71

Silence falls before long, with each of you focused on your own preparations. It is nearly ten minutes later before Timshel whirls into the room, a filled pastry in each hand. "All right, my flock," he says through a mouthful. "Sunday will be fast upon us. Today is business—all business!"

He takes a moment to clasp you around the shoulders with great warmth as you take a place next to him in the loose circle. You appreciate the attention, though you could do without the crumbs. "We all have different strengths," Timshel begins, punctuating his speech with a flaky belch. "Pardon. The question is how to order ourselves to maximum effect, so one moment flows properly into the next and the end result is an audience flat on the floor, laid low by the accumulation of spectacle. I've given it some thought, and here are your marching orders."

He clears his throat. "Naturally, I will open the proceedings, with musical accenture from dear Gilbert and Joan. Then an exhibition of tumbling—" here with a nod to the gymnastic duo—"followed by a bit of a saucy song I composed recently, followed by…perhaps a bit of mechanical dazzlement, what say you?" This to Aitoko, who nods assent.

Onward