Author’s Note: Here, Perkin Perkins clashes with Sir Magnus Monk over something rather less important than saving Britannia. As usual, his name is infinitely forgettable.
“Damn you, Porklet, I asked for lettuce and tomato. Nay, demanded lettuce and tomato, and yet you bring me these. These!”
“Perkins, sir. And I have brought you all we had left as I presumed it better than nothing at all.”
“You presumed. You presumed!”
“Yes, sir, though just once.”
“Damn your insolence and damn these bloody sandwiches.”
“Cucumber. They are cucumber sandwiches.”
“And they are my new favourite food,” rumbled a voice dredged from the bottom of the Thames.
“I’m glad you like them, Your Majesty. It appears Sir Magnus does not share your tastes.”
“Is this true, Sir Magnus?”
“I slipped, Your Majesty.”
“He often slips, ma’am.”
“Thank you for that addendum, Porkloin.”
“Either way, I think with the population struggling as they are, we should not be wasting food. Eat them, Magnus.”
“Eat them! And does something trouble you, Perklet? Would you like to assist Sir Magnus in his consumption?”
“On the contrary, I am in fact delighted.”
“Might I enquire why?”
“Because they landed on my shoes, and I’ve heard cucumbers are good for the leather.”
“Ma’am,” he said expecting a reprieve.
“Clean Pertbums, shoes whilst you’re down there.”