JUST ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE

"Whatever are you doing up there May Rin?" I asked the maid who was up a ladder in the storage half of the tiny, new, combination storage room/servants' wc just off the butler's pantry.

"Putting away the extra stores of cheesecloth, washing soda and all the other things you brought back from market yesterday, Mr. Sebastian. See?" And then I was treated to the appalling sight of our accident-prone maid on top of a ladder, twisting about on one foot so she could wave several tins and paper packets at me while waggling her other foot in the air and simultaneously taking both her hands off the ladder and the shelves.

Daft woman...

"Well, please do stop wiggling around up there. You know you're about as graceful as a stunned goony bird under the best of circumstances, and I can see fro here the untied shoelaces hanging from both your boots, which I'm sure you'll agree is hardly the best circumstance! You'll want to take partic-" But that was as far as I got before the obvious (and some might say inevitable) promptly happened: the silly creature's only solidly placed foot chose that moment to slip off the top rung and she shot hip-deep between the top two rungs of the ladder.

This might not have been any sort of dreadful concatenation of circumstances had we both been in some other reasonably sized area where I had room to manoeuvre (this one was 3' by 7',) or had I not been at that precise moment leaning into the other half of the room, reaching over top of the toilet and restocking our collection of catalogs and other paper refuse for the toilet. Or had it been any other clumsy woman up that ladder who did not have strapped to her thighs various lethal weapons in sturdy leather holsters.

But of course I was leaning, and she did slip, and then she got momentarily hung up on those sturdy leather holsters, which then tipped her backwards, just as I turned and attempted to catch or at least deflect her and keep the feckless female from cracking her empty head open on the newly installed porcelain fixture. And that lead directly to me finishing up buried under a wooden shelf, several sacks of sugar, flour, a hailstorm of tins and smaller packages, plus one surprisingly heavy maid, sitting astride the back of my neck, while my body became more or less wrapped around the base of the new toilet.

Immediately after we both determined the other was not seriously hurt,

("Awww, you broke my fall Mr. Sebastian! Wot a luv you are!"

"Not intentionally, I assure you.")

...we both quickly realised the folly of trying to extricate ourselves after having been effectively poured into a 3' by 7' room like so many sweeties into a very small jar. The maid's legs were wedged in tight around my body by the cascade of dry goods and I by all that plus her. Frankly, the shelves and toilet barely fit in here, never mind two full-sized human bodies. The last time I'd been witness to this much fruitless wriggling I'd been riding to the Norman wars when some horses and knights got themselves stuck arse-deep in quicksand trying to cross in front of Mont Saint-Michel with the tide coming in*.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Sebastian, that I am! I never meant to... to..."

"Sit on my face in the servant's wash closet? I should hope not!"

"Ooh, Mr. Sebastian sir!"

Great gorgons, the things you see when you haven't got your gun.

I was of course much displeased to find myself kissing the base of the servants' toilet, even if it was brand new and freshly cleaned, but on squirming around I found myself in an even less enviable position, cheeks wedged tight between our sniper's leather holsters, nearly smothered in Mae Rin's petticoats and the maid squealing and threatening to pass out on top of me from sheer excitement. I tell you I was soon missing the cool porcelain.

Certain I'd go deaf if she let go another noise like that last one, I finally relinquished all hope of salvaging my pride intact from this fiasco and began considering calling for assistance. But who would be least likely to try and lever this debacle into gain through threat of blackmail? Hm. Well I knew of two somebodies I was definitely not going to call. Finnian was likely naive enough to make nothing more of this than a simple tumble from a ladder.

"Finnian?! Finnian!"

"Ooh, Mr Sebastian, I think maybe I can lift myself up if I can just reach back a little and..."

"No not the door May-Rin no!"

Damn. Damn. Now, not only are we very improperly cuddled together in a completely indefensible position, we're in this tiny room with the door firmly shut, and Mae Rin's last move inadvertently caught my Albert chain around the trigger of one of her hidden pistols. I decline to tell you at what that particular pistol was pointing, but I can confirm it would've ruined a great deal more than just my peaceful morning and the Young Master's breakfast had it gone off.

"Do not. Move," I said, with a great deal of tension evident in my voice. Having only one hand free, I firmly grasped her by the top front of her corset to prevent her rocking back any further.

"Oh. Mister Sebastia-oh. Oh! Oh my!" she replied, suddenly seeing at least one aspect of our dilemma- the most immediate one, the one currently set to distress me most should she move back a fraction of an inch further.

"Stay perfectly still, May-Rin, do not rock back any further or try reaching for anything else. I do not desire any part of my anatomy shot off before breakfast, thank you. If you want to help, use your voice."

"What do I use me voice for, then?"

Thick as two short planks.

"You use your voice to call for help, May-Rin. But don't call Bar-"

"BARD, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"

Well, I can foresee we're going to have a proliferation of questionable magazines around the manor.

And cigarettes.

And flamethrowers.

"May Rin, if you don't want your pay docked and free days cancelled for the next month, do not call that pyromaniac American again." But of course...

"Oi! May, you back here? Did I hear you yellin' fer me a minute ago? Heh heh, whatcha do, fall in?"

...he would be the one to answer the call on the first try. And if we're running true to form, right behind him will doubtless be...

"What is going on down here this morning? Bumpings, crashings, my tea is late, my paper is late, my bloody butler has evaporated, my- what the- Sebastian? Is that you?

But of course.

"Mister Sebastian! What in hell are you doin' under there?!"

Notes: _
*See the Bayeux Tapestry