A Really Good Day

I'm not sure whether I slept better that night because of the weight off my mind, or whether the addition of the trinkgelt from the Mulch case had actually made my hoard more comfortable. Trinkgelt is such a lovely custom. It was brought to the firm by my After progenitors, Grandfather, I think – he said he had learned the concept from a human called Pryor, but it seems far too draconic to be a human idea. It takes a dragon mind to think of something as practical as advancing a coin or two the day a case closes. Even though it's a small amount, the incentive value is much more immediate and memorable than the larger regular salary payment that arrives a month or two later.

Waking up the morning after the trial, knowing in that instinctive draconic way, that my hoard was two coins bigger, I felt a positive joy that I'd not known since my "promotion." Nothing, I thought to myself as I stretched langurously, could possibly go wrong on a day like today.

A hollow booming knock echoed in from the door to my offices and I had a moment to wonder what curse my optimism had brought upon me before the knocking began again accompanied by gruff imprecations in a voice that could only be Happy's. Some unprecedented nobility stifled my impulse to bury my head in my hoard and attempt to shut the noise out by stuffing my ears with gold. Instead, I called out a quick, "Hold your ponies, I'll be there in a second," and staggered to the door trying simultaneously to wipe the sleep from my eyes and straighten a whisker I had slept on wrong.

I opened the door, and leaped back out of the way of Happy's battleaxe. So that's what she'd been using to knock on the door – good thing After invested in ironwood fittings, or I wouldn't have had a door left.

"And what may I do for milady on such a lovely morning?" it was, I hoped, worth at least trying to suggest being in a good mood.

"Can the crap, wyrmling..."

Okay, so maybe it wasn't worth trying.

"... Just because you got a decent deal for a client yesterday, doesn't mean you can lie around today and shirk your duties. You are due in the boardroom every day at eight for the partners' meeting, just like the rest of us – don't think you can get away with hiding. Get. Down. There. NOW!" With that, she turned and stumped off down the tower stairs.

Partners' meeting? How in 49 hells was I supposed to know that I was expected there? Something niggled at the back of my mind. Something I'd seen in my precipate rush to answer the door. Something that had not looked like that last night. Something out of place... like the two books, notepad, quill and ink set out neatly on my desk.

Right. So perhaps I just hadn't seen the memo, my brownies, on the other hand, seemed to be in good control. Taking the package and waving a sketchy good-bye to the seemingly empty room, I headed off to visit the partners in their den.

Happy had obviously lost the Chair to Ever, another reason for her mood to have changed from it's usual anger to its current near apoplexy. I took a place at the table as far as possible from Happy, and delivered a near perfect fifth-grade to first-grade apology bow to Ever. Near perfect, only because it's hard to do without humanoid anatomy.

Unfortunately my skill was wasted. Happy just snarled, and Ever was paying more attention to the books I had laid gently on the Table than to me.

"Well, well, well... see, Happy? the child is not as ignorant as you assume. Young Toby obviously has, at least, good sources of information, she brought us a book of Sheherazade's tales – the unabridged version – and an original first edition Mother Goose. Written by her own quills, no doubt. How perfect." Ever seemed to be having trouble resisting the impulse to rub his hands and gloat... obviously he and Happy were busy with some game in which I was just a pawn.

"Since you demonstrated such ability in handling your last file..."

"First file." Happy interrupted.

"Yes, your first file and first success..." Ever paused to see whether Happy had anything more to add, then continued. "We have two more clients for you. The first is one of our longest running files, I do believe it was opened before you hatched. It is a pro-bono file. We don't even get paid in cabbages..."

"Worse, we don't get paid in publicity either." Happy growled.

"That's true, the main reason this client approached us was that her file must be handled with utmost secrecy. At various times we have operated with various go betweens, currently your primary contact will almost certainly be the Most Venerable Kami of the Tides Unstoppable."

"Grandmama!" this time I interrupted, and paid the price of suffering Ever's whisker curling glare.

"Yes, Toby, your 'Grandmama'. One of the reasons we think you are the best one to carry that file, people tend to wonder why Happy, Ever, After is in contact with such a personage, whereas no one will suspect you have business in mind when you are corresponding with your grandmother. We suggest you fly out to see her, get the full story – or at least as much as she chooses to tell you – and agree upon how you will communicate in the future. We'll give you three days, and a shopping list of things you should order and pay for in Brandyburg on your way."

"Yes," Happy almost looked happy at the thought; "they're experimenting with a new recipe for dwarven ale... we are planning on purchasing a hogshead or two so we may give them our professional opinion."

“The other file you will be handling is equally complicated, but, we hope, vastly more lucrative. The main complication being that your clients are not from this plane.”

“Ha. Slide the blade in all the way, Ever. Your delays are no kindness – death by endless pinpricks is no more sweet.”

“Hmph, yes, as I was trying to say, youngster, none of the parties are from our world. To tell the truth, and briefly enough to satisfy a person of Happy’s short stature and attention span, everything about this case is foreign – except that they have agreed to use the Interplanar Rules of Justice. That’s why we want to send a dragon… well, that and we decided that if we sent you, we could rely on your age and lack of seniority to give the firm plausible deniability if you lose.”

“You mean if she makes a complete bollocks of the matter.”

“Perhaps, though even you, Happy, have to admit that the situation is already close enough to being a ‘complete bollocks’ that any improvement will be a great victory, and any loss – no matter how extreme – will barely make the situation worse.”

Oh great. I managed to tune out their bickering for a few moments, wondering what the Old Man would have done in this situation. Fortunately enough for them, torching the partners and setting out on my own was not really my style. Probably fortunate for me also, as second thoughts reminded me that after working with the Old Man for so long, they probably both wore asbestos undergarments.

An expectant silence caught my attention again, and I realized that Ever was looking at me waiting for an answer. Nodding seemed to be the right thing to do, so I did. It seemed to satisfy them both. The next thing I knew, I was being sent off to speak to a long list of clerks who would be giving me even longer lists of files and forms and dates and addresses – and letters of credit suitable for paying for Happy’s vats of beer.

By the time I returned to my tower, my itinerary was set. I would spend the rest of that day reviewing my notes on the Interplanar Rules, fly out to Brandyburg the next morning to do deliveries, camp overnight on the way to Grandmama’s, spend a day or two with her – depending on how much time she needed – and then head over to Nieder Kapital to contact the clients and hear what they had to say about their case.

It occurred to me gradually that I was forgetting something very important. Someone, rather, my Brownies. I didn’t want them to leave while I was gone, and I had no idea how to take them with me. I fantasized about sending Rattle out to buy a box with a little bed in it and a lid that locked from the inside. I didn’t know enough about how Brownies lived to even try that. If they wanted to come along and help, I’d be grateful, but they’d have to arrange their own transportation.

The only person I could think of who would do a conscientious job of looking after my industrious little cookie-eating beings was Helen, the firm’s law librarian. Besides, if I could pitch it to the Brownies the right way, they might help her finally get caught up on her cataloguing. Resolved, I jotted her a brief note outlining the situation and rang for a page to carry the note to the library.

Despite, or perhaps because of, her endless workload, Helen answered the page promptly. As per my instructions, she spent her first few minutes in my office wandering around and commenting favourably on how organized everything looked. When she looked at the bookshelves, her compliments began to sound increasingly genuine – especially after she noted that the Brownies had followed her preferred standards for deciding how to deal with the great Mac/Mc alphabetization question. I suspect that until then, she thought I was attempting a particularly complicated practical joke. She clearly knew that even for a brilliant set up, I would never have figured out the right way to handle sorting those books.

I had outlined a script in my note to her, and once she was certain the Brownies were real, Helen played along like a champion. I explained how much I’d miss them. She commiserated that even with the possibilities of stowing away in luggage, one’s friends could never all go along. I explained about my account with the Bakers. She agreed to the importance of providing for those left behind. I ceremoniously gave her a copy of the key to the office. She undertook to live up to the confidence I had in her, and to ensure that cookies and milk were delivered daily, while crumbs and empty glasses did not accumulate. I thanked her effusively for taking on more responsibilities when she was already so busy. She reluctantly admitted that the library was growing faster than she could keep up with it, while her budget for staff stayed the same. I offered to help. She reminded me that I was leaving town, and would not be all that useful since I could never tell whether Le Guin should be filed under “L” or “G”. I replied that I would lend her my Brownies if I could, but under Rule 171.8(d)(iii) sentient beings could not legally be bought, sold, or traded. She was convincingly shocked that I could even think of such a thing, anyone working in the library should be there because they wanted to. I apologized profusely and…

Our play was brought to an abrupt halt as one of my folded parchment cranes gently flew across the room and landed between us. On second glance, I realized it wasn’t one that I had folded – no big red wax seals. I picked it up and cautiously unfolded it. The parchment was blank except for three words, elaborately calligraphed. “We Understand Already.”

I handed the parchment to Helen, who read it and laughed.

Turning in the direction the crane had flown from, she said, “A good sense of humour is the most important asset for working with me. More so, even, than knowing the alphabet. I hope you decide to spend some time in the library, whether or not you do, it will be an honour to be of assistance to such perspicacious folk.”

There didn’t seem to be much more to be said after that. So after an awkward silence on both our parts, she wished me a successful trip, waved to the empty corner of the room, and left.

No other means of procrastinating came to mind, so I settled in to study as much as I could before my departure.