Roderick Blessington Limpet was one of those happy gentlemen who spent his professional existence never quite sure what it was he was supposed to be doing and receiving a very considerable salary for never bothering to find out. Most days, he sat in his splendidly appointed office behind a desk of no common make and elegance, watching as a succession of clerks first brought him a multitude of documents all bound up in tape and then, several hours later, inexplicably spirited these self-same documents away. Occasionally, one of these clerks would look meaningfully at Mr. Limpet and glance significantly at a document before departing with the aforesaid document with an air of great mystery.

It was perhaps fortuitous for Mr. Limpet than none of these clerks possessed the slightest idea what the exact nature of that gentleman's position was either. They never appeared to be bothered by the fact that the only thing that ever seemed to happen to their documents when they went to retrieve them was that they were slightly dustier than when they had left them. It was a part of the settled order of the place that documents of various kinds were to be sent to Mr. Limpet and so the documents were dutifully dispatched and nothing more was said about them. As far as anyone could tell, it was the duty of Mr. Limpet to merely sit magisterially behind the desk and cast a benignant eye over all the papers and files within his sphere. Possibly this was to grant them his blessings or in the hope that the amiability of Mr, Limpet -- which was boundless -- might be imparted to those curiously unfeeling bits of paper.

For many years the office of Inspector of their Majesties Documents had been held by this worthy gentleman, and for years uncounted before that the post had been filled by a succession of exactly similar gentlemen; all of great learning, bottomless amiability, and a kind of highly specialized stupidity that prevented them from being much of a bother to anyone. There was one largely ceremonial duty of this most unusual office, and that was to oversee the Archival office of Document Authentication and Analysis. Generally, this meant that once or twice a week Mr. Limpet would tour that department where he would be pleased to be shown a number of documents and reports full of highly technical language about pen stroke angles, curious turns of legal phrasing, the age and weight of paper, and a thousand other things which he no more understood than a fish might comprehend the finer points of ballroom dancing.

On this particular day, he was seated in his office, nodding in a companionable manner to a number of yellowing bundles of paper -- which regarded him not at all --, when there was a knock at his door. He informed the knocker to enter, and the door opened to revel Mr. Limpet's secretary, Mr. Blanching. With the secretary was the shape of Shrikeweed looking somewhat apprehensive and carrying with him what appeared to be a very small bundle of documents indeed.

"Mr. Limpet," said the secretary in a grand tone, "Mr. Shrikeweed here has asked to see you on a matter, so he claims, of some importance. He has, however, neglected to inform me of the precise nature of his errand. Secrecy is something I cannot abide sir, but Mr. Shrikeweed was most insistent."

Shrikeweed raised an eyebrow and glared at the secretary. He did not like the man and his infuriatingly supercilious manners and he was not at all sure he could approve of the man's filing preferences. Alphabetical? Oh yes, aren't we clever with our files. No attention payed to matters of content or relations to other files. Oh no. Just neat, orderly drawers full of papers that appear to be arraigned. What good is that? Files, Mr. Blanching are not merely isolated bits of paper to be put away and generally forgotten until a passing mouse or the damp eats them. Besides, the man wore black suits with black cravats and shirts so white and starched they looked more like napkins at the better sort of dinner party than anything a living man should wear. He looked like he was always in mourning for his lost sense of taste.

Mr. Limpet drew himself up in his chair, and in a tone so amiable as to be slightly worrying, he said, "Mr. Blanching, worry not about the reticence of Mr. Shrikeweed. No doubt it is merely his over developed sense of caution that drive him to act so. Nothing wrong with a little discretion; especially in a young fellow. Far too much candor about these days. I am sure he has a perfectly excellent reason to see me just now and as I am not presently detained by much of anything, his presence can hardly be an imposition. So, show the man in and ring for some more tea."

With a nod, Blanching departed in no very good humor and closed the door behind him. When the sound of his feet had died away, Mr. Limpet turned to Shrikeweed as said affably, "Now then my fine fellow, what is it you wished to see me about?"

Shrikeweed took a small breath to compose himself and then launched into the following statement.

"Sir," he said in a measured tone, "I wished to inform you in person sir, before the storm of paperwork and the general confusion sets in, of my decision to leave the archives, effective as soon as is practicable."

"What?" came the response of the jovial Mr. Limpet. "What's all this Shrikeweed? You're leaving us? This is very shocking."

"I am sir, and while I admit that this decision is somewhat more alacritious than is customary on my part, I do not consider this to be a rash action. The fact is, sir, that opportunities, very interesting and quite possibly important opportunities, have recently arisen and I believe it would be foolish of me not to take advantage of such things."

"Opportunities Shrikeweed? What in the world are you talking about? I never took you for an opportunist. Quite the opposite really. I would have thought your sentence here was for life."

Shrikeweed's eyebrow shot up again with no very good humor. "Indeed sir? I was unaware I was condemned to this position by some mysterious sin."

"Only a minor witticism Shrikeweed."

A very minor one, sir. Possibly you should spend some of your copious free time in improving your humor?. "Quite amusing sir. Very risible," said the clerk with no discernible tone whatsoever.

"Are you mocking me Shrikeweed?"

"I wouldn't dream of it sir."

"Yes, well, hmm, indeed. Then, you really do intend to leave us? This is not some elaborate bit of fun?"

"No sir, it is not some, as you put it, 'bit of fun'. I fail to find anything funny about it. I mean that, sir, in the most neutral way imaginable. I find it not in the least funny in the way that I find molluscs singularly unamusing. Amusement is not a quality I associate in any way with my current intent."

Mr. Limpet considered this remark for a moment, turning it over with great slowness in his mind. Finally, he hit upon what he took for a subtle jab at his own surname and as this was something he could grasp, riposted thusly: "You are mocking me Shrikeweed, despite your protests. I distinctly heard a tone of mockery in that remark. Unamusing molluscs forsooth!"

"I never said I was not mocking you sir. I said I never dreamed of mocking you, very different sir, I think you'll find. It is a thing of which I have never in my life dreamed. Indeed, sir, at no point in my somnolent entertainments have you ever appeared in any capacity at all. A fact that I feel sure must be of very material comfort to us both."

Mr. Limpet regarded the clerk with some perplexity, blinked several times in rapid succession, and then let out such as laugh as to wake any dead that might have been secretly lurking beneath the floor boards. No vengeful dead were, however, forthcoming and the floor remained blessedly undisturbed.

"Indeed," said the jovial Limpet. "Very comforting indeed. It would disturb my digestion considerably to learn I had been spending my nights in someone else's dreams. My own, Mr. Shrikeweed, are quite enough for me."

"Quite right sir. However it appears that we have strayed somewhat from the matter at hand. To wit: my impending departure from this fine establishment."

"Ah. Yes. Terrible this departure of yours Shrikeweed. Is there nothing we can do to induce you to stay on with us? A counter offer perhaps?"

"I fear not sir. Not unless you are prepared to offer me three times my current pay, a small but select staff, leave to recreated the whole archival filing system, and a private office with my name on a brass door-plate." Shrikeweed smirked in a very complacent and amused manner when he had thus related the approximate terms of his new position.

Limpet was stunned. "Good gods man, who in the world could afford to offer you half so much? Are you quite sure this is not some curious trick."

"Perfectly sure sir. I have done my customary diligent researches. The lady into whose employ I shall be entering has a spotless record in matters of this sort. She is rather a public figure sir, and to not live up to her portion of the agreement must do her no inconsiderable damage. No sir, I am quite safe in this regard."

"A lady? What lady my dear fellow?"

"Lady Regintrude Prunaprismia Chadot, sir."

"Oh! Reggie!" said Limpet with such expansive joviality as to once again risk the raising of the restless, and by now very sleep deprived, dead. "I've met her on occasion. Very fond of parties she is, and those curious little hats. Do you understand about the hats?"

"I cannot say that I do sir, though they seem to please her no end." Shrikeweed adjusted his cravat and cleared his throat in the manner perfected by polite but impatient men the world over, and produced from among the papers he was holding, a small and smartly written letter. "Here sir, is my formal resignation. I neither you nor the Archives any ill will and hope to depart on terms of friendship. Good day to you sir. I will show my self out."

As Shrikeweed approached the door to the office, it was opened by the returning Blanching with a quite complex looking tea cart with all the necessary accouterments. There was a very brief collision which sent a very fine celadon teapot flying only to come to an abrupt halt as it stuck the startled Blanching. Shrikeweed looked at the now steaming secretary --though whether from anger or from the tea he could not be sure -- and said quite calmly, "Quite all right Blanching, I don't really want tea at the moment."