Well, I'm glad you're not unhappy about me monopolising the comments as I'm still running over....
Expensive Fabian's office was as untidy as the rest of the New Imperial Museum as the Assessors had sequestered themselves in there on several occasions to discuss findings of inventory and, when his eavesdropping had been successful, evaluate various artefacts that Fabian, personally, had no intention of letting out of the Museum. With the loss of the Heart of the Umber Hulk he was starting to think a little more carefully about those conversations, and had to keep pushing his worries to the back of his mind. There was a wide but shallow desk in front of the window. It made him wonder if it had been picked specifically to be useless: you had to move things to the side to have enough space to work on anything and then anything you needed to consult or have close at hand either needed you to keep turning your head, or ended up being in the right place to be elbowed to the floor. It was stacked with more cardboard boxes, things the Assessors had insisted on seeing physically, and he decided to leave them there for the moment. The bookshelves filled an entire wall and there were stacks of books and sheaves of reports piled in front of them that needed reshelving -- he sighed, wished he could stop doing that, and decided that that too could wait. So he ended up picking up some lever-arch files and a couple of electronic tablets from the easy chair that was intended for visitors (which he discouraged as much as possible. He preferred to visit other people which made it much easier to control the length of the conversation) and sitting down in that. Whereupon he discovered that the leather straps supporting the cushion of the chair had worn out and so the chair sagged until his knees nearly touched his nose.
He stood up, with a little difficulty and rubbed the small of his back wondering if was time to start doing some morning stretches, or maybe start playing football again, and went and sat on the corner of his desk. Staring out of the window at the city sprawled below him, he picked up one of the tablets again, selected the Imperial Messaging app, and dialed Admiral Dread, First Lord of the Imperial Fleet, Glorious Leader of the Navies, and various other pompous sounding titles. "Fab?" Admiral Dread's voice was rough and deep enough that the tablet trembled as its tiny, tinny, speaker tried to reproduce the lower frequencies. "What's up? And make it quick, I have the Assessors in today for a review. Flagship, they said, though what it's got to do with them is a mystery." "That's what I wanted to talk about, I think," said Fabian. He tchted, looking at the view.
"Didn't I say to make it quick?" said Dread after the silence lasted three seconds. "Are you going deaf in your old age, old friend?" "I heard you." Fabian had known Dread since school and the man's blunt, no-nonsense attitude was both refreshing and like water off a duck's back. "I am being quick, but there's no easy way to say this." "Use your mouth," said Dread. "Flap your lips, let air through your vocal chords, and squeeze the muscles there until the screams sound like words." "I think the Assessors stole something from the Museum." There was a short pause -- maybe a second and half and Fabian was counting in the hopes that it would last longer than his first pause. Then, "Obviously they didn't, as even claiming that would be something they'd investigate. That's a very poor joke Fab. But, supposing someone else did steal something from the Museum, how expensive would it be?" "Yes," said Fabian, "you're right, that was a very silly joke and I shouldn't have made it. Well, the Maestro--" he had to pause while Dread harrumphed -- Dread was certain that the old man was a fraud -- "thinks that it would be very expensive to replace, and possibly impossible. What's been lost is the Heart of an Umber Hulk, and they're pretty rare, he says." The pause was about a second and a half again, and Fabian wondered what he could say that would get actual silence from Dread. "Rare," said Dread slowly. "Well, that depends on who you talk to." "What?" "They're supposedly extinct within the Empire," said Dread. "But... you know, the Assessors are coming and I don't have time for this right now. Did you ever get that recipe for pulled pork from your wife?" "Ex-wife." "Why don't you cook some of that and I'll come over for dinner this evening and tell you all about the Assessors? Good chap!" The call terminated with a soft beep, and Fabian gazed at the cityscape for a little longer. Then he remembered that the recipe for pulled pork was somewhere on his bookshelves and so he got to his feet and tried to feel enthusiastic about two hours worth of reshelving.
3 comments:
Well, I'm glad you're not unhappy about me monopolising the comments as I'm still running over....
Expensive
Fabian's office was as untidy as the rest of the New Imperial Museum as the Assessors had sequestered themselves in there on several occasions to discuss findings of inventory and, when his eavesdropping had been successful, evaluate various artefacts that Fabian, personally, had no intention of letting out of the Museum. With the loss of the Heart of the Umber Hulk he was starting to think a little more carefully about those conversations, and had to keep pushing his worries to the back of his mind.
There was a wide but shallow desk in front of the window. It made him wonder if it had been picked specifically to be useless: you had to move things to the side to have enough space to work on anything and then anything you needed to consult or have close at hand either needed you to keep turning your head, or ended up being in the right place to be elbowed to the floor. It was stacked with more cardboard boxes, things the Assessors had insisted on seeing physically, and he decided to leave them there for the moment. The bookshelves filled an entire wall and there were stacks of books and sheaves of reports piled in front of them that needed reshelving -- he sighed, wished he could stop doing that, and decided that that too could wait. So he ended up picking up some lever-arch files and a couple of electronic tablets from the easy chair that was intended for visitors (which he discouraged as much as possible. He preferred to visit other people which made it much easier to control the length of the conversation) and sitting down in that.
Whereupon he discovered that the leather straps supporting the cushion of the chair had worn out and so the chair sagged until his knees nearly touched his nose.
He stood up, with a little difficulty and rubbed the small of his back wondering if was time to start doing some morning stretches, or maybe start playing football again, and went and sat on the corner of his desk. Staring out of the window at the city sprawled below him, he picked up one of the tablets again, selected the Imperial Messaging app, and dialed Admiral Dread, First Lord of the Imperial Fleet, Glorious Leader of the Navies, and various other pompous sounding titles.
"Fab?" Admiral Dread's voice was rough and deep enough that the tablet trembled as its tiny, tinny, speaker tried to reproduce the lower frequencies. "What's up? And make it quick, I have the Assessors in today for a review. Flagship, they said, though what it's got to do with them is a mystery."
"That's what I wanted to talk about, I think," said Fabian. He tchted, looking at the view.
"Didn't I say to make it quick?" said Dread after the silence lasted three seconds. "Are you going deaf in your old age, old friend?"
"I heard you." Fabian had known Dread since school and the man's blunt, no-nonsense attitude was both refreshing and like water off a duck's back. "I am being quick, but there's no easy way to say this."
"Use your mouth," said Dread. "Flap your lips, let air through your vocal chords, and squeeze the muscles there until the screams sound like words."
"I think the Assessors stole something from the Museum."
There was a short pause -- maybe a second and half and Fabian was counting in the hopes that it would last longer than his first pause. Then, "Obviously they didn't, as even claiming that would be something they'd investigate. That's a very poor joke Fab. But, supposing someone else did steal something from the Museum, how expensive would it be?"
"Yes," said Fabian, "you're right, that was a very silly joke and I shouldn't have made it. Well, the Maestro--" he had to pause while Dread harrumphed -- Dread was certain that the old man was a fraud -- "thinks that it would be very expensive to replace, and possibly impossible. What's been lost is the Heart of an Umber Hulk, and they're pretty rare, he says."
The pause was about a second and a half again, and Fabian wondered what he could say that would get actual silence from Dread. "Rare," said Dread slowly. "Well, that depends on who you talk to."
"What?"
"They're supposedly extinct within the Empire," said Dread. "But... you know, the Assessors are coming and I don't have time for this right now. Did you ever get that recipe for pulled pork from your wife?"
"Ex-wife."
"Why don't you cook some of that and I'll come over for dinner this evening and tell you all about the Assessors? Good chap!"
The call terminated with a soft beep, and Fabian gazed at the cityscape for a little longer. Then he remembered that the recipe for pulled pork was somewhere on his bookshelves and so he got to his feet and tried to feel enthusiastic about two hours worth of reshelving.
Greg - hah, all good :)
Ah, Dread makes his appearance in the story... not quite at last, but I had begun to wonder where he was.
I am enjoying this and find the direction so far deeply intriguing.
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