Many a people have claimed to owe the title "most-horrible-job-acquired" and "most-difficult-job-acquired". The majority of these people are surrounded by a stench of gore, perfume and sea-salt. But never has anyone had as much a claim to the title "most-confounding-job-acquired" as the prison guards of Camelot stationed to transport the prince's manservant into the dungeons.
Admittedly they were used to things being confounding, confusing and confabulating, what with dice flinging from the table every fortnight, random barrels tumbling down the stairs once a month and keys mysteriously disappearing sporadically. But this differed.
"I was set-up! I'm NOT a shirt-molester!"
Oh, bother.