“That Terry shrew!” complained Alabow. He looked at Besh and stood. “She all but bit my head off. Both last night and this morning. A Pope goes where a Pope goes. I mean, really! She must be part Tappish with such incisors. I gave her a nice room, and now she wants to move out.”
As the Pope paced angrily, Besh and Sposh waited in wary patience. The Pope stamped back and forth and suddenly stopped. Turning, and calling at the top of his voice, startling not only Sposh and Besh but the guards, as well.
“Box!” yelled the Pope. “Box! Get in here!”
The old Widgin came at a trot as he buttoned his jacket. He ran straight to the book on the pedestal and stood at attention. He coughed and answered, “At your command.”
Alabow stood before his throne, arms akimbo. “Look up, perv.”
The elder Widgin placed spectacles on his blunt nose, coughed, and thumbed through the tome. He stopped and leaned close. “Ah, well,” he said. “There is no perv.”
The Pope threw up his hands and sat heavily in the cushioned throne. He spoke in obvious bewilderment. “Does she speak in code?”
Besh raised his hand and cleared his throat. “Perv is short for pervert.”
Bread Box leaned into the tome. “Ah, yes,” he said. “Pervert. A person whose sexual behavior is regarded as abnormal and unacceptable.”
The Pope stood and yelled, “What? Sexual behavior? I only stood in the door and spoke.”
Besh spoke up. “Women can be very sensitive and easily offended. I advise extreme caution.”