Fri May 27, 2005 2:13 pm
A fairly heavy little package arrived at the Treadwell toy store this morning. It was a good-sized envelope delivered by a fellow in an official sort of suit, a fancy carriage, and about three layers of sweat. With an incredulous look on his face--Aloisius Treadwell a toymaker?--he knocked a few times. . . and waited. Being stunned took on a whole new meaning when the portly fellow appeared at the door without a cigar in his mouth, with a fully grown beard on his face, and with more than a few extra inches than he'd been used to seeing at one point.
"Aloisius Treadwell?"
Tready would take a moment at this. A carriage bearing the marks of the parliamentary council of Westenford, Amasynia, and a man all too surprised to see him?
"Mmph mmph! Yes! What do you want, hmm?"
"A letter, sir!" was all the courier could manage before thrusting the big envelope at the toymaking politician. "It's official business, Mr. Treadwell, from Westenford."
"A good three, four days away if you make good time, lad. Hand it over. Stop dawdling! And for goodness's sake, come in and sit down before you end up falling all over my doorstep!"
So it would be done. The man with the message would collapse into a seat just inside, the driver of the coach would rein in his horses a little tighter, and Treadwell would begin reading aloud the note that was in his plump, greedy hands.
"To Aloisius Horatio Treadwell, Myrken Wood, Myrken Wood province, formerly of Westenford, Amasynia, greetings! To be brief, Lord Treadwell, Westenford is, like your current abode of Myrken Wood if any rumors are true, very much in trouble. In truth and confidence, sir, we are failing quite miserably without quality leadership. In the two years and two months since your absence, we in Westenford have routinely been changing Chief Magistrates and their immediate subordinates every few months.
"We need someone we can trust. We need someone with experience. In short, we need Aloisius Treadwell again. Should you accept this position, the usual medallion of rank is included with this message, as well as a few of the usual council robes (we pray they fit). You will be reinstated at your old salary plus ten percent, and we will work with you to arrange the best possible times for you to be here to help us. Spending every last moment in Westenford would hardly be necessary--the parliamentary council does handle quite a bit reasonably effectively--but your presence, judgement, rulings, and expertise are all still quite necessary for the future success of Westenford."
The letter ended, Treadwell nodded his head with a big, fat, stretchy grin. Whirling about with a dangerous, though excited, twist, Tready flalaps the parchment at the courier. "My dear boy, you shall go back to Westenford and tell them I wholeheartedly accept, and that I shall be sending them appropriate greetings, thanks, and so forth in the days to come! Now, those robes it mentioned, lad?"
With that, the chap was back on his feet and rushing outside to retrieve the (luckily) Treadwellian sized garments. The tailors back home had predicted that old Tready would probably have just gotten bigger and bigger, and, giving it all they had, they successfully guessed his measurements or came close enough for comfort.
It only took a few moments for Tready to change clothes and to click the medal around his neck again, something he'd not done since coming to Myrken. Fiendishly grinning and grunting all the way, he would find himself handing over a very sizeable tip to the messenger before merrily waddling out and about into Myrken Wood. Near the middle of next month, he would be getting his first payment for services rendered--a payment he would of course put to very good use indulging his own delights. Happy Tready. Plotting evil wicked slimy Tready.
Mon May 30, 2005 7:01 am
Two days later, the messenger would be a bit over halfway back home with a note Tready had written and handed over.
= = = = =
To the Parliamentary Council of Judges, Westenford, Amasynia
Greetings.
I must heartily say that I accept your request that I resume my former position of Chief Magistrate of Westenford. I understand that I am to be paid ten percent more over my former salary for such a duty (total 75,000 Shillings Myrken per year), and I understand that the first payment for such (or 6,250 Shillings) will be due to me come the middle of next month.
I will be in Westenford as soon as I can to help handle problems there. For now, Myrken Wood is facing a number of dilemmas, a terrible drought among them. If you wish a faster response, then send me specific questions in a letter and I will reply as quickly as possible.
Until then, good day, Council.
Aloisius Horatio Treadwell
Chief Magistrate, Westenford, Amasynia
Councilor of Administrative Sanctions, Myrken Wood, Myrken Wood Province.
= = = = =
Needless to say, the realization that he would be receiving an extra seventy-five thousand shillings a year for a moderately increased workload was enough to set Treadwell's head spinning briefly in delight. He might make a mere five hundred shillings per year, after all's said and done, working in his toy shop. This sort of boost to his income would mean. . . oh dear. It could mean a great many things!