CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A MEETING OF MINDS

Griselda gets to understand Professor Stroggleoff.

Professor Stroggleoff started shaking as if someone had inserted one of those high power electric d****s up his sagging rectum and switched it to full power . But it wasn't any mechanical device that was making him furious but his own renowned temper brought about by his first altercation with Griselda Entwhistle.

There had been an occasion, buried by the time the events in this saga took place, in the timeless vaults of human history (though in truth some time in the seventeenth century, so not exactly timeless) when his temper had led him towards the gibbet and the rope. It had happened like this, and I'll recount it because an understanding of the way he can become slave to his own baser emotions might help us understand his baser motives. His housekeeper, a winsome woman in her forties, one famed for having considerable skill with the baking tray, was accused by the local clergyman of consorting with satanic powers, which meant she was being accused of witchcraft. Such accusations were not uncommon back then when preachers made sure that the common man was scared of his own shadow when it came to matters of heaven and hell and gods and devils. Perfectly innocent and ordinary folks were accused of all manner of weird things because a great number of people were made to be superstitious by being told outrageous lies by those who should have known better.

The ironic factor here, of course, was that his housekeeper was nothing like a witch despite being able to create a fair apple dumpling pudding with a tasty crème anglais sauce, but was a really good cook and nothing more mystical than that. The irony was that he, on the other hand, regularly delved into the dark arts and would have kissed anyone on the lips had they ventured to suggest there was anything of the witch ( or maybe wizard) about him. But it was she who was accused by a wild blood-thirsty rabble, and not him.

Anyway, in his attempt at rescuing her from a fate worse than death (though death is what it ended up being) he was arrested himself and identical charges slung at him by the same clergyman (who was obviously in hot pursuit of promotion) together with his rabble, and might have been left dangling on the end of a rope himself were it not for his own magical intervention which, besides saving his skin caused all of his accusers and their relatives, friends as well as the talkative publican to forget all about it.

But his housekeeper had not been so lucky: she had been carted off to the stake where she was brutally ignited by the clergyman who knew he was doing the Lord's work, and it was said afterwards that the flames from her burning flesh could be both seen and heard crackling in the skies as far away as Puddleton Bottoms, and the fragrance of her roasting flesh was not unlike that of a pig roasting over an open fire, which was proof of her evil and justified her burning.

Since that time he had made absolutely sure that he didn't lose his temper or threaten anything violent because his own magical intervention in what could have been his own demise had been no better than touch and go. There are forces in the Universe that he was nowhere near powerful enough to counter and had one of those been involved in the seventeenth century malarkey the outcome might have been very different, and he hated to even start thinking about it.

So now, in Griselda's room, he was angry. And instead of ranting and raving and issuing really dire threats and causing lightning storms over half the county he started shaking and worms started descending from both nostrils.

“You want to look after your cardiovascular system!” protested Griselda. “Your eyes are getting bloodshot and your chin's showing signs of cracking! And the worms �" they're looking most unwell. If I were you I'd look after the worms. Are they pets? Do you feed them every day and play with them when there's nothing better to do during the long University vacations?”

Professor Stroggleoff increased his shaking, and Griselda began to fear for the veracity of the famed stone walls of the University as a crack started to appear near the floor, closest to where the dwarf bearded man was vibrating with considerably more violence than a mechanical penis in the hands of a harlot. She struggled to whimper what she hoped was an appropriate calming spell, but without her usual devilish help she was by no means sure that she'd do anything useful at all. But after a titanic struggle inside her own head she thought the whole room seemed to be gradually becoming considerably more mellow, so something ought to be working.

Then the ancient dwarf appeared to calm a trifle. Maybe he had noticed the threat to the structure of the ancient building he was so proud of or maybe the thought of suffering some kind of cardiac failure had a salutary effect. Or maybe Griselda had actually done something really remarkable, and soothed his famous temper without using a whip or any other fetishistic implement but purely using the power of her elderly brain..

Then, at length, he spoke.

“Who are you?” he gasped, the worms beginning to retreat into his flaring nostrils.

“You know who I am,” murmured Griselda, trying to sound both soothing and friendly at the same time, and almost succeeding. “I'm a new student and I'm Griselda Entwhistle and if I've got a few little tricks up my sleeve I don't really mean you any harm. Are you really planning to become the Pope”

He nodded, temporarily seeming to find speech a problem.

“I can't see anything wrong with that,” she told him. “It's a fine ambition and I really do hope you achieve it. My own plans are of a considerably more humble nature: I want to become a priestess so I can taunt the living daylights out of our local priest, who has a fetish for the McMudd sisters. So there's no conflict between us if you're going to be Pope. After all, if one of Adolf's lads can rise so high in the affairs of the church I'm sure a Master like yourself will experience no difficulty, and it might even be fun.”

“One of Adolf's lads?” asked the Professor, and then he grinned when he realised what she meant. “Yes, yes, of course,” he said hastily. “So you're not here to thwart me? You haven't been sent by an emissary from distant dark forces to prevent my elevation to the top of the money-tree? You're not my arch-enemy, my nemesis, my thwarter on my route to fame and fortune?”

“Nothing could be further from the truth,” Griselda assured him. “I am here to learn: it's as simple as that. I want my degree in God affairs for no better reason that I want to annoy the excrement out of our local priest. He's a con-man. He doesn't have any high and mighty beliefs, except questions about what underwear the McMudd women choose to wear �" or not wear, whichever might be the case, because I'm pretty sure they go commando on Friday nights at the Crown!!”

“They're all conmen,” said the little Principal. “And the higher up they crawl the more people there are to con. It's always been the same with religions. The crap the preachers preach might be okay, might even be true if you look at it from a skewed perspective, but the preachers themselves �" bah! I don't trust one of them and I've churned enough with mickey-mouse degrees out of this University over the years.”

Griselda sighed. “It's the same with all kinds of power, not just the religious lot,” she said. “I used to be into politics and got to know quite a few professional politicians and, you know, the whole lot are as corrupt as corrupt can be, and talk about selfish...”

His eyes lit up. “So that's how come I recognise you!” he exclaimed. “You were Prime Minister a couple of years back! The best prime Minister we ever had, and I mean that! You even made prostitution into a social service, and that did a whole lot of good for a whole lot of people!”

“Oh, I did stuff all right, until I got bored,” she said quietly. “Now if you'll excuse me I'll change back into my proper self. Being a kinky young flirt is okay when a woman's wide awake, but it's been a long day and I'm a tad weary. I want to change back into my proper body and lie on that bed and get a good night's sleep. Lectures begin tomorrow and I want to be fresh and wide awake and attentive!”

After she spoke she muttered something quietly to herself, and felt her body begin to revert back to the old woman she really was. It's all right being young and sexy, she thought, but it's nowhere near as comfy as actually being yourself!

The Professor coughed quietly. “I'd best be off, then,” he said. “My my! I've never met a woman with so much natural magic about her! I'll have to write this up in my notes!

“Spell my name right, then,” grunted Griselda. “I hate it when folks get it wrong.”