The Sleeping Army Awakes

Part 69 RIP Ruthers

"I want Nursie!" Sir Gilbert whined drunkenly. In his current state of inebriation he was unable to detect the almost soundless, miniature drone that had sneaked in past the security field. It wasn't unusual for Sir Gilbert to drink during the day but today he had been drinking steadily throughout the this one and he had doubled his consumption after his disastrous conversation with Sir Percy.

The minute drone had hovered patiently and waited, until the breeze had blown the net curtains out sufficiently from their correct position, to provide a big enough space for it to enter. It had been lurking outside in case of just such an opportunity, for an hour.

The drone aimed and fired the tiny poison tipped dart. It whistled through the air and missed Sir Gilbert's cheek by a whisper as he bent slightly to take another slurp of Napoleon brandy. The barb embedded itself into Ruthers' neck and he grasped the small deadly sliver in his spiny fingers and smiled in appreciation. It would have been his chosen method of dispatching enemies, it was small, and almost silent, and so it was difficult to detect... and ultimately fatal.

Ruthers said as gently as he was able to. "Pardon me sir please. I am feeling distinctly unwell!"

"I have told you before. Don't bring your troubles to work!"Sir Gilbert said.

Always the consummate professional Ruthers replied. "Very good sir! I will endeavour to make no further reference to my impending demise and make the end as unobtrusive as possible!"

"Good!" Sir Gilbert said.

"But I want Nursie now." Sir Gilbert said, completely ignoring his servant's troubles. 

"But if sir would forgive an aged family retainer to crave an indulgence!" Ruthers said coughing blood. "one must observe that regrettably once one has consigned a member of the live-in staff to be eaten by the family crocodile after such a fate there is no going back sir!"  

"I suppose that you're right as always Ruthers." Sir Gilbert said, "Give me the comforter and a large drink of cognac before you pop orf to wherever you're going!"

"Regrettably I am unable to comply with your wishes Sir Gilbert. All my muscles are cramped. I feel that I must depart imminently." Ruthers informed, as he collapsed to the amply carpeted floor clutching his heart.

"No give me my comforter first you imbecile!" Sir Gilbert commanded.

But it was too late. Ruthers had fallen to the ground on top of his Dudat with blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth and the only thing possible for Ruthers left to give anyone, was some exercise when they carried his body from the room.

"Damned inconvenient one's servants popping orf like that. Just when a fella needs some libation. Seems that you just can't get the staff any more!" Sir Gilbert said ungratefully.

Ruthers had died at the age of one hundred and three and had never missed a day of service.

"Suppose I'd better pour me own drink!" Sir Gilbert said sulkily, regarding his demised servant with distaste.

Sir Gilbert grabbed the fine silvered brandy vessel and poured an over-large one into his obsidian brandy glass and pulled the bell for some of the under-servants to remove the corpse and clear up the mess from the carpet.

"Smythe!" Sir Gilbert shouted. "Someone has bumped orf the butler."

Flying fish

Sir Percy finished his second, obscenely large, glass of, purely medicinal, brandy and placed the empty glass on an occasional table. He signalled to the pretty, but rather vacuous, barmaid in the hotel bar, that he required a refill. While he waited for a replacement of his drink, he gazed out through the windows at the rising waters at the end of the hotel's garden and toyed with some roasted peanuts in a bowl.