Oscar Wilde once famously declared that the only thing he could not resist was temptation. He would probably have been surprised to learn that this is a characteristic he shares with a certain skeletal hound (as well as being dead, of course), and why the aforementioned Drury considers himself to be totally blameless in the following sequence of events. After all, the finger of blame should really point at Philomena Bucket. If only she had been more careful when putting things down, the problem would never have arisen. Dropping her duster and rushing off to see why both of her children were crying was no excuse. Father Stamage’s hat had been left on the sideboard where any Tom, Dick or Drury might reach it with ease, and be tempted to run off with it.
Of course, this was not the first time Father Stamage’s Capello Romano had been given the Drury treatment (see the tale ‘The Accidental Adventures of Father Stamage’s Hat’) and on that occasion the fault could be squarely laid with Tenzin, the young Buddhist monk, who was using it as a frisbee to entertain the children, Caitlin and little Oswald. Anyway, it’s sufficient to say that Drury had once more succumbed to temptation and stolen the ghostly priest’s hat.
By the time he had grown tired of the game, Drury found himself in that uniquely strange area of the island known as Not-Hopeless. Regular readers may remember that upon leaving the island some months ago, Doctor Pyralia Skant had opened this liminal fissure as a gift to The Squid and Teapot. Here Philomena was able to gather some precious provisions; these were items of food and drink previously unknown on the island, and thereby improve the inn’s bill of fare. And it was here that Drury discovered Durosimi O’Stoat throwing spells at Not-Hopeless in an attempt to make it his own private larder.
When the honour of The Squid and Teapot is at stake, Drury is usually the first to run to its aid and, with no one else being available on this occasion, he decided to take matters into his own hands – well, teeth, to be exact. Without a second thought (or even a first, knowing Drury) he flung himself at the sorcerer and grabbed hold of Durosimi’s coat-tails (yes, honestly. The O’Stoat coat has tails).
As you might imagine, this didn’t go down particularly well with Durosimi, who was in mid-incantation at the time. He spun around angrily, still chanting, and – either by design or accident – Drury immediately disappeared.
The explanation for this remarkable occurrence could be found some considerable distance away, in the spiritual interior of Father Stamage’s battered Capello Romano, a hat which, at that moment, lay somewhat undignified in the scrubby grass of Not-Hopeless, where Drury had dropped it during his interruption of Durosimi O’Stoat’s spellcasting.
At that precise moment Father Ignatius Stamage was enjoying one of his customary perambulations through the hallowed corridors of Campion Hall, Oxford. As regular readers will know, once safely ensconced inside his hat and soaking up the heady mix of sweat, cheap brilliantine and incense, the good father preferred to imagine the college exactly as it ought to be: quiet, orderly and entirely devoid of undergraduates.
He was midway along the cloister, admiring the dignified stillness of the place, when he became aware of a noise.
At first it was no more than a faint tapping sound, somewhere in the distance. This was followed by a curious clattering, rather like a collection of teaspoons being shaken in a biscuit tin.
Father Stamage stopped.
Campion Hall, in its ideal state, did not make noises.
The clattering grew louder.
Then came the unmistakable sound of claws – many claws – skidding enthusiastically across polished stone.
Before the startled Jesuit could form a theological opinion on the matter, Drury burst around the corner of the corridor at a speed which would have impressed even the most athletic of living dogs.
He slid across the floor, overbalanced slightly, recovered with admirable dignity, and wagged his tail with such enthusiasm that several vertebrae rattled like loose cutlery.
For a moment the two regarded one another.
“Good heavens,” said Father Stamage faintly.
Drury, clearly delighted to discover that the hat contained an entire building, bounded past him and disappeared through the open doorway of the chapel.
Unfortunately, this particular chapel was not empty.
Two young Jesuit novices, engaged in a perfectly respectable discussion concerning the finer points of Ignatian spirituality, looked up to see a large skeletal dog trot cheerfully down the aisle and begin sniffing the pews with professional interest.
One of them blinked.
“I say,” he murmured, “do we normally have… dogs?”
The other considered this carefully.
“I’m fairly certain,” he replied, “that we do not. Especially ones who look like that.”
Drury paused at the altar rail, sat down briefly, and scratched behind his ear (or rather, the place where an ear had once been).
His tail thumped enthusiastically against the wooden pews.
The novices stared at, what both assumed to be, an undisputed Hound of Hell.
“Brother Leo,” said the first quietly, “I am beginning to suspect that my vocation may require further reflection.”
Meanwhile, Father Stamage hurried after the dog with what dignity he could muster.
“Drury!” he hissed. “This is a place of learning!”
Drury glanced back over his shoulder, entirely unrepentant.
Then, spotting an open doorway leading to the library, he trotted inside with renewed enthusiasm.
Behind him, the ghostly priest closed his eyes.
“Lord,” he murmured wearily, “grant me patience.”
Back on Hopeless, Durosimi O’Stoat stood very still and frowned.
“That,” he said slowly, “was not the intended outcome.”
To be continued…