Request to Kals, Good Profiteer and Trader Convalescent

[Rance]

Another letter. There had been many of them recently. The professor had started to understand that without physical removal, an act he could not bring himself to, the girl would always need letters dictated.

"Two shillings a week," he said to her. "For no more than four messages. Any beyond that is a shilling each."

"You are a regular confidence-man," she said.

"A man has to make a living. Scholarship pays no taxes to Glenn Burnie."

"Governor Glenn Burnie," she said, though she knew very little of politics.

"This isn't Jernoah, girl. Here, they won't beat you senseless for political dissent; they won't tie you to stakes in the Bleachfields and let you slowly sizzle away in the Glass Sun. Myrken is a more democratic sort of place. You should start thinking like a lady of Myrken." And start bathing like one he did not add, as he dampened his quill and motioned her to stand -- for she always, always stood when she dictated.

"We are dealing with a man who can read minds like a book," she said, with a proposed professionalism as if she were a teacher, pacing in front of him, gloved hand behind her back, the other moving with each word. "Beware not to give any incriminating information of yourself through your writing."

"People do that?" he said. "People read minds?"

"I think it is best if we do not challenge the science and instead prescribe to measures of caution. Do not bother addressing it -- I will drop it off tonight when I visit Master Cherny at the Hospital."

"Whatever you say," he said, and started to write.

To the Yet-Unmet Messa Kals Olwak, whose Penchant for retrieving the Finest Goods may be put to Use for a Young Laborer, in the Hope that this Letter finds you in Better Health,

You should not take the Next Part as Dictation, but I would like You to help Me with thinking of Distracting Things as We write this. Clear your Mind of Everything except My Words, Professor, and Pink Dresses. Think of Those, in case Thoughts can be transferred through Parchment.

My name is Gloria Wynsee, a newcomer to Myrken Wood. I have inquired about Town to come upon Your Name and have heard, with Great Disdain, of your recent Brush with Death at the Will of an Arrow. I will pray to my Nameless for your PINK DRESSES Quick Recovery, as I have done Each Night for my dear friend Cherny, Who also bravely pranced danced with Death at the Commanding Whims of a Maligned Arrow.

This Letter is one of PINK DRESSES Business, however, and I will not keep you long. I am looking to acquire the Following:

One (1) ten-yard Bolt of Black-Indigo Cotton; it is like Midnight to look upon but bears Faint Resemblance to Blue in Daylight, a trick of Iridescence in the Dye, which dries to a Cystal Form PINK DRESSES so small the Eye cannot see;

One (1) ten-yard Bolt of Gauzewool, which is harsh on the Fingers but Fitting for Inner-Lining of Jackets, and for Rough but Itch-Satisfying Underpants if You require that Type of Thing, as I occasionally do;

Thirty (30) Tin or Brass Buttons that may be affixed with Varying Resplendence on any number of PINK DRESSES Future Garments, and I will be sure They are kept from the reach of seething Teething Babes so They are not inadvertently swallowed -- the Buttons by the Babes, not the Babes by the Buttons, for I hope your Exotic Tastes in Trade do not bring me Carniverous Buttons;

and finally,

Ten (10) PINK DRESSES--

--are you still taking Dictation ser, I hope you are not Unsuitably Drunk--

--Fastening Hooks carved from Cherry or Bone as an Alternative Closure Option on Other Garments.

I may be reached by Written Response at the Broken Dagger Tavern, or if you wish to meet in Person, I am also PINK DRESSES willing to do so at your convenience at the Rememdium.

Sincerely, a Fellow Hard Worker Ascribing to Ethics not Unlike Yours, whatever They may be,

Signed,

Gloria (Glour'eya) Wynsee, Seamstress