
The bed of Trevor Likely is anywhere: a friend’s floor, in the hayloft of anystable that has been left unlocked (which is usually a much more fragrantoption), or in a room of an empty house (though there are precious few of thosethese days); or he sleeps at work (but he is always careful about that, becauseold man Smeems never seems to sleep at all and might catch him at any time).Trev can sleep anywhere, and does.
Glenda sleeps in an ancient iron bed, whose springs and mattress have gently and kindlyshaped themselves around her over the years, leaving a generous depression. Thebottom of this catenary couch is held off the floor by a mulch of very cheap,yellowing romantic novels of the kind to which the word ‘bodice’ comesnaturally. She would die if anyone found out, or possibly they will die if shefinds out that they have found out. Usually there is, on the pillow, a veryelderly teddy bear called Mr Wobble.
Traditionally, in the lexicon of pathos, such a bear should have only one eye,but as the result of a childhood error in Glenda’s sewing, he has three, and ismore enlightened than the average bear.
Juliet Stollop’s bed was marketed to her mother as fit for a princess, and ismore or less like the Archchancellor’s bed, although almost all less, since itconsists of some gauze curtains surrounding a very narrow, very cheap bed. Hermother is now dead. This can be inferred from the fact that when the bedcollapsed under the weight of a growing girl, someone raised it up on beercrates. A mother would have made sure that at least they were, like everythingelse in the room, painted pink with little crowns on.
Mr Nutt was seven years old before he found out that sleeping, for some people,involved a special piece of furniture.
Now it was two o’clock in the morning. A cloying silence reigned along theancient corridors and cloisters of Unseen University. There was silence in theLibrary; there was silence in the halls. There was so much silence you couldhear it. Everywhere it went, it stuffed the ears with invisible fluff.
