---
One of the maids holding the right arm nearly let go from shock. "That is Bat Bat?"
Another, the one covering Bat Bat's chest with the sheet and a pillow in confused desperation, looked down at what she was covering and then immediately looked away again with a violent blush.
A third maid whispered, in horrified disbelief, "But Bat Bat is small."
Bat Bat, still half pinned and wrapped in bed linen like a captured scandal, snapped at once, "I poticed laces."
That voice did it. The room changed.
Because yes, the body was different. Shockingly different. Entirely, offensively different. But the voice, the tone, the impossible offended authority in mumbles, that was Bat Bat.
Unmistakably. Terribly. Perfectly Bat Bat.
One maid gasped and slapped both hands over her own mouth. Another made a tiny choking sound and turned her face toward the wall because she did not know where respectable eyes were supposed to go in this situation.
