Saturday 10th December 2011
An inconclusive meeting and the conclusion of tests
This was his office and the tall Norman was not going to be bullied by a short serf in a suit.
“Unless you show me direct authority from Number Ten, Virgulle is staying right here. With me. Did they not tell you I’m from Orse-trail-yer?”
The man withdrew, allowing us to continue our perusal of the newspapers, but Norman was soon to receive further instructions by telephone, as a result of which he and I were compelled to attend a meeting with five stern officials in a room across the corridor where the curtains remained closed throughout.
Asked how I had managed to ‘smuggle out’ the letters, I told them. They made disapproving noises and glared at Norman.
I asked if I would be able to return to the Walkers once the tests were completed. They said they would think about it.
Asked if I could tell them more about Rheta and my journey through the void, I replied that I would think about it.
They conferred in whispers. A member of the security staff entered, bearing a tray containing a bowl, spoon, sugar, milk, and an unopened packet of Weetabix.
They asked if I wanted breakfast. Despite my hunger, I said I would think about it. They left the chamber.
Norman carried the tray back to his office, where, after eating three, I resumed my sleep… with a female bodyguard sitting opposite my makeshift bed, should I suddenly need to commit another outrage among Norman’s outgoing correspondence.
Two more days of tests followed, with Norman’s team concluding that I was in excellent health, despite the damage done to my wing, which, it was agreed, should have been treated by a surgeon sooner.
“What happens to Rhetans if they have an accident and cannot fly again?”
“They do not fly. It is the same when a person cannot use their legs. It is a change. That is all.”
The subject of my broken wing was not raised again, which did not displease me, for I was no longer sure to what extent I could rely upon Norman as a confidant.