Smoked Mackerel
The Master swept into his office clutching his cane. Mr Flagstad followed, head bowed.
“Maybe it’s time for your reanimation nap, Master?”
“Do not deviate from the subject, Mr Flagstad.”
“Apologies, Master.”
“Now, why is it that every time you return with the laundry, my black cloaks come back in less than pristine condition?”
“Forgive me, Master. I am not worthy to wash your great cloaks.”
“I am warning you, Flagstad. The next time you return a cloak to me covered in fluff, I shall hang you upside down again and prod you with those electrified metal rods. Understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
“My darling Eleanor, she never had a problem with my cloaks. Look at her in this painting, Mr Flagstad. A spotless cloak. This is what I want.”
“Yes, Master.”
“How I miss her. Do not
