Page 1 of Office of the Lost

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Crispin

Crispin Eladrin Moss’caladin was a by-the-numbers, check-all-the-boxes kind of fae, the only desk fae in the Office of the Lost with a ten-point-two perfecality score.This made his chest swell with pride whenever he thought of it, since it technically wasn’t possible to rise above a ten-point-oh.

He hummed happily as he worked his way down the Recovered Assets form, filling out every line with careful precision, dipping his quill in the ink pot with exactly the right angle and timing to collect the perfect amount of ink with nary a drop spilt on desk or parchment.

He was barely aware of the sounds of the other desk fae around him, sitting at the hundred or so identical white marble desks extending out from his like blocky petals of some strange stone flower.

Item Recovered?Check.

Item in Good Shape?Check.

Description of Item:Slightly used spelled red oak wand, possibly from the Third Dynasty.

World of Origin?Therrin.

And on and on, cataloging all the minute details of how he’d acquired the formerly lost object.

He glanced up at the hands of the enormous clock on the near wall.Five minutes to five.Perfect timing.He’d be home to his tree bole in the Greatwoods on Torevor—and his pet squirrel Minkis—right on time.Punctuality is Perfecality.

As he was slipping the form and the small box with its recovered contents into his outbox, a shadow darkened his sparkling clean desk, dimming its reflected glow.

Crispin swallowed hard and looked up into the beady eyes of his supervisor, Bidulla Krönk.

She was an ogre of a woman.Literally.Her sallow skin was the color of a rotten lemon, two pointed yellow teeth protruded a good three inches past her lips, and paint nearly melted off the walls when she smiled.

Like she was doing now.

“Hello, Curator Moscow.”Her voice was like a rake over gravel.

“That’s Moss’caladin.”He tried not to sweat, rather unsuccessfully.

She nodded.“Yes, Moscow, just like I said.”She sank down on the corner of his desk, and the far side lifted an inch off the ground.“I’m told you are doing excellent work.”

He wanted to cover his ears to block out the avalanche of sound, but decided that wouldn’t be at all proper.He should have been thrilled that his perfecality score was at last being noticed, but instead he wanted to shrink under his desk and hide until she left.He’d spent his entire career—well, if you could call five years a career—under the desk, figuratively, and he couldn’t imagine for the life of him how his cover had been blown.“Thank you, ma… Supervisor Krönk.I was just heading out?—”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”And when she saidafraid, it felt more likerumbly angry.But that might have been just her voice.Which, to be fair, was comparatively lovely for an ogre.Still, ogres weren’t known for a subtle expression of emotion.

“Why is that?”He found himself blinking and instead tried to stare at her politely, which somehow felt worse.She also had a strong… personal aroma, which was making his eyes water.

“Something urgent has come up, a task that we feel is more wisely left to one of our best curators.”

We?There was now a we who were aware of him?His heart dropped.“The best would be Curator Deepmountain, ma’am.”Theodor ur Deepmountain was a dwarf, and one of the most experienced members on the team.And by experienced, Crispin meant ancient; his long, wispy white beard was probably older than Crispin.Surely she’d see the wisdom in his suggestion.

She growled—or was it a purr?—and his entire desk shook.“We think this particular task needs more… finesse than Curator Deepmountain possesses.The Oracle specifically asked for you.”

Me?He suppressed a squeak, but there was the damnable blinking again.Crispin forced himself to stop.

Then he blinked again.She was complimenting him, in a heavy-handed, very ogre sort of way.The proper thing to do with compliments was to acknowledge them.Right?“Um, thank you?”

She nodded as if finally he’d done something right.“Here are the details.If you need anything, staff will provide it.”She handed over a dark blue folder with the Office of the Lost “OotL” logo embossed in gold.Some people called Crispin and his co-workers “oodles” as a result of the rather unfortunate acronym, but he stuck steadfastly to “curators.”

He peered over her shoulder.Three sylvan fae hovered behind her with clipboards and magical quills that never needed dipping.

Crispin sighed heavily.It was clear that there was no way out of this one, so he might as well acquiesce gracefully.“I see.Well then, I’ll go home and get a good night’s rest so I’m fresh for thismost important taskin the morning, and….”

Bidulla shook her head.“This matter is top priority.”She pointed at the proffered paperwork, and sure enough, it was stamped “Top Priority.”The red ink seemed to sizzle as he stared at it.

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