The Pirates! in an Adventure with the Romantics by Gideon Defoe Page B

Thank you.
     
     
    Where was I? Ah yes! The quadrangle. It was just as I remembered. Shafts of bright sunlight, Mother Nature’s lifeblood, illuminated motes of scholarly dust. When the younger Shelley took these same tentative steps, he expected to acquaint himself with like-minded souls. ‘Let us gather in these places to talk of philosophy,’ he had thought. ‘Let us speak of a new humanity.’ But what did he find? Timid curates-in-waiting, desiccated scholars, mindless milksops and brainless rowers who would rather mock a man’s perfectly elegant new trousers than overturn a bankrupt culture. But I had infiltrated my way in! Who’s the ‘pale idiot’ now? ‘Shows little promise’ eh, Professor Gilliard?
    My reverie was interrupted. ‘Hoy! We don’t want the likes of you in here!’ barked an uncouth Oxford accent. ‘Clear out!’
    A porter! He prodded me with a stick.
    Here was my second obstacle – my River Styx. Page forty-two. This required cunning and guile. I transformed my countenance, adopted a menial expression that does not come naturally to me and eyed a nearby drain.
    ‘Good morrow. I am but a humble drain cleaner with the filth of civilisation foremost in my mind. Behold my rude attire! Savour, if you will, my drainy aroma. Think of me as an uneducated Heracles, tasked with clearing the Augean stables.’ Then I turned the full force of my cunning to bear. ‘My assignment? To cleanse the drains ’neath the college records, preferably those that date back to the seventeenth century. Guvnor.’
    The rubicund visage scrutinised me for a moment, then split asunder into a broad grin.
    ‘Master Shelley! Why, we haven’t seen you in years! I was saying only this morning to Bert, I was saying “we haven’t seen Master Shelley in some time, have we?” I did used to enjoy his company. Always a good boy, I said. Never any trouble.’ He looked at my outfit. ‘Is it Rag Week already? Very good costume.’
    Disaster! My innate air of cultivation, so impossible as it is to conceal, combined with the Captain’s frankly shoddy disguise – that would be hard pressed to bamboozle a sea-cucumber – risked all. My thoughts were like quicksilver. ‘Master Shelley? Be he the poet on everyone’s lips? I hear his views are too shocking by half.’
    The impudent porter reached out and tweaked my cheek. ‘Bless you! That’s what you were always saying! Look at your little face, you haven’t aged a day! Why, I’ll bet you still don’t need to shave.’
    I only tell you this to emphasise his idiocy. Whether a man needs to shave or not is neither here nor there. Some men are just naturally less hirsute. The ancient Assyrians recognised it as a sign of advanced thinking, I’m informed. I make no comment.
    ‘Be told, man! I am but a simple drain cleaner.’
    I received a stagey wink in return. ‘Right you are, Master Shelley. Now, you said something about the college records? You’ll be wanting the College Secretary’s office, through there and up the second staircase. Oh it is nice to see you.’
    Rising like a tiger, I stole across to the staircase and crept upwards with a rough-and-ready working-class tread. Upon entering the College Secretary’s office, I bowed and waved my drain-cleaning stick.
    ‘Drain technician!’
    ‘Master Shelley!’ said the College Secretary. ‘I thought you left us after that misunderstanding with the pamphlet? No matter. Have you returned? How lovely! Is it Rag Week already?’
    Here was my Hades! Like Orpheus confronting the Lord of the Underworld, I dropped all artifice and fixed him with a look that said I was not a fellow who would take any nonsense.
    ‘How can I help you? It’s always nice to see one of our alumni returning. You probably realise that at this time the college is suffering from something of a shortage of funds. We’ve had to stop serving pheasant for breakfast to the undergraduates altogether. Just five groats a month could ensure a law student