Reggie took pride in being prompt; even being a dozen (or so) minutes early was important. It gave her time to prepare herself, plan ahead, and survey her surroundings sufficiently. If a person showed up late, all in a huff and flurry, it never made for good impressions on either side, and Regintrude Prunaprismia Chadot was never in a huffy or flurry, no matter how pressing the situation.

She had paused outside the Archives building – the dutiful Chauncey standing by with a large umbrella – to adjust her gloves, collar, walking stick, and anything else she thought needed straightening before entering. She wasn’t there to impress anyone, certainly – it was more out of habit these days. She didn’t feel complete without some necessary straightening, especially after stepping out of a carriage.

Today, she was resplendent in a peacock green gown, the pencil skirt sans wrinkles or creases. Tufts of thick, cream-colored lace lined her high collar, peeked out of the wrists of her sleeves, and curled out from under the hem of her skirts. And as always, to complete the ensemble, a tiny top hat (also cream colored with a sprig of matching lace webbed across one side) was nestled in the nest of her magnificently molded hair.

Finished with her primping, the lady strode through the doors of the building and into the waiting room. As before, the same portly little clerk was behind the desk nearby, but in taking one look in Reggie’s direction, the man coughed suddenly, rose, collected a few papers in a moment of impulse, and fled the room.

Reggie couldn’t help but smirk ever so slightly, and placed both hands atop the handle of her stick. Word would spread that she had arrived, and soon she would be able to conduct her business with Shrikeweed. The young man had already proven himself to her, and she was eager to put him to good use – such a sharp mind should not be wasted in such a place where a body did nothing but file pointless papers signed by equally pointless people, she thought with a sniff. And besides, today was the beginning of what was to be a turning point in Vienda’s history. Today was the start of the city-wide prohibition, and Reggie had to admit that there was a part of her that was quite excited.

While all this was going forward in the real world -- or as the archivists prefered to think of it, the world without convenient filing cabinets -- great events were transpiring to occur within the archives. In the office of document authentication and analysis, a series crises had been perpetrated in the affairs of several clerks which raised the ambient level of generalized chaos to a near intolerable level. To wit: Shrikeweed was departing forever that temple of dust and ledgers, Wiggins was leaving on a mysterious vacation about which he was infuriatingly vague, and Miss Marlowe was haranguing the tea girl about the proper thickness at which the lemons should be sliced.

The priniple point of contention seemed to be whether the lemon should be sliced thin enough that a layer of tea soaked through or whether a thicker, more buoyant slice was the preferred citrusy condiment. The discussion was a wide-ranging one, bringing in various and sundry tangential points about sugar cubes, the question of mild or cream, and even the potentially heretical introduction of coffee. It would have been a highly entertaining exchange but for the fact that it prevented the archivists from having their very necessary tea. Several of them had begun to quietly mutiny in the corners of the office, and at least three were engaged in the formation of a small gambling syndicate and where taking wagers on the outcome.

"Mr. Shrikeweed, sir?" The voice of Wiggins floated through the air like a fastidious duck upon turbulent waters, " there's a very grand lady outside, and asking for you."

Shrikeweed looked up from his minute survey of his distressingly empty tea cup and said in a distracted voice, "It's not even as if I want lemon in my tea. I've never much cared for lemony tea. That Marlowe and the tea girl should be blocking access to the kettle is a bit much." He turned the cup over in his hands and then looked into the calm and bespectacled face of Wiggins. "I'm sorry? You said something?"

"Yes, sir. As a matter of fact I did."

Shrikeweed smiled at the unhelpful precision of Wiggins' remark."You wouldn't perhaps like to tell me what it was, would you? I know that might be taking an unpardonable liberty, but I could fill out a request for disclosure form if you would like. I no doubt have a few dozen here somewhere." He shuffled some papers in a meaningful way.

"That will not be necessary, sir. I merely intended to inform you that there is a very grand lady outside asking for you."

"Wiggins," said Shrikeweed levelly, "I have the distinct impression that we've had this conversation before."

"Yes and no, Mr. Shrikeweed, sir," said Wiggins with all the relish that he could muster.

"Ah," said Shrikeweed, carefully dissecting Wiggins' remark, "so I am led to understand that we have had a similar conversation in corresponding circumstances but it was not, in point of absolute fact, the same conversation."

"Exactly so, sir."

"Very good Wiggins. I shall sally forth, forthwith and meet the Grand Lady once again. There's little enough for me to do here today so I very much doubt that my possibly early departure will attract much comment."

At that moment there was a general cry followed by the sound of some half dozen clerks suddenly appearing conspicuously nonchalant. This is not a sound often heard by ordinary mortals, but is close enough to an embarrassed silence as makes very little difference. The gambling syndicate hastily broke up, the mutineers laid aside their plans to launch a daring raid on the tea things and slunk dejectedly back to their desks. Miss Marlowe harrumphed in a very satisfied manner.

"It would appear, sir, that Miss Marlowe has won the argument. Thinly sliced elegant lemons it is."

"Very curious," said Shrikeweed. "I would have though she would have objected to the untidiness of the lemon sinking in the cup. A shocking thing is a submerged lemon."

With that, Shrikeweed and Wiggins reached the outer door, opened it, and stepped out.

"Good day to you madame," said Shrikeweed, "would you care for a cup of tea?"

(( SFSP ))

Ah, there he is now.

Reggie inclined her head slightly towards the young clerk’s greeting and said, “Why, yes, Master Shrikeweed, a cup of tea would be quite refreshing. Thank you.” She placed both hands on the handle of her walking stick. “I trust you have had success in putting your affairs in order, my boy, though I doubt you’d have any trouble regardless. Today marks the beginning of everything we are going to be working towards, and I am eager to begin.”

Shrikeweed glanced at Wiggins, and the younger clerk departed with great purpose, presumably to acquire the stimulating drink. "Tea shall be arriving shortly in all probability. Wiggins is remarkably effective in matters of tea-fetching; also in matters of filing of course, but it is the tea which concerns us at present. Will you sit down, madame?"

He gestured towards a group of chairs which appeared to have colonized a lonely square of carpet and, by devious methods, had coaxed forth a crop of footstools, tables, and various other articles of furniture which no one ever remembers the name of. "As to my affairs," said he as he made his way towards a chair, "they are more or less winding down to the point where my continued presence here is something of a quickly-approaching anachronism. Within the scope of the next few hours I will be entirely at your service though should you be needing my services somewhat sooner than the luncheon hour, I am sure arraignments can be made. I too am eager to enter into the full scope of my new duties. If nothing else, madame, I believe I shall be sneezing considerably less which should lower my laundry bill in a not insignificant way." He smiled in his characteristic lopsided manner and drew a chair out for the Grand Lady. He had no use for the antiquated rules of etiquette that said that gentlemen must be forever readying chairs for passing females, but he was keenly aware of status and it was in this spirit that the chair was made ready with something like good will.

Reggie took Shrikeweed’s offer and glided over to the chair he offered and sat sedately. “Excellent; thank you. Your man Wiggins is efficient in all areas, it would seem – if you so desire (and if he was interested as well), you may add him to your list of soon-to-be-acquired staff in your new position. It pays to have hired help who already know how to help, instead of having to deal with repeated instructions and remembering new names.” She habitually brushed a minuscule wrinkle from her skirt. “Now, to business: where would you like to start? Setting up the staff? Touring the offices? Or laying down any last minute preliminaries that I somehow overlooked? It’s always good to start by planning ahead.” She knew that all too well – too many of her socialite “friends” thought it oh-so clever and fashionable to be spontaneous with planning if they hadn’t the foggiest of what to do on a day. That always led to arguments and someone being disgruntled about the decision for the rest of the day. Absolutely vexing. That was precisely why Reggie always had her days planned out in advance; if someone wanted to drop by, they’d have to let her know at least a week prior, otherwise she might not be available. She refused to keep a daily planner (“It takes up space and wastes good paper.”), and besides, remembering such things was a good exercise for the mind.

“As I have previously stated,” she went on, “I don’t want to rush you in anything. But I will say that the sooner you can get started, the better. Now that the official notice for a prohibition has been posted, I would like to get under way in starting a campaign of sorts, something that will pique the interest of our fellow galdor here in Vienda so that action can truly get under way. What are your thoughts on that, my boy?”

"Wiggins is very efficient indeed. That appears to be both his function and his calling. He is, however, about to depart on some mysterious vacation. Isn't that so Wiggins?"

The younger clerk had just at that moment returned with the various tea things and was setting them down in a precise manner. "Yes indeed sir. Very mysterious, sir. You know how it is. Appearances and all that."

Then, after artfully arranging the lemon slices of discontent into a passable sun-wheel, Wiggins departed. Shrikeweed took a cup of the tea, and took a sip. It was a fine strong tea, and it did him a world of good to drink it. Then, somewhere between the first and second sips, with the warming libation speeding through his esophagus, Shrikeweed registered what the Grand Lady had said and nearly swallowed his tea cup. "What?" he said, with some alarm. "You went ahead with the prohibition before you built up public support? How? Why for all reason?" He took another sip of tea and tried with possibly limited success to regain both breath and composure. "What I mean, madame, is that it appears to me that you have, as they say, put the chariot before the moa. Why did you not build support first? How did you even manage it without backers, surely not even one such as you could have that much influence."

(( ugh, sorry for short and late post ))

Reggie sipped her tea with all the calmness of a cat sitting in the sun as she watched Shrikeweed’s reaction. After his short tirade, the woman set her cup down with casual slowness, more or less to prove that she was unconcerned. “No need to get in an uproar, Master Shrikeweed,” she soothed. Excitable fellow. “My only move in this so far was to send a letter expressing my concerns to the High Judge himself. The reply I received was that a prohibition is already under way. This is why I have been so adamant about obtaining your services, m’boy; things have progressed far more quickly than even I had anticipated.” She folded her hands demurely in her lap. “If it makes you feel any better, I am just as surprised as you are about it.”

(( not a problem. Good to have you back. *cheerful grin* ))

The judge. The words were flat with disgust as they sounded in the chambers of his head. Two leaden notes from the bells of his mental belfry --currently devoid of any sort of chiropteran infestation -- dull and ponderous. In the background, the more common klaxons of discord quietly rang out, readying Shrikeweed for any forthcoming mental shock. Well well, all is made considerably less opaque. Shrikeweed had no love for the High Judge and his heavy-handed ruling of the city, and this was exactly the sort of thing the man would do. If the soon-to-be-former archivist had his way, said magistrate would be removed from office for gross misconduct and insufficient cunning in civic affairs and replaced by some more devious and careful fellow. Better yet, but someone who would take the advice of a whole host of clever and devious people.

The information that it was not the Grand Lady's intention to rush headlong into the untested waters of novel social policy did Shrikeweed no end of good. Visibly relieved, he unwound his now-twanging mental springs, silenced the clanging bells, and took a long restorative drink of tea. "Forgive me, madame," said he when at last he set his cup down, "I should have realized such alarming celerity was not in your character. Pardon my hasty remarks, they were spoken in shock." After a few moments of looking suitably contrite, he composed himself with another long drink of tea. Feeling now more like himself and less and less like some kind of wind-up toy, he began to cogitate upon the matter.

"I believe," he said in a cautious and mildly interrogative tone, "that at this early stage we may still be able to turn things to your advantage. If I may be so bold as to inquire: What, precisely, is the nature of your opinion concerning the esteemed High Judge?"

Reggie let a rare sympathetic smile loose. “No harm done, m’boy – I may not know all of the ins and outs of politics as well as you do, but I understand when something of this magnitude could be taken out of hand. Your reaction, though quite vigorous, was merited.”

She lifted her teacup again, one pinky extended as always. “As for my opinion of the Judge…” She paused, then raised her eyebrows caustically and took a quick draught of tea. “I think the old fossil is a self-righteous prude. Any half-blind idiot could see he’s simply vying for full authority and power, and the gods have mercy on dear Queen Ester for somehow managing to put up with his consistent bleating.” She took another sip and eyed Shrikeweed seriously. “Of course, you didn’t hear that from me. The only reason I sent my letter of complaint off to him was for two reasons: the first was that I knew of no other person in the government who could possibly understand where I was coming from at the time, and the second was that I knew I would get instant results from him. I may not be inclined to the Judge personally, but I know he is a veteran in his work. I did not, however, expect the results to be as such. So then, Master Shrikeweed, here we are.”

He smiled. It was a wicked and satirical thing that smile and behind it lay who could say what machinations. With great ceremony he took a sip of his tea, put down his cup, leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers in the gesture of devious and thinking men the world over. So. You don't care for the Judge. Good. That will make things so much . . .easier.

"Indeed we are madame. In all frankness I could wish the city were in any one of a thousand other places yet it is here and now where we find ourselves. And this is precisely the wrong time for the city to be ruled, de jure or de facto it matters not one jot to me, by a man whose chief concern seems to be the aggregation of personal power. Centralization is all very well in an of itself, but there comes a point where I fear that the consolidation of power into the person of a single man may be as obstructive to the business of the city as spreading it casually about like butter over so much bread." At this point he greatly wished from some toast and butter with which to demonstrate in a dramatic way, but alas, there was none. "I very much fear that if something is not done, and soon, the Judge's rather heavy-handed attempts to bring order to the city will result in the exact opposite eventuality. "

He was unsure just how far to press his opinions, his real opinions, and so he resolved to speak only in vague generalities, things that might well be understood to be the merest whim of a moment. "Possibly," he said airily, "an argument could be made that while the magisterial heart is in the right place, his execution of this noble plan to prevent drunkenness and so on is very clearly the unfortunate result of a mind understandably overtaxed by the shear magnitude of the present difficulties? Such a possibility, the merest hypothetical you understand the very merest hypothetical, might be raised in an offhand manner to diverse and influential personages, possibly at some sort of soiree? I am led to understand that soirees are the very thing for gathering all manner of distinguished persons into a single body. Of course, the one who gives voice to the above notions must herself be of the highest degree of respectability. This self-same respectable person might then gently suggest that there might be other, more reasonable, more civic, means of ensuring that the drunkenness of the lower classes in not permitted to continue and thus be better suited to abate the current lamentable chaos. If this were to be successful, why, then this most interesting person would have the beginnings of a very solid foundation upon which a popular movement might be based. I do not say that such a hypothetical course of action would be the right one, nor do I see it as being wholly without flaws, but it is something to think on. Is it not?"

He raised his cup again, and drank the tea down to the last drop.

(( i win the fail award again for late postings ))

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll most certainly say it again, Master Shrikeweed,” Reggie replied. “I am most pleased to have decided to solicit your aid in all this, for as the old saying goes, ‘Great minds think alike.’ And of that I am quite confidant and assured.”

She took another dainty sip of her tea – rather good stuff, considering the location and that she’d been served by a file clerk – before she went on. “As for a soiree, it just so happens that I shall be hosting such an event quite soon. Since summertime is close upon us, and most people will be shaking off the dust of hibernation, I thought it would be amusing to have a masquerade ball in honor of the change in season. You, of course, dear boy, are more than welcome to attend – I’ll be sure to send you an invitation regardless. And since so many influential people will be attending as well, I can see how it would be beneficial to mention something about this whole prohibition then and there.” She nodded towards Shrikeweed. “This is where your advice will come in handy to me, m’boy – what would you suggest by way of my bringing this whole matter to the attention of those who will be present at the ball?”