Chapter Twenty Nine
The Gobshite of Rowling

Dumbledalf arrived at the Booth Seminar Room in Pignut Minster, an hour early for his meeting with Vol-au-vent. He went to the window and gazed out at the neat gardens to the front of the building. Hagrigorn and Enid were already there, and had gone to check on the refreshments, a vital part of the delaying tactics. There would be fruit juice, coffee, biscuits and croissants to start, then more coffee with some snacks after an hour or so, and a little later some quiche, samosas, mini-pasties, a cheese board, and a selection of fruit. Dumbledalf had even laid on a little wine to help things along. He didn’t want an elaborate feast, or Rowling might have smelt a rat, but he did want to make the meeting last all day, and even into the early evening if possible. He was tempted, but had refrained from specifying vol-au-vents and doughnuts, wishing for neither a fight nor a walk-out, just a long debate.

After a little while, Dumbledalf could see some people approaching. Among them were Mary Poppins, walking with Brian, deep in conversation. Brian seemed unusually defensive. Not far behind, he could see Tick and Thrakkarzog, presumably debating some philosophical point, as usual. Dumbledalf turned from the window and poured himself a cup of coffee. As he did so a large black BMW saloon purred into the gravelled drive, causing him to return to his place at the window. ‘Ah!’ he mused, ‘the archetypical marque of the self-important twit. Vol-au-vent must be here’. A couple of Rowling’s people, one of whom, expensively dressed and carrying a briefcase, was unknown to Dumbledalf emerged from the car, and one man opened a door for Rowling.

‘Twerp!’, thought Dumbledalf. He turned to study the contents of the table. After some consideration of the spread, he selected the biggest and most chocolate-rich biscuit he could see, and while he was there he covered similar chocolate biscuits with plain tea biscuits, so there might be a better chance of one remaining for later. As he placed it in his saucer, he watched the chocolate begin to mould itself to the shape of the hot cup. A few moments later, the door burst open suddenly and in strode Rowling with a flourish.

“Ah, John!”, exclaimed Dumbledalf, “I’m pleased to see you early. I have a positive feeling about today’s discussions, er, can I get you a coffee?”
Without a sideways glance, and completely ignoring Dumbledalf, Rowling walked importantly across the room and sat at the head of the table. Dumbledalf ignored the insult.
“Here”, he said, “Help yourself to biscuits. There will be further refreshments on the way”. Vol-au-vent continued unpacking the contents of his briefcase without looking up.
“Nice weather we’re having!”, Dumbledalf offered. No response. Dumbledalf tried again, with only the merest hint of facetiousness.
“That’s a very nicely-fitted suit you have, John.”. Then he tried, “There was a blue tit on my nuts this morning”, and, “Rather painful actually”.
Nothing. Rowling did not show that the remark had even registered.

The door opened again and the Vice Chancellor entered, in apparently patient conversation with the Pro-Vice Chancellor for Politics and Law.
“But my dear Bernard”, said the Vice Chancellor, “We know that, in a Newtonian world at least; that is, in the world we live in, matter can be neither created nor destroyed. It is an elementary part of physics”.
Dumbledalf smiled at the pun, and the Vice Chancellor smiled back an acknowledgement and greeting.
“Well I have one foot of twenty pairs”, said Bernard, with defiance, “and they have all dematerialised, and that’s that!”. The two went towards the refreshments table. After a while, the Vice chancellor approached Dumbledalf.
“Merlin!”, he said cheerfully, pouring himself a coffee and selecting a biscuit, “This is a good effort.”
“Well, I thought it best to try to help the day get off to a positive start”, said Dumbledalf, smiling.
“I don’t think your man is going to win, you know”, Said the Vice Chancellor, as they went to the window. “Professor Rowling is very persuasive.”
“But Montague!”, replied Dumbledalf conspiratorially, “Surely he hasn’t persuaded you too? The man’s an unmitigated Maltbyist! What does Bernard think?”, he said, gesturing towards the Pro-Vice Chancellor for Politics and Law, who was still selecting biscuits. ‘He seems to be studying those with some care’, Dumbledalf mused to himself. ‘I hope he doesn’t take all the chocolate ones. I should have stashed some away for later’, he thought, but he was dragged back in time to the present.
“Oh Bernard’s suffering from Politics and Law syndrome”, said the Vice Chancellor, bitterly. “He thinks the Law of Conservation of Matter doesn’t apply to socks, that Global Warming is a myth perpetrated by crooked scientists, and that the Free Market will rid us of war. We really need to replace him. It’s bad enough people like that having a vote at all, let alone helping to produce the next generation of politicians and lawyers”, he reflected sadly.
“Wasn’t he a personal tutor to Tony Blair at one time?”, asked Dumbledalf.
“Yes.”, replied the Vice Chancellor, plainly. “Oh God! Yes he was!”, he paused. “The lives that could have been saved ...”

As the Vice Chancellor went off, shaking his head, Dumbledalf looked at the steadily assembling group. One of Vol-au-vent’s assistants, Dumbledalf believed him to be a chap from the Anthropology Department, Morris perhaps, came up to him with an enquiring expression.
“Professor Dumbledalf”, he said in a friendly manner, gesturing to the creep in the expensive suit. “Professor Dumbledalf”, he continued, “May I introduce Mr Simon Lime, a solicitor of Professor Rowling’s employ?”

From his first sight of this man, some seven seconds earlier than their inevitable meeting, Dumbledalf had felt a crawling sensation affecting his insides. His foresight in grabbing himself a coffee and the chocolatiest of biscuits now paid off with interest. Both of his hands were full, and his right hand was sticky with chocolate by the time the two men had approached where he stood.
“A solicitor? How .... interesting”, said Dumbledalf vacuously, fumbling with his cup and saucer, stuffing half a biscuit into his mouth and licking chocolate from his fingers before extending his hand. The other looked at him with obvious distaste, and hesitated, wondering whether to snub his opponent immediately, but Dumbledalf made it easy for the newcomer. Spilling his coffee into his saucer to form a biscuity mush, he looked convincingly likely to drop the lot, so that by the time he had recovered, the door had opened once more. Tick and Thrakkarzog sauntered in behind, making straight for the coffee and biscuits.

A sinuous and thin voice emanated from the vicinity of Mr Lime, though his lips appeared to hardly move. “So you are the spokesman, old grey beard. Have we not seen you at whiles, meddling in affairs that do not concern you?”
“Charmed I’m sure”, responded Dumbledalf with a smile. The other continued. Tick and Dumbledalf began to listen intently.
“You will know your place”, continued Lime, “and that will be a junior administrative one, unless you cease your obstructive ways and agree to our terms!”, he finished triumphantly, looking at his associates for the smile of approval.
“State the terms, Mr Slime!”, said Dumbledalf, succinctly, “so that we may reject them utterly and be done!”
Mr Lime’s sneering expression gave way to one of fury, his face twisted and pained, as if he had been smitten on the penis with a stinging cheese grater.
“You will pay for that remark, Dumbledork!”, he snorted. Saliva dribbled down his contorted chin. “You do not know who you are dealing with”.
“Tell you what, chaps” said Hagrigorn, helpfully, “I’ll get some Parazone and clear Mr Lime out of the way, shall I?”
“Haggy!”, interjected Thrakkarzog, “Let’s not spoil the friendly atmosphere. Mr Lime wants progress from this meeting as much as we do.”. Turning to Lime, and placing a green tentacle reassuringly around his shoulder, he continued, “Tell you what old bean. Why don’t you and I just pop out into the corridor and agree on some terms, eh?”. He smiled a broad, toothy grin. “I’m confident we can come up with a …. a solution that will make things flow more smoothly”. Tick opened the window for some fresh air.

Somewhat hesitantly, Mr Lime accompanied the smiling Thrakkarzog into the corridor. After a few moments, a thin, metallic voice coming from the direction of the corridor was heard to say, “Brain!”, and a gentle slurping sound, the origin of which was not obvious, was barely audible amongst the sound of the wind in the leaves outside. Just a minute or so later, Thrakkarzog led Mr Lime into the room and sat him down at the table.
“Are you OK Lime?” asked Rowling; the first time he had yet spoken, but Mr Lime just looked at him and smiled, and sat at the table, where he stayed, smiling but otherwise uncommunicative, for the rest of the meeting.