Page 235 of Storm of Bells
I made a mental note to deduct a quarter ofthe fellow’s salary for wasting time with his stutter.
‘Give that here, man!’ Reaching out, Isnatched the folder out of the boy’s grasp. Flipping it open, Iscanned the first page. ‘Now let’s see how much this mania has…cost…me…’
My voice slowly drained away, and I felt myspine stiffen. I stared at the page, unable to fully grasp what wasright in front of me.
‘Hrm.’ A strange sound escaped my throat.Flipping the page, I started to read faster and faster.
No. No, this couldn’t be true, could it? Thishad to be a mistake. Those couldn’t possibly be the correct salesfigures. Unless…
A horrifying thought struck me.
Unless Miss Lilly Linton’s horrific mutationsof marketing strategies were actuallyworking. Unless shewas, in fact,competent.
I couldn’t help but shudder.
‘Sir?’ the boy who would be lucky to receiveany salary at all this month enquired. ‘I…is everything allright?’
‘Yes,’ enquired my secretary, who I only nowrealized was still very much present and trying to peek at thereport. ‘I’d like to know that, too, Sir.’
In a blink, I slammed the folder shut.Slowly, very slowly, I lifted my head and stared at the soon-to-befired individual who had brought me this abomination.
‘What,’ I demanded, enunciating each wordcoldly and clearly, ‘is the meaning of this?’
‘Err…’ The human waste of wages took a stepback. ‘It’s the profit report for the last two days’ sales ofCocaine Cough Drops.’
‘That’s what I mean! Whyarethereprofits? Why? And why so many?’
‘Um…’ The clerk stared up at me withconfusion in his eyes. ‘Because, um…they sell well? That’s good,right? Profits are good?’
I froze.
Only then did I realize: wasn’t he right? Ishould be ecstatic about the sales! My products selling likehotcakes after a hunger strike was a good thing, right?
At least that’s what I thought until Iglimpsed the gleeful face of Miss Lilly Linton. That’s when Irealized: profits were bad. Terrible! Horrific!
Somewhere in the distance, I heard theechoing screech of my wallet as it twisted in pain. Inside me, afierce battle raged, my innate instincts as a businessman and mycurrent schemes clashing violently. Profits good! Profits bad!Profits good! Profits ba—
‘Yes, tell us your opinion,’ the demon inhuman shape I employed as a secretary encouraged me. The smirktugging at the corner of her mouth surely had nothing to do withthe situation. ‘Are profits good? I’d always believed so, but ifyour opinion on the matter has changed, by all means, educateme.’
I felt my little finger twitch. ‘My opinionon the matter remains the same.’
‘How gratifying to hear that.’ She inclinedher head sombrely, then gave me an innocent, and completely andutterly insincere, smile. ‘Now, won’t you tell us how successfulyour newest product has been? We’re all dying to hear how muchmoney your latest stroke of genius has made.’
I sent her the most spine-chilling gaze I wascapable of, effectively freezing her mouth shut. Then, lowering thetemperature of my stare a few dozen degrees more, I directed it atthe delivery boy.
‘Why?’
‘Err…why what, Sir?’ The boy retreated a fewsteps. ‘W-why wasn’t it more successful? I’m sure we can do abetter job next time! I’ll get a painter up here straight away toimprove the advertisements, and—’
‘No, man! Why was it successfulatall? It was supposed to be a disaster! A total and utterfailure!’
‘Err…it was? But wouldn’t that have beenrather costly?’
Yes. Yes, it would be. And right thismoment, I don’t give a shiny golden Midas crap!
From my pocket, my wallet gave another wailof despair at my blatant disregard for profits. I chose to ignoreit along with the question that was just posed to me. Instead, Ionce more started flipping through the report, my eyes scanning thepages for anything that would get this to make sense. ‘What was it?How did this happen? Was there a flu epidemic I have not heard ofamong small children? Have London’s mothers suddenly gone mad?What?’
‘Err…’ Ellis cleared his throat. ‘It’s notchildren who are buying the sweets, Mr Ambrose.’
