The Beast’s Bath Time

The Beast smells abominable. Worse than the peasantry. But because we are such good sports we elect to exercise discretion. We decide he should be bathed once a month. ‘It is a rule,’ we say, ‘whether you need it or not.’ We all take turns. Excluding Rachel, for whom it would not be appropriate. The Beast fills the moat with his hyperbolic tears. We use this to our advantage. He is tied and gagged, then thrown into the moat. The servants are then set to work with pumice and steel wool. One of us supervises from the drawbridge—a hard and stressful business. Finally excess water is beaten out with stout sticks. It seems to work.