His given name was recorded as Reginald Townes Bartlett Jr., but that long and galumphing name had never suited him and if it had ever been used, it was only on dusty scraps of paper in some registrar’s dusty office. No, Reginald had been known as Rags as long as he could remember, both as a proud self-appellation and as a reflection of the ragged clothes he often wore on the street, which had been his home through many dangers.

Now, though, he squirmed uncomfortably in fine clothes whose cut and color he did not like.

“Are you uncomfortable, young master?” His manservant hovered nearby, impeccably attired in a neat, dark suit and tie, with a bowler hat and an umbrella doubling as a cane. His name was Codswallop, or at least that was all Rags knew of him.

“These clothes are itchy, and they’re all stiff, and also the color stinks,” said Rags. “Other than that, they’re okay.”

“I do apologize for your discomfort, young master, but it is a temporary inconvenience only,” replied Codswallop cooly. Not a hair on his head nor his mustache was out of place, though the glint in his eye was sympathetic rather than haughty. “But we are proceeding apace to our destination at considerable speed, so you need not be uncomfortable for long.”

  • Like what you see? Purchase a print or ebook version!