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'More?'
'It's part of the upgrade to UltraWord™, Your Honour.'
'Very well, go ahead.'
'Feisty.'
'Approved.'
'Feigned.'
'Approved.'
'Weighty.'
'Approved.'
'Believe.'
'Not approved.'
'Reigate.'
'Approved.'
'That's it for the moment,' said the small man, passing his papers across for Kenneth to sign.
'It is the Judgement of Solomon©,' said Kenneth slowly, 'that these words be exempt from Rule 7b of the arbitrary spelling code as ratified by the Council of Genres.'
He stamped the paper and the small man scurried off.
'What's next?'
But I was thinking. Although I had been told to ignore the three witches, their premonition about the 'I before E except after C' rule had just come true. In fact, the 'blinded dog' had barked, the 'hedge-pig' had ironed, and Mrs Pas
ser-by had cried ' 'Tis time, 'tis time!' Was there something in it? Did they really think I was to be the Bellman? And what was that about the 'thrice read rule'?
'I'm a busy man,' said Kenneth, glaring at me. 'I don't need day dreamers!'
'I'm sorry,' I began, 'I was thinking of something the three witches told me.'
'Charlatans!' announced Kenneth. 'And worse – the competition. If you see them again, try to pinch their mailing list, won't you? In the meantime, can we have the next customer?'
I ushered them in. It was several characters from Wuthering Heights and they were all glaring at one another so much they didn't even recognise me. Heathcliff was wearing dark glasses and saying nothing; he was accompanied by his agent and a lawyer.
'Proceed!'
'Wuthering Heights first-person narrative dispute,' said the lawyer, placing a sheet of paper on the table.
'Let me see,' said Kenneth slowly, studying the report. 'Mr Lockwood, Catherine Earnshaw, Heathcliff, Nelly Dean, Isabella and Catherine Linton. Are you all here?'
They nodded their heads. Heathclif looked over his sunglasses at me and winked.
'Well,' murmured Kenneth at length, 'you all believe that you should have the first-person narrative, is that it?'
'No, Your Worshipfulness,' said Nelly Dean, ' 'tis the otherways. None of us want it. It's a curse to any honest Generic – and some not so honest.'
'Hold your tongue, serving girl!' yelled Heathcliff.
