Patchwork Novel: Chapter 3 (Part One of Two)

by Antichrist
Ushered into the private study by the Norwegian butler, I was given ample time to peruse bookcase after bookcase before the arrival of the professor. The seven seconds the door was opened, before being brutally shut, allowed a hint of fresh air to wander about the cigar filled cavern. Comparable to a small pack of freshman among a row of highly offensive lineman. The fresh air was quickly unnoticeable.

As my much traversed lower body collapsed onto a lounge chair, my not so gentle plop timed itself just as the professor creaked into the study. His robe was at least three sizes too small. I prayed he wore something beneath them, lest I see his underclassmen when he was seated.

“Professor Hillbury,” he stated in roll call manner, as if it were my name. While I neither answered by saying “here,” nor with my actual moniker, he seemed accepting of the “Jack Caesar” that I threw out there.

“Ah, a name worthy of the following you have amassed,” he mustered with a witty grin.

Ignoring the playful banter, I shot straight and asked, “I was told you had a letter to give me.”

“I hope you don’t mind if my daughter joins us,” assumed Hillbury, making the simple hand off a cordial affair.

His daughter walked in, or more correctly, trampled, as she tripped over the bottom third of the door. I was not sure whether her Igor-like limp was from said door accident, or a natural hunchback. Her toothy grin should have been kept hidden, as she stated her name with the same inflection as did her father, “Abigal Hillbury.”

“Isn’t she marvelous?” egged on the professor.

“About the letter,” I focused, ignoring the beast that intruded in what I assumed was a private matter.

The elder Hillbury patted each pocket of his robe thrice, and tilted his head upward, as if the letter would be pinned to the ceiling. “I am truly sorry, it’s in my other robe,” stammered the professor. Hopefully that robe would be longer.