Sentence The Sixhundredandseventyfifth

It was agreed that a disguised Peter Boo should enter the Inn, observe whether or not the two Scottisch fugitives were within and, if they were, summon assistance for their apprehension using a pre-arranged signal; initially all went well – the disguise was excellent, Laszlo Licinic making use of the bag of stage-kit which had been quickly assembled 'just in case' and Boo looked nothing like himself – and Laszlo, together with two of the Duke's Men-at-Arms watched the former Edinburgh Solicitor walk unsteadily – due, in no small part, to his strong appetence to run, which had draped itself over him during his first five steps – using as a rustic walking stick, a rough club borrowed from one of the soldiers, and carrying an earthenware jug in his other hand, towards the inn and disappear into the gloom within; for his part, Peter had convinced himself of his role and had

approached and entered confidently, but the sight which he beheld within took all his adopted character from his mind and his cry of "oh my God!" though said softly enough, disturbed the two villains and they rounded on him with the speed of cheetahs! even at the distance of 520 years, it is impossible to describe the horrors that Peter saw in a single glance, suffice to say that his mind was so overwhelmed by the amount of blood, broken bodies and severed limbs, eviscerated torsos and the

row of seven severed heads on the heavy oak mantle above the fire, caused his legs to buckle and he dropped to the floor with a clatter, the earthenware jug falling from his hand and shattering when it hit the flags; but it made sufficient noise for the watchers to hear and reflexively, the two soldiers began running forward, unsheathing their swords; perhaps it was their alacrity which saved Peter Boo's life, or the sound of the jug smashing, which prevented the two savages from waiting to see if anyone had heard, for they turned and hurried out the back, just as the soldiers appeared and were halted by the gruesome scene – even battle-hardened veterans who have seen more blood and gore and grotesque sights than the rest of us, have their limits and Guido and Bartholemew had reached theirs; simultaneously, they were both violently sick, which is why it was only Laszlo, approaching more cautiously, who saw the two horses bearing the murderers as they wheeled out from the rear yard and headed towards the open road; instinct overtook him, he had – indeed still has – no clear memory of what happened next: it involved a round table, lifted onto it's rim and sent rolling like a wheel, with curved legs coming out of the underside, then a succession of platters, strewn across another table which spun like discuses as they arced through the air, and finally a broomstick, flung like a javelin which, the end furthest from the brush sharpened to enable it to be stuck into the ground, pierced the neck of one of the riders, already tumbling towards the ground following the legs of his horse having become tangled with the whirring table-legs, while the other rider was swiftly

decapitated by a platter which sliced through skin and bone as neatly as a cleaver, just before his hands hit the road, his own horse tumbling over the first; so by the time the two soldiers emerged, having followed the trail through the back of the inn and out from the stable-yard, emerged into the effulgence of Spring sunlight on the smaragdine sward it was all over and Laszlo, slumped against the wall of the building, could only stare, which is how Peter, coming out of his initial shock and staggering out through the front door, a shillelagh in hand, saw him moments later!