The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

I didn't want any kind of spook, not even a philosophical one, in my front room. I went on, "If it makes you feel any better, I was worried about it before I ever set eyes on you.

Too many big Powers involved: Beelzebub, the whole Persian mess I haven't got to the bottom of yet, now Huitzilopochdi." I didn't mention Charlie Kelly. I wasn't sure he deserved my loyalty, not any more, but he still had it.

"I must advise you to keep your suspicions to yourself," the spook said after a longish pause {he might as weU have been on the telephone ran through my mind - one of those maddening bursts of irrelevance that will pop up no matter what you do). "Reaching the wrong ears, your prophecy could become self-fulfilling."

"It might help if you'd tell me which ears are the wrong ones." If I sounded plaintive, can you blame me?

He shook his murky head. "No, for two reasons. First, the information is classified and therefore not to be casually disseminated under any circumstances. And second, the more you know, the more apt you are to betray yourself to those who may have reason to be interested in your knowledge.

Your basic assumption should be that no one may be privy to your speculations. If anyone with whom you come into contact shows undue interest in this area, summon me at once from Central Intelligence headquarters in D.StC."

"How do I get hold of you in particular?" I asked - I mean. Central Intelligence has a lot of spooks on the payroll.

"My name is Legion," he said. "Henry Legion." He turned around, walked out through my chair and wall, and was gone.

Next day, thank God, was Friday. Traffic was light going in, as it often is on Friday mornings. I wasn't fooled; I knew I'd have the usual devilish time getting home. I tried not to think about that. Maybe, I told myself as I floated up the elevator shaft, I'd have myself a nice easy day, knock off early, and beat the weekend crunch on St James' Freeway.

I walked into my office, took one look at the IN basket, and screamed. Sitting there was one of the ugliest Confederal forms ever designed. In big block letters, the cover said, REQUEST FOR ENVIRONMENTAL IMPACT REPORT. Slightly smaller letters added, PROPOSED IMPORTATION OF NEW SPECIES INTO BARONY OF ANGELS.

Having got the scream out of my system, I merely moaned as I sank into my chair. Who, I wondered, wanted to bring what into Angels City, and why? I just wished Huitzilopochdi had to fill out all the forms he'd need to establish himself here legally: we'd be free of him till Doomsday, or maybe twenty minutes longer.

Huitzilopochtii and his minions, unfortunately, didn't bother with forms. With trembling fingers, I picked up the report request and opened it. Somebody, it seemed, was proposing to schlep leprechauns over from the Auld Sod in hibemiation, revive them once they got here, and establish a colony in Angels City.

At first glance it looked reasonable. We have a good number of Erse here, and a lot more who pretend they are when St. Padraig's Day rolls around. The leprechauns wouldn't have any trouble feeling at home in Angels City. Tracking the little critters to their pots of gold would help a few poor folk pay off the mortgage. The odds were about like winning the lottery, but who doesn't plunk down a few crowns on the lottery every now and again?

The way of environmental issues, though, is to get more complicated the longer you look at them. Figuring out how leprechauns would affect the local thecology wasn't going to be easy: tracing the interactions of beings from This Side is complicated enough, but when you start having Powers involved - I moaned again, medium loud. One of the things I'd have to examine was the impact importing leprechauns would have on the Chumash Powers (assuming those weren't extinct). If the Chumash Powers were still around, hanging by a metaphorical fingernail, would bringing in leprechauns rob them of the tiny measure of devotion they needed to survive?

Bea walked by the open door just in time to hear that moan. She stuck her head into the office. "Why, David, whatever is the matter?" she asked, as if she didn't know.

This," I said, pointing to the orange cover of the environmental impact report request. "Do you by any chance have a spell for making days forty-eight hours long so I can do everything I'm supposed to?"

"If I did, I'd use it myself," she said, "but I don't think God's been in the habit of holding back the sun since Joshua's day." "This is going to be a bear to handle," I said, "especially on top of the Devonshire dump case and the Chumash extinction study-" St. Elmo's fire came on above my head, just like you see in the cartoons. "That's why you passed it on to me: so I could run it parallel to the Chumash project."