Unseen Academicals

down is you…The realization had her mind on fire.
    A lot hinges on the fact that, in most circumstances, people are not allowed to hit you with a mallet. They put up all kinds of visible and invisible signs that say ‘Do not do this’ in the hope that it’ll work, but if it doesn’t, then they shrug, because there is, really, no real mallet at all. Look at Juliet talking to all those nobby ladies. She didn’t know that she shouldn’t talk to them like that. And it worked! Nobody hit her on the head with a hammer.
    And custom and practice as embodied by Mrs Whitlow was that the Night Kitchen staff should not go above stairs, to where the light was comparatively clean and had not already been through a lot of other eyeballs. Well, Glenda had done that, and nothing bad had happened, had it? So now Glenda strode towards the Great Hall, her serviceable shoes hitting the floor enough to hurt. The Day girls said nothing as she marched in behind them. There was nothing for them to say. The real unwritten rule was that girls on the dumpy side didn’t serve at table when guests were present, and Glenda had decided tonight that she couldn’t read unwritten rules. Besides, there was a row already going on. The servants who were laying out the cutlery were trying to keep an eye on it, which subsequently meant that more than one guest had to eat with two spoons.
    Glenda was amazed to see the Candle Knave waving his hands at Trev and Nutt, and she headed for them. She did not like Smeems very much; a man could be dogmatic, and that was all right, or he could be stupid, and no harm done, but stupid and dogmatic at the same time was too much, especially fluxed with body odour.
    ‘What’s this all about?’
    It worked. The right tone from a woman with her arms folded always bounces an answer out of an unprepared man before he has time to think, and even before he has time to think up a lie.
    ‘They raised the chandelier! They raised it without lighting the candles! We won’t have enough time now to get it down and up again before the guests come in!’
    ‘But, Mister Smeems—’ Trev began.
    ‘And all I get is talking back and lies,’ Smeems complained bitterly.
    ‘But I can light them from here, Mister Smeems.’ Nutt spoke quietly, even his voice huddling.
    ‘Don’t give me that! Even wizards can’t do that without getting wax all over the place, you little—’
    ‘That’s enough, Mister Smeems,’ said a voice that to Glenda’s surprise turned out to be hers. ‘ Can you light them, Mister Nutt?’
    ‘Yes, miss. At the right time.’
    ‘There you are, then,’ said Glenda. ‘I suggest you leave it to Mister Nutt.’ Smeems looked at her, and she could see there was, as it were, an invisible mallet in his thinking, a feeling that he might get into some trouble here.
    ‘I should run along now,’ she said.
    ‘I can’t stand around. I’m a man with responsibilities.’ Smeems looked wrong-footed and bewildered, but from his point of view absence was a good idea. Glenda almost saw his brain reach the conclusion. Not being there diluted the blame for whatever it was that was going to go wrong. ‘Can’t stand around,’ he repeated. ‘Ha! You’d all be in the dark if it wasn’t for me!’ With that, he grabbed his greasy bag and scuttled off.
    Glenda turned to Nutt. He can’t possibly make himself smaller, she told herself. His clothes would fit him even worse than they do already. I must be imagining it.
    ‘Can you really light the candles from here?’ she said aloud. Nutt carried on staring at the floor.
    Glenda turned to Trev. ‘Can he really—’ but Trev was not there, because Trev was leaning against the wall some distance away talking to Juliet.
    She could read it all at a glance, his possessive stance, her modestly downcast eyes: not hanky panky, as such, but certainly overture and beginners to hanky panky. Oh, the power of words…
    As you watch, so are you watched. Glenda looked down into the penetrating eyes of Nutt. Was that a frown? What had he seen in her expression? More than she wanted, that was certain.
    The tempo in the Hall was increasing. The football captains would be assembling in one of the anterooms, and she could imagine them there, in clean shirts, or at least in shirts less grubby than usual, dragged here from the various versions of Botney Street all over the city, staring up at the wonderful vaulting and wondering if they were going to walk out of there dead. Huh,