CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: PLANS AND LECTURES

Griselda decides to attend a first lecture whilst Spotty goes in search of an elm tree to love.

There was no sweeter sight than the vision of Griselda Entwhistle, apparently newly aged to be something in her twenties and in the guise of she whom she called her niece, leading the way out of the maze of underground corridors that led very indirectly from the back door of the University to the front entrance, where more normal students were bustling around busily, carrying studenty stuff like laptops, MP3 players and bottles of cider.

The Professor had told her, quite succinctly, that he wasn't beaten so she'd best look out, but for the time being he clearly was on the cusp of being something akin to beaten. Constable Lockemup looked suitably fierce whilst the janitor, still in the form of a toad, leapt in a most confused way backwards and forwards in its attempt not to be trodden on by those who had, in his opinion, kept a human bipedal shape for distinctly unkind and cruel reasons that had to do with the squashing of toads. The only one of the small party who looked remotely normal, as they emerged through a shadowed archway into the light of day, was Spotty because he was a confused student and looked the part.

“Wh-wh-what now?” he asked, frowning like only a tree-hugger without a tree can.

“I'm here to learn to become a priestess, so I need to go to lectures and lessons and be given homework and do it,” decided Griselda. “Now, toady, if I release you from that stinking toad's body whilst nobody's looking and turn you back into your pervy self, will you promise not to try and drink all my blood? Because if you do I warn you: the first sip and you'll turn back into a toad and the second will see you exploding and scattering your innards every which way, and that'll hurt like mad!”

The expression on the toad's face could have meant anything because whereas cartoon toads may have expressive faces real ones don't, but Griselda decided to interpret it as acceptance. She looked around at the mass of students, but they all seemed too busy with their own affairs to take particular notice of a toad assuming the shape of the spooky janitor, so she whispered a little something under her breath and the metamorphosis began. Within little more than seconds the janitor was standing there with the meanest of expressions on his face.

“That's no fun,” he growled. “I don't ever want to be a toad again!”

“Then be a good boy and you won't,” smiled Griselda sweetly. “I much prefer you as a janitor! If it wasn't for the sallow skin, the well-loused hair and the bent back I'd almost think of calling you sexy! But before anyone notices your sudden appearance I think you should return to your duties, don't you?”

“Bah!” snapped Professor Stroggleoff, stamping one of his flat feet onto the ground, almost catching the wispy end of his own beard in the process and tripping himself up.

“As for you, you old fart,” smiled Griselda sweetly. “You might think you're the lord of all you survey, but you're not. My magic, if magic is what it is, is a great deal stronger than yours and I proved it and I've only got one thing to say to you...”

She paused and continued smiling at him, as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

“What's that?” growled the Professor.

“I finish my work here without any interference from you and your mean little tricks and I'll not turn you into a slug �" or anything else unpleasant, come to think of it,” she murmured, her face a mask of pure feminine innocence.

“There's one thing!” he muttered.

“There is? And what may that be?” she asked.

“That skirt you're wearing is against the rules. It's too short and might inflame the menfolk. Young male students are easily inflamed and it's best to avoid it. And that's me wearing my Professor hat!”

As he spoke a posse of young female students in trim black leotards passed them, on their way, assumed Griselda, to the University gymnasium. They turned, almost as one, and smiled empty smiles at the professor, and he blinked back.

“And that would be my fault?” asked Griselda innocently, continuing the debate on fashion. “Surely, if a young man gets uncontrollably inflamed by anything as innocent as a skirt that actually covers a great deal more than one of those leotards does then he should seek help? I'm fed up with us girls being blamed for the frailty of the males of the species! I'm fed up with us being blamed for the pervy minds of feeble young men who can't control their inadequate willies!”

“That doesn't stop it being one of the University rules,” insisted the Professor. “I made sure of that back in the sixties when girls thought they could expose just about anything! They should be proper and modest else how will they ever be respected in the church, going about their Christian duties? It's outrageous that young women should think it's okay showing their bottoms off!”

“You've got it all wrong,” smiled Griselda. “They didn't want to show just about anything, they just wanted to look attractive �" and they did. Young girls are usually remarkably pretty and it's daft covering up all that lovely flesh and natural curves! So as for your rules �" I've a job for you, one that will keep your mind off me and my learning: go and write a new set and post them on the notice board for everyone to see!”

The professor snorted and managed to stomp off with some dignity intact.

“Wh-wh-what now?” asked Spotty for the second time.

“Lectures,” decided Griselda, consulting her note book. “I seem to have an hour with comparative religion, and if I don't hurry up I'll miss the start of it. You must have something to do...”

Spotty nodded. “I'm sup-sup-supposed to be going to a course called Sexual Congress and the Elm at midnight,” he muttered. “I ought to go to that or they'll chuck me out or fail me or something. But will you be all right?”

“Of course I will!”” laughed Griselda. “You go and learn about having sex with elm trees, the constable will come with me to my lecture and stand guard just in case something nasty approaches, and I'll learn everything I can about comparative religions. Meanwhile, shall we meet for lunch? My time-table says I'm free this afternoon, so how about us having a picnic in the woods? It's such a lovely time of year and we'll be able to discuss things without risk of being overheard by Stroggleoff and his servants.”

“His servants?” asked Constable Lockemup.

“Yes,” said Griselda. “Did you see those girls in leotards back there?”

“The black-bottoms?” grinned the young policeman.

“The same, though trust you to notice the colour! Well, I took particular notice of the way they looked at the old fraud. They might have been smiling, but those smiles were about as free from humour as any smile can be. It's as if they were some kind of robot! I guess they're his spies, moving freely through the University on the look out for anyone who might threaten the place.”

“Wh-wh-what sort of anyone?” asked Spotty, turning pale.

“People with any kind of original thought, I suppose,” said Griselda slowly. “Just be careful what you do and don't draw attention to yourselves. I've an idea that nasty things still go on here, and they'll have to be dealt with sooner or later. Meanwhile, don't draw attention to yourself and you should be all right. Just be one of the crowd, and you can see how shallow they are if you look around you.”

Spotty nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I'll go and learn about elm trees and s-s-sex, and we'll meet at lunch time for a picnic.”

He walked limply off, making for a staircase that led to an upper floor.

“Good. Now he's gone we can get down to work,” said Griselda. “I will have to go to the darned lecture, but you keep an eye on friend Spotty. Unless I'm very much mistaken he's likely to get in trouble, and despite his idiocy he's not a bad kid.. Meanwhile, I'm off to do some learning, but first I must attend to the length of my skirt...”

“You mean, make it longer to please the professor and his rules?” asked Lockemup.

“What? Surely you know me better than that, dear boy!” laughed Griselda. “No, I'm about to trim at least an inch off it! That'll give the old fraud something to think about next time he spots me!”

“You know what you're doing like you always do, but be careful,” warned the young policeman. “You'll be wearing next to nothing!”

“You're sounding jealous!” giggled Griselda, “but there's no need to! Remember that time in the shower back in Swanspottle, in your little police cottage?”

Constable Lockemup nodded and had the grace to blush as he walked slowly after Spotty, with one hand thrust deeply into his trouser pockets as he recalled a particularly remarkable episode from above year earlier.