The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

I talked fast. "I know we didn't If you want to play all consortiate, you can lick me on this one. For a while. But how will you feel when you read the next little story in the Valley section of the Tines about a kid who's going to vanish out of the universe forever some time in the next fifty or seventy or ninety years?"

"You fight dirty," he said with a fierce scowl.

"Only if I have to," I answered. "You're the one who told me you wanted to keep this site safe. Did you mean it, or was it so much fairy gold?"

He looked at his watch. It must have been a new one, because he didn't ask me what time it was. After about a minute and a half (my guess; I didn't bother checking), he said, "Very well, Inspector Fisher, I shall comply with your demand." Clearly we were out from under the rose.

More folders followed, too many for me to cany. Having decided to be helpful. Tony was very helpful: he got me a wheeled cart so I could trundle them down the path and out to my carpet. I said, "I hope losing these won't inconvenience your operation."

"I wouldn't give'em to you if it did," he said. "I have copies of everything. They're magically made, of course, so they aren't acceptable to you, but they'll keep this place running until I get the originals back."

I didn't say that might be a while. If we ended up going to court again to seek a closure order, the parchments would be sequestered for months, maybe for years if the dump's legal staff used all the appeals they were entitled to. Sudakis had to know that, too. But he seemed satisfied he could go on doing what he needed to do, so I didn't push him.

He even trundled the cart out to the entrance for me.

When we got there, a slight hitch developed: the cart was too wide to go over the footbridge. "Can't I just stand on one side of the line and you on the other?" I asked. "You can pass the documents out to me."

"It's not that simple," Sudakis said. "Go on outside; I'll show you." I crossed the bridge, stepped a couple of feet to one side of it. Sudakis made as if to pass me a folder; I made as if to reach for it. Our hands came closer and closer to one another, but wouldn't touch. Sudakis chuckled. "Asymptotic zone, you see? The footbridge is insulated, so it cleaves a path right on through. We do take containment seriously, Dave."

"So I notice." Even if anything was on the rampage in the dump, that zone would go a long way toward keeping it inside where it belonged. When I leaned toward Sudakis above the footbridge, he had no trouble passing me the files.

I turned to the security guard. "Do you have twine? I don't want these blowing away after I load them onto my carpet"

Gemme look." He went back into his cage and came back out with not only a ball of twine but also a scissors. I hadn't expected even that much cooperation, so I was doubly glad to get it Sudakis watched me tie parcels for a minute or two, then said, "I'm going back to work. Now that you've officially taken these documents, you understand I'm going to have to notify my superiors about what you've done."

"Yes, of course," I said. Decent of him to remind me, though. I thought he really might be on my side, or at least not altogether on the side of his company.

I carted the documents across the street to my carpet; I needed three trips. Like anybody, I had storage pockets sewn on, but the great pile of parchments overwhelmed them. I don't know what I would have done if the guard hadn't had any twine. Sat on some of the folders and hung onto others, I suppose, until I flew by a sundries store where I could buy some for myself. You see people doing that every day, but it's neither elegant nor what you'd call safe.

Back to my Westwood office, then. When I got there, I discovered the elevator shaft was out of order. Some idiot had managed to spill a cup of coffee on the Words and sigil that controlled Khil. A mage stood in the shaft readying a new compact with the demon, but readying didn't mean •ready. I had to haul my parchments up the fire stairs (you. wouldn't want to be in an elevator shaft when the controlling parchment bums, would you?), slide back down, and then climb the stairs again with the other half of my load. I was not pleased with the world when I finally plopped the last parcel down by my desk.

I was even less pleased when I saw what lurked on that desk: my report about the spilled fumigants, all covered over with red scribbles. That meant I wasn't going to get to the documents I'd so laboriously lugged upstairs by quitting time. I drought they were a lot more important than the report, but my boss didn't see dungs that way. Sometimes I wish I were triplets. Then I might keep my desk dean.

Maybe.

The office access spirit appeared in the ground glass when I called it. I held up the pages one by one so it saw all the changes, then said, "Write me out a fresh version on parchment, if you please."