The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

When I got back to the Confederal Building and went up to my office, I found on my desk a note from Rose in big red letters: David, come up to Bea's office immediately. Wondering what sort of trouble I'd managed to get into while I was gone, I went up to Bea's office.

In the anteroom sat Rose - the real ruler of the domain - and a fussy-looking little fellow with a big nose and a loud cravat. He was looking through one of Rose's stationery catalogues, which meant he was either madly meticulous or bored stiff: the latter, if a couple of little faint spots on his shirt meant anything.

"Hello, Dave," Rose said to me, and then, "Here he is, Mr. Epstein."

The little man bounced to his feet. "You are David Fisher, Inspector, Environmental Perfection Agency?" he asked, running my name and job title together.

"Yes," I said. "Who are you?"

"Samuel Epstein, subclerk of the courts. Angels City, Barony of Angels." From under the stationery catalogue he drew out a piece of parchment so splendid with calligraphy (it's mostly done by automatic writing these days, as with the quills inscribing symbols on the silk instrument covers at Bakhtiar's, but it stffl looks mighty impressive) and gaudy with seals. "I hereby deliver unto your person this summons to appear in the court at the day and hour incvited hereon in the matter of The Constabulary of Angels City vs.

Ctiauhtemoc Hemandez." He presented it to me with such a gorgeous flourish that I half expected to hear a ruffle of drums.

I read the parchment. It was what Epstein said it was. "I'll be there," I told him. "Sorry to keep you waiting here so long. Couldn't you just have left this on my desk?"

"Not in cases involving thaumaturgy in the commission of a first-degree felony," he answered. "In such cases, the chain of transmission of summonses must be as tightly controlled as that concerning the transmission of evidence."

"Okay," I said, shrugging; he undoubtedly knew the arcana of his own field, "But you must spend an awful lot to time just sitting and waiting. Why don't you bring along something more interesting to read than that?" I pointed at the catalogue. 

But he recoiled with as much horror as if I'd offered him a bacon cheeseburger. "Anticipating idleness would constitute moral turpitude on my part. Good day to you, sir." He edged around me and fled.

Rose and I looked at each other. She said, "If I spent a lot of working time waiting, I'd bring something interesting, too." That relieved my mind; if Rose doesn't think something involves moral turpitude, you can take it to the bank that it doesn't.

All the way home, I thought about what had gone on at Bakhtiai's. It was of a piece with everything else connected with the Devonshire dump case: as far as I could tell on a quick visit, everything there was on the up and up, and the boss loudly denied doing anything that could possibly make toxic spell byproducts get out of the containment area and into the environment. Somebody was lying, but who? Not knowing was devilishly frustrated.

I was going to call Judy after I finished dinner, but she called me first "Want to do something perverse?" she asked.

I know a straight line when I'm handed one. "Sure," I answered, "Do you want to fly up here, or shall I go down there?" Besides, the very male part of me panted, there was always the outside chance that was what she had in mind.

The snort she gave me said it wasn't - and also said she'd fed me the line on purpose. Maybe she wanted to see what I'd do with it, or maybe she'd already guessed what I'd do with it and wanted to see if she was right. She said, "I was thinking more along the lines of a Monday night date."

That's perverse, all right," I agreed. "Why Monday night?"

"Because I read in the Independent Press-Scryer that a new Numidian restaurant is opening up Monday night about six blocks from here. Feel like coming down and trying it with me?"

"Numidian, eh?" Jews often go to Muslim-style restaurants, and the other way round, too; no need to worry about pork on the menu or back in the kitchen. And Aside from that, I like North African food. Couscous, salata meshwiya-tuna salad with chili pepper, eggs, tomatoes, and peppers, dressed with olive oil, lemon juice, and salt- chicken with prunes and honey, the lamb soup called harira souiria, with onions, paprika, and saffron… my stomach rumbled just thinking about it. "Sounds wonderful. Only thing is, how crowded will it be?

"We can find out. Of course, if you don't want to-"

"I said it sounded wonderful." I really had, too, so I got points for that "What time do you want me down there?"

"What time do you want to come?"

"Listen, Mistress Ather, this is your date, so you tell me what to do."

"Hmm," she said. "Is that how it's supposed to work? Okay, I'll play along - is a quarter to eight all right?"