"I haven't said a word yet," Chandler pointed out tightly.
"I'm psychic. It saves time."
"Then I suppose I can save us some more by assuming you're going to tell me to get out of your office and look on the bright side and learn to live with it. Again."
"Never assume, son." Madcarver walked to a long row of low file cabinets. He had arrayed on this piece of furniture a collection of woodcarvings elaborately painted with colors and patterns not found on animals in nature. Chandler didn't know where he got them and had always been afraid to ask. He watched his boss pull out one of the filing cabinet drawers and select a thick yellow envelope. He tossed this on his desk. "The Llewinsky Project," he announced.
"Ah." He saw the problem now. Children were hard to sneak up on, and Lusians were hard to sneak up on, and children of Lusian heritage would probably be more difficult to surprise than a basket of cats. The agency might be able to help the family, but at a possible, probable, price of one or more of the children ending up here, working in the kitchens. It was unacceptable.
Still...
"The parents must be in pretty dire straits for you to have them up for consideration in the first place."
"There's only the mother," Madcarver explained. He unfastened the twine at the flap deftly. "At great personal risk, several of our pickers have put together a collection for this woman, consisting of enough balubles to pay her rent before the family's put in the street, an event scheduled for Friday next."
"So we put the money in the landlord's house," Chandler suggested. "Easier to slip into, surely."
Madcarver extracted a piece of paper from the file, from amid the clink of balubles. "This is what she really needs. It's a map, detailing the exact location of her husband, who's being held by OverSorceress Six to work in the Offices of Ott."
Chandler's eyes widened a bit as he considered the enormous stone building, rumored to be eight-hundred and ninety-nine stories, counting the ones below and above ground both. There was supposed to be a grim quartet of gargoyles at the very top, but no one was able to see that high clearly, not even elves.
"How's that going to help her? Is she supposed to go in there with a sword and nine kids in tow and smite the coffee machine?"
Madcarver snorted. "Not to say that couldn't work, but no. The sword and the smiting can be done well enough by your average hired thug. But the map was a thing of stealth and craft. Your job, Chandler, is to get her this envelope, plus the complimentary gift basket, of course, onto her dining room table before Thursday, without adding any diminuitive little workers to my staff! Understood?"
"But..."
"In return, if this is successfully carried out, I will release you from the agency."
Chandler stared. "I... I thought you said you couldn't, ever, that it was magic binding us to this place."
A shadow of anger crossed over the old elf's face. "Do not presume to begin to know the intricacies of my job, or of the magic that allows me to do it," Madcarver growled. "Exceptions can be made, but they are rare and difficult to arrange. Now, do you want the deal or not?"
"I'll need a flyer," he said, after he had his wits about him again.
"Pick one. The same release deal extends to the flyer, should the mission be completed. So select wisely, as you have the cream of the agency to choose from." Madcarver returned the map to the envelope and tied the cord up tightly. "When you are ready, come back here for this, and we'll set the wheels in motion."
Chandler felt the wheels were already spinning pretty fast.
"I'm psychic. It saves time."
"Then I suppose I can save us some more by assuming you're going to tell me to get out of your office and look on the bright side and learn to live with it. Again."
"Never assume, son." Madcarver walked to a long row of low file cabinets. He had arrayed on this piece of furniture a collection of woodcarvings elaborately painted with colors and patterns not found on animals in nature. Chandler didn't know where he got them and had always been afraid to ask. He watched his boss pull out one of the filing cabinet drawers and select a thick yellow envelope. He tossed this on his desk. "The Llewinsky Project," he announced.
Chandler blinked.
"Nine children," Madcarver intoned solemnly. "Half Lusian."
"Ah." He saw the problem now. Children were hard to sneak up on, and Lusians were hard to sneak up on, and children of Lusian heritage would probably be more difficult to surprise than a basket of cats. The agency might be able to help the family, but at a possible, probable, price of one or more of the children ending up here, working in the kitchens. It was unacceptable.
Still...
"The parents must be in pretty dire straits for you to have them up for consideration in the first place."
"There's only the mother," Madcarver explained. He unfastened the twine at the flap deftly. "At great personal risk, several of our pickers have put together a collection for this woman, consisting of enough balubles to pay her rent before the family's put in the street, an event scheduled for Friday next."
"So we put the money in the landlord's house," Chandler suggested. "Easier to slip into, surely."
Madcarver extracted a piece of paper from the file, from amid the clink of balubles. "This is what she really needs. It's a map, detailing the exact location of her husband, who's being held by OverSorceress Six to work in the Offices of Ott."
Chandler's eyes widened a bit as he considered the enormous stone building, rumored to be eight-hundred and ninety-nine stories, counting the ones below and above ground both. There was supposed to be a grim quartet of gargoyles at the very top, but no one was able to see that high clearly, not even elves.
"How's that going to help her? Is she supposed to go in there with a sword and nine kids in tow and smite the coffee machine?"
Madcarver snorted. "Not to say that couldn't work, but no. The sword and the smiting can be done well enough by your average hired thug. But the map was a thing of stealth and craft. Your job, Chandler, is to get her this envelope, plus the complimentary gift basket, of course, onto her dining room table before Thursday, without adding any diminuitive little workers to my staff! Understood?"
"But..."
"In return, if this is successfully carried out, I will release you from the agency."
Chandler stared. "I... I thought you said you couldn't, ever, that it was magic binding us to this place."
A shadow of anger crossed over the old elf's face. "Do not presume to begin to know the intricacies of my job, or of the magic that allows me to do it," Madcarver growled. "Exceptions can be made, but they are rare and difficult to arrange. Now, do you want the deal or not?"
"I'll need a flyer," he said, after he had his wits about him again.
"Pick one. The same release deal extends to the flyer, should the mission be completed. So select wisely, as you have the cream of the agency to choose from." Madcarver returned the map to the envelope and tied the cord up tightly. "When you are ready, come back here for this, and we'll set the wheels in motion."
Chandler felt the wheels were already spinning pretty fast.
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