Back to my Westwood office, then. When I got there, I discovered the elevator shaft was out of order. Some idiot had managed to spill a cup of coffee on the Words and sigil that controlled Khil. A mage stood in the shaft readying a new compact with the demon, but readying didn't mean •ready. I had to haul my parchments up the fire stairs (you. wouldn't want to be in an elevator shaft when the controlling parchment bums, would you?), slide back down, and then climb the stairs again with the other half of my load. I was not pleased with the world when I finally plopped the last parcel down by my desk.

I was even less pleased when I saw what lurked on that desk: my report about the spilled fumigants, all covered over with red scribbles. That meant I wasn't going to get to the documents I'd so laboriously lugged upstairs by quitting time. I drought they were a lot more important than the report, but my boss didn't see dungs that way. Sometimes I wish I were triplets. Then I might keep my desk dean.

Maybe.

The office access spirit appeared in the ground glass when I called it. I held up the pages one by one so it saw all the changes, then said, "Write me out a fresh version on parchment, if you please."

"Very well," the spirit said grumpily. It likes playing with words, but has the attitude that actually dealing with the material world and getting them down in permanent form is somehow beneath it. It asked me, "Shall I then forget the version you had me memorize yesterday?"

"Don't you dare," I said, and then, because it was literal minded, I added a simple, "No."

My boss had the habit of making changes and then going back and deciding she'd rather have things the first way after all. Yes, I know it's a female cliche, but she really was a woman and she really was like that. Judy, now, Judy is more decisive than I'll ever be..