Page 65 of Office of the Lost

There was a single neat stack of papers on the desk, along with an aluminum pen holder, an enormous mug, and one of those desk toys with the swinging metal balls.She was smiling, which didn’t make her any more aesthetically pleasing.

“So,” she purred.“That was easy.”

“Crispin’s rat bit me!”Qylzryd sounded like a petulant toddler.

“Squirrel,” Juzir muttered.

“Whatever.”

Bidulla wasn’t impressed.“You’re lucky the Chaos creature didn’t turn you into a slug.Or simply dissolve your atomic structure.”

Qylzryd scrambled far away from Leopold, looking terrified.“He can do that?”

“Not anymore,” said Juzir.“Not as long as the containment spell holds.”

Leopold wondered how long that would be.It had already been some time since Juzir zapped him.Maybe his captors had lost track.Maybe in a minute or two hewouldbe able to turn Qylzryd into a slug—thanks for the suggestion, Bidulla, that was a good one—and do something equally appropriate to Juzir and Bidulla.

But neither Juzir nor Bidulla looked concerned about this possibility, which Leopold found disconcerting.Bidulla was signing and stamping some paperwork on her desk, slamming the stamp down with extra gusto.Seemingly pleased with her efforts, she scooted the papers across the expanse of metal.“Take these to the Exchequer’s Office on the fifth floor.They’ll process them for you, and you should receive payment within sixty working days.”

Qylzryd grabbed one of the papers, gave Leopold a final horrified look, and ran out of the room.Juzir, however, straightened his back.“I didn’t do this for the money.My concern was the damage this… being could cause.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a hero,” said Bidulla, flapping a hand dismissively.“Do you want payment or not?”

Juzir deflated a little.“Well, I do have to completely rebuild my bathroom.”He took the other paper and didn’t even glance at Leopold before leaving.

Bidulla spent a moment staring at him, her thoughts opaque.Finally she hauled herself upright.“Well, it wasn’t the cleanest retrieval effort, but at least we succeeded in the end.”She seemed to be speaking to herself more than to Leopold.

After staring a little longer, she shuffled over to the wall and touched it, revealing a closet behind a hidden door.Leopold wasn’t at a good angle to see what was inside; he just caught a glimpse of a broom and a mop.Bidulla stepped partway inside and, after a bit of crashing and banging, emerged with a wheelbarrow, which she stuffed Leopold into.Since he didn’t bend much, she had to do a lot of prodding and wrenching to get him to fit.He addednon-consensual touchingto his list of grievances against her.

Humming to herself, Bidulla pushed the Leopold-filled wheelbarrow out of her office and down the hallway.This time he was mostly on his side, so he could see more than the floor, but that didn’t help him any.There was just a long procession of doors.The only interesting thing he spied was the Oracle’s door, but Bidulla didn’t pause there.

Who was this mysterious Oracle, whose dictates had turned his life upside down?

Leopold was still frozen several minutes later, when Bidulla stopped in front of one of the doors, opened it through some process he couldn’t see, and unceremoniously dumped him onto the floor, as if he were a bag of cement mix.

He landed face down on thin planks of worn wood.

“If it was up to me, we’d just destroy you.”She sounded conversational, like a person discussing the weather or what they might have for lunch.“But the Oracle says no, so here you are.Some of the items in our collection have been here for millennia.Maybe you will be too.”

He heard the wheelbarrow wheels squeak a little, and then the door closed with a bang.The lock engaged with aclunkof finality.

Leopold lay there for a long time.It wasn’t very comfortable, especially when his nose began to itch.And he wasn’t especially grateful that he hadn’t been killed, because now he was left with all of his doubts and regrets.And seemingly ample time to contemplate them.

He worried about Crispin because, okay, maybe it was possible that Leopold had inadvertently magicked Crispin into loving him, but Leopold hadn’t magicked himself.He cared about Crispin.HelovedCrispin.He’d never been in love before and had sort of given up hope he ever would be, so under different circumstances he would be relieved and happy.

But not now.

Eventually Leopold’s muscles began to cramp.Then he developed spasms in his arms and legs, like really bad charley horses, and found that he’d recovered enough to howl in pain.After way too much of that, the agony subsided.He groaned, sighed, and rolled onto his side, finally able to take a look at his new prison.

He was in a studio apartment not too different from many of the ones he’d lived in.No kitchenette, but there was a bed, a couch, a table, and a single wooden chair.There was a television—one of the bulky wooden console types with built-in speakers, like people owned back in the 60s.It was switched on and showingThe Brady Bunch.

Greg was in trouble for something, but Leopold couldn’t tell what because there was no sound.The room had a couple of shag throw rugs scattered on the floor; the walls were painted off-white, as was the ceiling.Leopold couldn’t see any light fixtures, but the room was moderately bright.

There were no windows, and he couldn’t see a door.

Still aching, Leopold managed to get off the floor and onto the couch.It didn’t much improve his perspective.And when he repeatedly tried to flex his Chaos muscles, nothing happened.He couldn’t even change the channel on the TV without getting up and turning the knob, and even then, the same show was on all five channels.Only five channels!What is this, a gulag?

Defeated and exhausted, he made his way to the bed and curled up, slipping into a dreamless sleep.

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