‘The clothes look much better on you than they did on Lady Thyme,’ I complimented her. ‘I hope they also smell better,’ was the Fool’s response. ‘Who is Lady Thyme?’ Lant asked. For a moment, the silence held. Then both the Fool and I burst into laughter. I had almost recovered when the Fool gasped, ‘Your father.’ And we were both lost again to merriment. Lant was torn between confusion and offence. ‘I don’t understand what is funny?’ Spark queried. ‘We raided an old woman’s wardrobe for these clothes …’ ‘It’s a very long tale,’
