Mortimer the Executioner opened the door, and at first glance there appeared to be no one there. But Bojohn cried out, “It’s the Encourager!” And there, on the sill, was in fact the tiny figure of the Encourager, no taller than a sparrow, carrying his umbrella folded under his arm. He opened the umbrella, and leaping into the air floated up with it to the Executioner’s shoulder, where, folding the umbrella again, he stood bowing to the company.
“Dear me,” said the Queen, “I believe it’s the Encourager of the Interrupter.”
“If there’s anything going on,” piped up the Encourager, in his shrill voice, “I don’t want to be left out!”
“Then sit down, Mortimer,” said Prince Bilbo, “and let the Encourager hear the story too.”
The Executioner seated himself, and the Encourager sat down on the Executioner’s shoulder and gazed solemnly at Solario with his beady black eyes.
“Ahem!” said Solario, clearing his throat and picking up his shears. “I will now, with your majesty’s gracious permission, proceed with the story as it was related to the assembled company at Ventamere by the seal, and by Alb the Fortunate to myself. This, then, is
“THE STORY OF TUSH THE APOTHECARY, AND OF PARAVAINE HIS SISTER.”
I must tell you (said the fat young man), that I am an apothecary, and my name is Tush.
“We had a Lord Treasurer once,” interrupted the Queen, “whose name was Filch. It seemed so odd.”
My name is Tush; and this damsel, my sister, who was lately a Ragpicker, is known as Paravaine. So much for that. I now proceed to the catastrophe which begins my tale, and I hope you will pardon me if I pause at times to wipe away a tear.