William, having once again reached the end of his goldfish bowl existence, turned around and carried on blowing bubbles of apathy, and gawping nonchalant gawps. Blithe and insouciant, bored and blasé, William had never once put his hand to the plough or lifted a finger to work the till.
He was as lazy as Ludlum’s dog – hardly condescending to acknowledge the prospect of employment with a ghost of a bark or greet the spectre of work with the faintest whoof.
His lazy bones rattled an anthem of complaint every time he was advised to get a job.
The amount of time he had on his hands was inversely proportional to the weight of the world he had on his shoulders. He had limitless balls of idle yarn and was so often at loose ends that he lost count of the threads.
The only bacon he ever brought home was the odd flitch or two he managed to mooch off his rich uncle Elmsley.
Rich uncle Elmsley was as rich as they came, having amassed more silver than Andalusian merchants and more gold than the Nibulungen hoard. If money makes the world go round then rich uncle Elmsley had enough of it to make it go flat.
He had enough wealth to put King Solomon to shame and Queen Sheba out of countenance and so was content enough to throw his moocher of a nephew a few crumbs. William was happy to gather these crumbs and munched lackadaisically on them for most of his adult life.
However, like in every Lemony Snickett fairy tale, all good things must come to an end, and as things came to pass, Uncle Elmsley kicked the proverbial bucket.
William was shocked to discover that his cash cow was now nothing more than a dead bovine.
Even worse for William, Uncle Elmsley’s ill-gotten Tolosan gains that had come by a rigorous regime of exploitation and chicanery had all been bequeathed in a Will to Elmsley’s three sons, Larry, Phil, and Moe.
William felt extreme consternation when he realised that the sons who had stolen the golden goose from him were in no mood to give any giblets in alms.
Faced with the prospect of work William was filled with dread. He felt his head reel and his knees wobble; his toes turned and his eyes rolled; his skin crawled and his flesh squirmed – all at the horrifying thought of having to get off the couch and join the working masses.
Most people would have thought William would have reconciled himself to his misfortunate state of affairs. But there was much people didn’t know about him. If idle minds were really the devil’s workshop then William had an industrial plant of devilry in his head.
The only way he could acquire any of his Uncle’s wealth was if there were no other direct heirs – which is what the Will clearly said. The diabolic voice in his head murmured a Lady Macbethean refrain that filled him from the crown to the toe top full of direst cruelty.
He screwed his courage to the sticking place and bolted his murderous intentions tightly behind. He decided if it were done when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well it were done quickly.
Larry was poisoned off as he slept the sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care.
Phil had had his quietus forcibly made for him with a bare bodkin.
And finally, Moe received a blow that was the be-all and end-all of his time upon the bank and shoal of life.
Having shown his cousins the way to dusty death under the candlelight of the utmost guile and secrecy William found himself above board and beyond suspicion.
Soon enough, after all the legal wrangling and bureaucratic squabbling was over he became the rightful owner of Uncle’s Elmsley’s vast estate and powerful empire – all in keeping with the dictates of the Will.
As he strutted down Life’s boulevard with his smug top hat and cocky coattails people asked him how a moocher like him achieved such success. He would often reply with a smirk, “Where there’s a Will there’s a way.”
