' in for him. 'Sides, he kept his position. Revenge? Politics? Some idiot's idea of aa joke? Get him to take a holiday? No, silly notion."
He sighed, seemed to notice the glass in his hand for the first time and drained it in one draught.
"Can't fathom it on my own," he repeated, with an air of decision.
Then he crossed to the escritoire that stood under the window, sat down again, took a pen and a sheet of the club's notepaper and began to write in his laborious, sprawling hand.
Well, I'm running out of subtitles... :)
He had demanded an interview with the young trainee who had carried out Master Shadman's function upon his own teacher, but the young man who had seemed so nervous in court had acquired from somewhere in the interim an impenetrable self-possession from which Sir Louis's verbal fusillades rebounded futilely. The knight had quitted the halls of justice no wiser than when he had entered them to hear the verdict, and with a weight of foreboding on his soul that refused to lift. He slammed his door behind him, plumped into his favourite armchair, poured himself a glass of Scotch whisky from the decanter he kept always to hand, and lapsed into a stillness that some might have found uncharacteristic of the Sir Louis they knew. It was very seldom that shouting, sulking or hitting things failed to gain him his desires; but on those occasions when they did, he was not too proud to avail himself, as a last resort, of thinking.
He was thinking now, bushy brows hooding his blue eyes as they gazed sombrely into nothingness, the whisky untasted in his hand while the other hand stroked his moustache. For a long time he sat, as motionless as an oil painting of himself; then, at last, his thoughts began to express themselves in hoarse, disjointed muttered phrases.
"Doom was a nonsense...go there, fetch that...do it on his head. As absurd as the blasted charge. Question is, then...boy merely incompetent...or somethin' else at work here? Don't know...don't know a blasted thing. Somethin's wrong. Feel it in my water. Whole affair a travesty...child could see that. Shadman may be a lot of things...might do a lot of things...never betray his callin'. No, this is somethin' different. Dark. Can't fathom it on my own. Never had the brains. Chap gets hauled up in court on a trumped-up charge...gets handed a ridiculous Doom. Why? Ambition? Not that spotty brat standin' in for him. 'Sides, he kept his position. Revenge? Politics? Some idiot's idea of aa joke? Get him to take a holiday? No, silly notion."
He sighed, seemed to notice the glass in his hand for the first time and drained it in one draught.
"Can't fathom it on my own," he repeated, with an air of decision.
Then he crossed to the escritoire that stood under the window, sat down again, took a pen and a sheet of the club's notepaper and began to write in his laborious, sprawling hand.
Well, I'm running out of subtitles... :)
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As for subtitles, try something in the Capatin Nemo range.
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