XXVIII
The bookcase wall slid open and Governor Grimoire stepped out with his hands clasped behind his back.
He was sick of Miri Charmwell and hated everything about her; her perfume, her faltering voice, her liberal pro-environment, I’m-a-professor-and-therefore-a-steward-of-the-planet bullshit.
He stopped at his desk and picked up the report, thumbed through it, marveled at the photographs of the steel chests.
The chests contained gold pieces, elven bones, and a cache of magic. We can find no links between the machinery that caused the damage and the chests, and we believe that they should be treated as separate discoveries.
Ennius slammed the report on the table.
“Drivel!” he cried.
How hard was it to lead an investigation? This should have been simple. Go to the damn bog and fin
