“Thin Spots” Character Sketch: Alistair
It’s another character sketch and another bad guy. Alistair goes after Colin’s body while Satan pursues his soul. At least, that’s the way it looks as of now.
Alistair Hyde Naycock Templeton-Smythe was incensed. He had found a spot on his robe, a patch about two inches square where the deep purple of the velvet had somehow faded to a shade lighter. Negligence is what it was. It was all these foreigners that had taken over the dry-cleaning business. They bought everything they wore at Wal-Mart—what did they know about fine fabrics, or care? Your money was all they wanted, with their exorbitant prices and their pretending not to speak good English. Daddy had moved the family to America for lower taxes and bigger business, not to be robbed blind by the offspring of inferior peoples.
“Brumby!” he shouted. “Brumby, to me! Instantly!”
Templeton-Smythe heard the little man’s thumping run in the hallway and in a moment his tentative knock. “Sir?” came the quavering voice, “You called?”
“Of course I called! Come in here at once.”
Brumby, a diminutive man with a hooked nose and large, watery eyes, complied. “Sir?”
Templeton-Smythe shook the offending fold of cloth under his house-boy’s nose. “What is this, Brumby? How did this happen?”
Brumby peered closely at the robe, inclining his head until the tip of his nose almost touched it. “’This,’ um, sir? My apologies, but what is ‘this’?”
“Are you blind, man? It’s got a stain. You took it to be cleaned, therefore I expect you to have an explanation, which I am even now awaiting.”
Brumby licked his lips. “It’s always been there, sir.”
Templeton-Smythe began tapping his foot on the floor.
“The faded spot, sir. Always been there. You recall this was an e-Bay purchase. ‘Nearly new,’ I believe was the description.”
Templeton-Smythe’s tapping foot snapped up and delivered a sharp kick to Brumby’s shin. The little man grimaced, but did not cry out. “Damn you, Brumby, for allowing such a thing to happen. E-Bay, indeed. Have this rag burned. Now bring me my second-best robe, the one with the crescent moons and stars. A fellow wants to look his best when he’s conjuring wealth, power and immortality, don’t you agree?”
“To be sure, sir.”
