That must be Drooplip, Bandit thought.
His Worship’s voice, gentle now: “I shall not tax you for a name, my dear. You are quite within Custom. A story of your recent doings by which one may picture you and perhaps a glimpse of your ancestry will suffice. Then we may exchange names. Once known, then named, as we say in Law.”
“A story about myself? Then I’ll begin.”
Great Raccoon Ancestor help us! thought Bandit.
“I told you. You should’ve given ’er to the pair of toffs and have done with ’er.”
“They didn’t have enough bottles to acquire her.”
“Then you should’ve acquired her yourself and taught her how to please a lord.”
“The Judge will make that determination himself. I fancy he’ll judge the product well. He’s listened to many a tale of woe in his time.”
Sensibella’s sing-song voice wended out the open window.
“Mine is a tale of passion and tragedy, of a love-lorn heart tossed upon a sea of sorrow. I shall begin thus. Once upon a time …”
Lockjaw was making retching noises.
“You two, get out,” the Judge said.
“With pleasure, Your Worship.”
Bandit edged around to the wind-free side of the greenhouse so he could hear their conversation when they came out.
“Friggin’ relief to be out here! I pity His Worship. He must endure her tale ere he gets her tail.”
Sensibella, fainter now because he was distant from the window, was telling her life story to the judge. Yet in her spinning haze of impassioned notions and supercharged images, she wasn’t revealing a single item of information about herself. In fact, Sensibel had no life story at all, other than back-to-back classes in deportment followed by field hockey.
“I beg you, Mademoiselle, abbreviate your intellectual biography. Much as it teases the imagination, I find it completely without substance.”
“Then it shall gain in elegance as it gains in simplicity. Where was I? Oh, yes. I was saying that a lady’s heart sits ever in a court of judgment. As it does likewise, I presume, in a gentleman of consequence such as Your Worship, though I have not yet met a man whose heart is true …”
She hasn’t met a single man in her life, Bandit thought. Except possibly the tall romantic stranger she had extolled in the willow tree. The artiste.
“But a lady’s heart is true, simple and pure, and having this disposition it will for its own benefit spontaneously obey someone whose judgments are just and lawful.”
“To be sure,” the Judge said.
“Yet assisting the force of instinct is the power of natural reason. For reason draws significance from this disposition of the heart in that one animal who best perceives the order and seemliness in things. I speak of course of the noble Raccoon. The rational Raccoon perceives the beauty, constancy, and the congruence of all the parts of the object that she senses. Natural reason transfers this sensation from the heart to the mind, thinking that beauty, constancy and order should be preserved – and much more so – in a Raccoon’s deeds and decisions. Doubtless in your offices as a magistrate, Your Honour has likewise made judgments based only on a sense of Proportion in the accused’s actions and character when factual evidence is lacking.”
“I have indeed,” the Judge said, taken in by Sensibella’s flattery. It was clear he possessed the rare quality of harmony in his emotions necessary to a magistrate who has to make determinations on the fly.
“Then in likewise manner, Your Worship will allow that my heart dances with the play of your Proportions upon it, and my heart tells me: ‘Here is a worthy Gentleman and an upright governor withal. If he would but resist the fetish of viewing every relationship between Raccoons as a transaction’.”
“Wow!” Bandit whispered. He had come back to the open window to hear the discourse better.
“Alas, the habit is a commonplace of our pinched and mercenary times,” the Judge replied. “I wouldst have a relationship with you that cannot be bought or sold.”
“Then you must woo me.” Her sigh came clearly through the open windowpane.
“Ancestor in heaven – where do I begin?”
“Begin with the Beauty of the disposition of parts of your Paramour as they meet your Senses. Sight, hearing, taste, smell, and, lastly and most urgent of all, touch. Each sense must be accorded its due measure. Whence, dilate on these Sensations as they find their order in your heart’s affections, paying heed to the inner Beauty, Constancy, and Orderliness of your beloved. Thence, extol your desire in a pleasing sonnet in the fashion of a Poet.”
Sounds easy, Bandit thought. He was being ironic. In reality, he found that articulating his feelings for Sensibella was impossible. He’d just open and close his mouth like a wolf-fish. And she wanted her paramour’s feelings arranged in a sonnet, whatever that was. Maybe he could find one on the web. Why couldn’t poets come right out and say what they felt?
“Of course, when you praise a lady, your words must show a moderation and restraint. For just as the eye, aroused by the beauty of her body, arranges her limbs and tail with delight that all her parts are in graceful harmony, your words must …”
A crash inside the greenhouse. Should he take a chance and look? No, someone was rushing out. It was His Worship with a look of horror on his face. He was clutching his throat, stumbling to the edge of the roof to throw up. Clearly, he wasn’t a poet. It gave Bandit some comfort that he shared this disability with the judge.
Instead of vomiting, the Judge stood swaying at the edge of the roof. A concerned Lockjaw and Drooplip rose on their hind legs above the meadow grass.
“Prepare her by daybreak or else I’ll close the place.”
“If Your Worship would be patient, I’ll prepare another escort.”
“No, this one will do. She looks good on the arm. But a single word out of her mouth is enough to dampen the ardour of any suitor. She simply must keep her muzzle shut.”
“I’ll make sure she doesn’t speak.”
“She is intended for a very important Visitor to the city who’s making his appearance tomorrow.”
“Understood, Your Honour.”
“Oh, and her tail is wet and bedraggled. Looks like it’s been around the block. Get her a false tail. The fluffiest one you can find.”
