Gwendylyr's Problem
"I have such a problem," Gwendylyr said to the Demon, hurrying him through the mansion's foyer. Raspu was so nonplussed he still could not speak, nor resist Gwendylyr's efficient bustling.
"It's the staff," Gwendylyr continued, moving Raspu towards an inconspicuous green baize door set behind the sweeping grand staircase. "I don't know what to do with them. That's why I'm so glad you're here!"
Raspu opened his mouth, but couldn't think what to say. This was not quite what he'd expected.
A flash of lightning, a clap of thunder and a clash of powers yes, but not... not... not this.
"My last butler couldn't cope," Gwendylyr said. "And, to be frank, I don't really blame him. The help are simply frightful."
"I don't know what this is all —"
Gwendylyr threw open the green baize door, and propelled Raspu through with a none-too-gentle shove in the small of his back.
She did not appear to notice the slime of his encrustations left on the palm of her hand.
Beyond the door was a long narrow stone corridor, all functionality and no beauty. Small doors opened off at infrequent intervals along its length.
Gwendylyr gave Raspu no respite, nor time for questions.
"The linen closet," she said as they passed a half-open door on their right, and she pulled Raspu to a brief halt.
Caught in Gwendylyr's efficiency, Raspu pushed the door fully open and looked in.
The closet was a mess. Sheets and pillowcases tumbled uncaring from shelves and drifted in creased and grey rivers across the flagged floor.
There was a small dog curled in a nest of scratched and tangled blankets in a far corner. It had left a foul-smelling mess on a pile of flannels.
"Do you see what I mean?" Gwendylyr said. "Give them an hour to their own devices ..."
"I don't understand what is happening," Raspu said, loathing the uncertainty in his voice.
"My dear man," Gwendylyr said, her voice husky with solicitousness, "you are here to set all this to rights."
She smiled, and Raspu took half a step backwards.
"If you can," she continued. "If," her smile broadened and became almost predatory, "you make the right choices.
"Now, here," Gwendylyr pulled Raspu down to the next door and kicked it open with her foot, "is the butler's closet."
Like the linen closet, the butler's closet was lined with shelves. And, as in the linen closet, the contents of the shelves — dusters, cans of boot polish, candles, flints, sewing threads and bobbins, flea powder for dogs, bundles of sharpened pencils, yellowed stationary, blocks of starch, bottles of ink, smelling salts, emetic salts, several years supply of old newspapers and enough wads of tobacco to keep an entire army unit happy for over a month — had spilled beyond their allocated space and spread across the floor.
"You'll have to fix it," Gwendylyr said. "No way around it."
"But —"
"I just can't believe how the staff have let things run down!" Gwendylyr reached behind the door of the closet and, in a motion so swift and magical Raspu could not follow it, whipped a butler's uniform from a hook. With a cracking flap and a cloud of dust she clothed Raspu in his new attire.
"There!" Gwendylyr said, tweaking straight the heavy woollen vest and pulling out the wrinkles in Raspu's coat-tails. "At last you look the part."
Raspu blinked, wondering what had happened. This was all rather overwhelming.
"You must keep your tie straight!" Gwendylyr muttered, tugging at the offending article. "Else how will you maintain respect?"
Raspu roared, the sound frightful in the confines of the butler's pantry, and seized Gwendylyr by the shoulders.
"I will not put up with this any longer!'''
"Excellent!" Gwendylyr cried. "That's the ticket! I knew I'd done the right thing in asking you to set things to rights!"
And before Raspu could do anything else — tear her apart, burn down the building, cause havoc, terror and pestilence — Gwendylyr had propelled him out the door and down the corridor towards a plank door (painted a depressing shade of brown) with a small, round, brass doorknob.
She pulled the Demon to a halt before the door and looked at him sternly.
Raspu shifted from foot to foot, grimacing at the tight leather shoes encasing his feet.
His hands, clad in fawn (although now somewhat stained) cotton gloves, flexed at his sides.
"Behind that door," Gwendylyr said, "await the staff."
She managed a genteel shudder as she momentarily closed her eyes.
"And," Gwendylyr opened her eyes, "beyond that door lies a choice."
Raspu hissed. "The test! The challenge!"
Gwendylyr grinned, and Raspu did not like the expression behind her eyes very much at all.
