The World of Poo

disinfectant. Now, it’s coming up to the time of my appointment at the Royal College of Heralds,’ he said, turning to Grand-mama. ‘I’ll drop your boy home when we’re done, if that’s all right, ma’am. It’s just around the corner from you.’
    They travelled in Sir Harry’s coach, which was painted a dark and glossy green with the letters H and K in shiny gold leaf on the doors. Fortunately for Geoffrey there was enough ventilation for him to escape the very worst of Harry King’s very large cigar. 2

    As they turned the corner by the Palace Sir Harry remarked, ‘See that, Geoffrey? My lads collect not far short of a tonne a week there. Not much paperwork to speak of because his lordship expects his employees to bring their own – and he expects me to do the collecting pro bono.’
    ‘What does pro bono mean?’ asked Geoffrey.
    ‘For nothing, lad; free, gratis, goodwill. Still, mustn’t grumble. At least we’ve got a ruler who understands the worth of your working man.’
    They had now reached Pseudopolis Yard, and, gesturing towards the Opera House, Sir Harry continued: ‘Even though the performers don’t eat very much, that place gets through so much fizzy wine it’s a golden river in its own right, and that, my boy, is why they call me King of the Golden River.’
    ‘Sorry, Sir Harry,’ said Geoffrey. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
    Harry King smiled and said, ‘Well, lad, there’s poo, isn’t there? And there’s piss! And, to tell you the truth, I started my career leaving buckets outside every public house for people to piss in, and me and my lads would take them away when they were full. And we would sell it. Amazing stuff. I mean, it’s almost alchemical really. It’s astonishing what you can get out of it, even explosives if you’re careful – but don’t worry about that yourself, of course, it never actually happens while you’re doing it.’

    As the journey progressed, every now and then Sir Harry would bang on the roof of the coach with his stick and give the driver instructions to either detour round the back of a building or turn off into an alley and stop near one of his collection points, where he would lean out of the window to make sure everything was in order. He seemed to know everyone by name and his gruff voice cut through the clamour of the street straight into the un-fragrant ears of his employees. ‘Just you clean up that spillage, Jake,’ he shouted to a young man trying to kick something into the gutter. ‘That’s money straight down the drain, that is!’
    Just as the Royal College of Heralds came into view in the distance, Sir Harry said: ‘And after the piss pots I realized that there was money to be made in the things that people were throwing away. Everything. There’s always someone who could use something, and they have to get it from Harry King.’
    They drew up at the large green gates, stepped down from the coach and rang the bell. A small wicket gate in the main door was opened by a liveried porter who asked them their business. ‘I have an appointment with the Herald, smart boy,’ said Sir Harry, taking his cigar out of his mouth. ‘To discuss the progress of my coat of arms.’
    ‘Which herald would that be?’ asked the doorman, seeming a little unnerved.
    ‘Search me,’ said Harry. ‘Something like, er, reddish breakfast roll?’
    The porter let them into the courtyard and Geoffrey looked around. It was much smaller than he expected, but quite smelly. In the middle was a muddy pond with a couple of hippos wallowing in it, and a small owl was perched on the handle of an old broom leaning against the wall.
    ‘If you would like to come this way, Sir Harold,’ said the returning porter, ‘we have a design mapped out for your approval. And is there anything we can do to help your young friend?’ he asked, eyeing Geoffrey.
    ‘Oh, I expect he’ll find something to do around here, he likes the animals,’ said Sir Harry, giving Geoffrey a big wink. ‘Very studious boy, this young lad, very interested in what you gentlemen would call, I suspect, animal excrement.’
    ‘I’ll let old Joseph keep an eye on the young man. He cleans the yard for us and knows his way around all the pens,’ said the porter, leading Sir Harry away.
    A small elderly man, his head bent forward, emerged slowly from a shed and, transferring the owl to his shoulder, took hold of the broom, which he used as a support to walk across the yard. ‘Can