From the moment he found himself tied to a stranger's table, it took six weeks and two days for Wervin to finally wear clothes.

In the late morning of 1824; fourteenth of September, Wervin was having his measurements taken by a plump little tailor called Margaret. At least, the master insisted she was a tailor. Wervin suspected she was just an old woman who had some experience in knitting.

The old lady was obviously frightened by Wervin’s appearance, not that he could blame her. He was just glad her constant flinching didn’t affect her measuring ability.

After twenty minutes of having everything on his body that could be measured, measured, the woman informed him that she was done.

“My word you are a big one.” She marveled. “Though, if you want me honest opinion, you could use with a few extra pounds.” Continued the tailor, trying to be as friendly as she possible could, with a monster.

“I agree. Don’t worry, I’m doing my best to put on some weight.” Wervin replied in a light tone. He was relishing in talking to someone other than the old man, or to the pitter-patter of footsteps that sometimes followed him.

“That’s good deary. I’ve got everything I need to know. I’ll get to work on your clothes as soon as I’m home. Should take about a week.”

“That’s wonderful to hear Misses Twine. May I escort you to the front door.”

“No!” She yelled unexpectedly  “I mean. . . Don’t trouble yourself deary. I’ll be fine.” With the final word from her lips, she packed up all her belongings and left the room.

Wervin never thought he’d be so sad to see an old woman he didn’t know leave him. For years he shunned companionship, and now it shunned him.

He suddenly began doing some squats - hoping that it would distract him from the gnawing pain inside him. On the bright side, in a week he’d no longer have to wear that infernal  blanket.

One week had passed and Wervin was in the midst of swinging his oar in a large empty room. He no longer required it as a walking stick, but he still used it as a method of training. He swung it from over his head and slammed it down through the air - never touching the ground. The motion was similar to swinging an axe down on a piece of wood.

Wervin was pleased with his physical progress, but he was still barely half as strong as he used to be.

He heard footsteps outside the room and went to investigate. Outside the door was a pile of neatly folded clothes. “You’ll have to show yourself one day little mouse.” He yelled down the hallway. Wervin picked up the clothes and walked to his bedroom.

Once there he appraised his loot. Two white shirts, two pairs of black trousers, two pairs of black socks, one navy-blue coat - all made of wool, of course. One leather strip and a single pair of wooden clogs. He never thought he’d be so happy to see clothes, but he was, oh so much.

Wervin quickly donned all the clothing, minus the duplicates, and stared at himself in the mirror. The clothes hung a little loose of his skinny frame, but he asked the tailor to make them like that, praying that he will eventually ‘fill them out’. The coat was a little too big however, dropping nearly to his knees, on the bright side, it hid his batteries well. The clogs were a little tight, but bearable. All in all, he was pleased with his new attire. Remembering his master's orders, he marched upstairs.

In no time at all, he had reached the dreaded metal door and knocked. As usual, the door magically opened and he entered. This time his master was waiting for him, standing in the middle of the room, ready.

“Well, you clothes are a mockery of what the youth call fashion, but they certainly look better than that blanket you’ve been wearing.”

“Thank you Sir.” Wervin replied, in too much of a good mood to feel his master’s cynicism.

“Here.” The philosopher threw something at Wervin, who immediately caught it. “Put them on.”

Wervin inspected the contents in his hands. “Rubber gloves.” Stating the obvious. With little delay, he put the black rubber over his hands, and was pleased to see they fit perfectly.

“There. now you're finally insulated enough for me to trust you don’t blow this place to smithereens.”

“So, now what?” Wervin asked.

“Now? Nothing. But tomorrow me and you are going into to town. There you can finally begin your guarding duties.”

“Great. I was getting tired of doing absolutely nothing.”

“Help yourself to anything you can use as a weapon. Nothing with a metal handle, even with your new gloves, I want you to touch as little of the stuff as possible. And nothing too conspicuous! Don’t want you drawing attention to ourselves.

Wervin did as he was bade; he began his search for a weapon.

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He found sledgehammers, mallets, a couple of knives, two wood-chopping axes, wooden sticks, and a wide variety of heavy metal bars. He almost choose an axe as his primary weapon, but changed his mind at the last second. He feared he was not yet strong enough to wield a heavy axe in combat. Also, looking at the wood-cutting tool strapped to the leather strip tied around his waist, stood out way too much, and he stood out enough.

After a great internal struggle, he finally decided on a thick wooden pole - about four feet in length, as a club. While his new cudgel would be effective at breaking bones and deterring thugs, in instances in which he would need to end someone’s life, it was woefully inadequate for the task. To solve this problem, Wervin equipped the second largest knife he found and stuck it in the gap between his makeshift belt and trousers. Still feeling a tad naked, he filled his coat pockets with stones, with the intention of using them to stun his potential adversaries.  

With all tasks complete for the day, Wervin picked up the two rocks that now lived in his room and began to curl them. An hour later, he was asleep.

*  *  *  *  *

It was a quarter past eleven when the natural philosopher and his new bodyguard left his manor. With no horses, ponies, or even a Shetland, the two had no choice but to walk the mile to the town of Ramsgate. A mile wasn’t a great distance by any stretch of the imagination, but Wervin looked at his ancient scrawny master, shivering as the ocean wind touched his body, and was a smidge concerned. The old man was wearing similar clothing to himself, but they were of finer quality than his own, and came with a scarf and top hat. Both had a cane in their left hands, but while Bartholomew's was made of a fine wood and used it to aid in his walking, Wervin was just a stick made of oak - which he struggled to carry like a gentlemen.

*  *  *  *  *

They arrived in town in about half an hour. The two hadn’t said a word to each other the entire journey, which made Wervin a little uncomfortable. But, as he saw the large amount of pedestrians walking to and fro, he remembered that he was here not as a companion to the philosopher, but as his protector.

Wervin dug deep for his military training and began to scan the crowd for potential threats. The two carried on their silent walk to a destination that was unknown to himself.

“See that house there?” The philosopher suddenly asked him.

The guard froze for a split second, unprepared for his master’s random question. Quickly regaining his composure, he examined every detail of the house he was told to look at. “What about it?” was Wervin’s response, unsure what was special about this house, apart from its size and the apparent wealth of it’s owner.

“A man called Darwin Windlesnorf is the inhabiter and owner of the establishment.”

“Oh. . . Good for him.” He mused.

“Indeed. A grand place for the fourth most wealthiest man in Ramsgate.”

“Only fourth most wealthiest, ay.” Wervin took in the design giant structure. Made entirely of cobblestone and around four stories tall. “Surprising amount of rich folk in this quaint little town.”

“Yes. . . quite queer wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, I would so. Quite queer.”

The philosopher  didn’t respond, he just once again began his walk. Wervin hurriedly chased after the man, which didn’t take long as the old man walks, well like an old man.

The two once again walked in silence. Wervin’s curiosity about Mr Windlesnorf’s manor was forever growing, due to the fact the two kept walking around the place for almost an hour. Wervin felt there must be something special about this place, so he did his utmost to record everything he saw on his journey.

“I think that’s enough lollygagging for one day. Let’s head home.” With that statement, the two did just that.

*  *  *  *  *

It was nearly three o’clock when the pair arrived back at the manor. The old philosopher immediately headed to the larder and found himself a pear to dine on.

“Did you pay good attention to Darwin Windlesnorf’s house?” The old man asked with a mouth full of half chewed pear.

“That I did. But why did we marry around the place?”

“Why, isn’t it obvious my dear boy?”

“Afraid not, Sir. You got trouble with this Windlesnorf chap?”

“Not at all lad. Couldn’t give a toss about the man.”

“So what was the point of looking at his house for so long?”

“”Because lad-” He took another bite of his pear. “We’re going to rob it!” A childlike grin spread across his fruit stained teeth.