"Are you sure those are absolutely necessary?" Percy asked as Edmund fastened the handcuffs.

"Well, they wouldn't have been if you would have found the weasel like I asked," Edmund snapped. "Now hurry up. We can't have Fatso catching us before the portrait's done."

After a moment of hesitation, Percy began to climb into bed beside the Bishop, only to start away when he moved slightly. "Are you sure he's not awake?"

"Honestly, Percy, if he were completely unconscious would you be able to get all that blubber into position? He's drugged enough for our purposes. Now get on with it."

Shuddering, Percy got into bed. Edmund is right: the Bishop doesn't seem to be really aware of what's around him. Although he is aware enough to grope at him groggily when he clumsily tries to pose. Percy jerks away in revulsion.

"Percy, I've seen more enthusiastic acting at the end of a Shakespeare play- from the corpses. Do I have to show you everything?" Edmund grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him into place, and Percy submits to his hands, as he roughly positions the details. "Head a little more that way. No, like this. Stop gagging! If you're supposed to be a prostitute, it has to look like you do this for a living. Now put some effort into it. Think of me- what will happen to me if you screw this up?"

Percy did think of Edmund, and managed some more enthusiasm.