Weamish took Cugel to a large workroom, furnished with a dozen tables piled with ledgers, crates and various oddments. Gark and Gookin, wearing smart long-billed caps of red and blue respectively, glared at Cugel from a bench. At an enormous desk sat Twango, who was short and corpulent, with a small chin, a dainty mouth and a bald pate surrounded by varnished black curls. Under his chin hung a faddish little goatee.

Upon the entrance of Cugel and Weamish, Twango swung around in his chair. “Aha, Weamish! This gentleman, so I am told, is Cugel. Welcome, Cugel, to Flutic!”

Cugel doffed his hat and bowed. “Sir, I am grateful for your hospitality on this dark night.”

Twango arranged the papers on his desk and appraised Cugel from the corner of his eye. He indicated a chair. “Be seated, if you will. Weamish tells me that you might be inclined to employment, under certain circumstances.”

Cugel nodded graciously. “I will be pleased to consider any post for which I am qualified, and which offers an appropriate compensation.”

Weamish called from the side: “Just so! Conditions at Flutic are always optimum and at worst meticulous.”

Twango coughed and chuckled. “Dear old Weamish! We have had a long association! But now our accounts are settled and he wishes to retire. Am I correct in this, Weamish?”

“You are, in every last syllable!”

Cugel made a delicate suggestion: “Perhaps you will describe the various levels of employment available and their corresponding perquisites. Then, after analysis, I will be able to indicate how best I can serve you.”

Weamish cried out: “A wise request! Good thinking, Cugel! You will do well at Flutic, or I am much deceived.”

Twango again straightened the papers on his desk. “My business is simple at its basis. I exhume and refurbish treasures of the past. I then survey, pack, and sell them to a shipping agent of Saskervoy, who delivers them to their ultimate consignee, who, so I understand, is a prominent magician of Almery. If I shape each phase of the operation to its best efficiency — Weamish, in a spirit of jocularity, used the word ‘meticulous’ — I sometimes turn a small profit.”

“I am acquainted with Almery,” said Cugel. “Who is the magician?”

Twango chuckled. “Soldinck the shipping agent refuses to release this information, so that I will not sell direct at double profit. But from other sources I learn that the consignee is a certain Iucounu of Pergolo … Cugel, did you speak?”

Cugel smilingly touched his abdomen. “An eructation only. I usually dine at this time. What of your own meal? Should we not continue our discussion over the evening repast?”

“All in good time,” said Twango. “Now then, to continue. Weamish has long supervised my archaeological operations, and his position now becomes open. Is the name ‘Sadlark’ known to you?”

“Candidly, no.”

“Then for a moment I must digress. During the Cutz Wars of the Eighteenth Aeon, the demon Underherd interfered with the overworld, so that Sadlark descended to set matters right. For reasons obscure — I personally suspect simple vertigo — Sadlark plunged into the mire, creating a pit now found in my own back garden. Sadlark’s scales persist to this day, and these are the treasures which we recover from the slime.”

“You are fortunate in that the pit is so close to your residence,” said Cugel. “Efficiency is thereby augmented.”

Twango tried to follow Cugel’s reasoning, then gave up the effort. “True.” He pointed to a nearby table. “There stands a reconstruction of Sadlark in miniature!”

Cugel went to inspect the model, which had been formed by attaching a large number of silver flakes to a matrix of silver wires. The sleek torso stood on a pair of short legs terminating in circular webs. Sadlark lacked a head; the torso rose smoothly to a prow-like turret, fronted by a particularly complex scale with a red node at the center. Four arms hung from the upper torso; neither sense organs nor digestive apparatus were evident, and Cugel pointed out this fact to Twango as a matter of curiosity.

“Yes, no doubt,” said Twango. “Things are done differently in the overworld. Like the model, Sadlark was constructed of scales on a matrix not of silver wires but wefts of force. When Sadlark plunged into the mire, the dampness annulled his forces; the scales dispersed and Sadlark became disorganized, which is the overworld equivalent of mortality.”

“A pity,” said Cugel, returning to his seat. “His conduct from the first would seem to have been quixotic.”

“Possibly true,” said Twango. “His motives are difficult to assess. Now, as to our own business: Weamish is leaving our little group and his post as ‘supervisor of operations’ becomes open. Is such a position within your capacity?”

“I should certainly think so,” said Cugel. “Buried valuables have long engaged my interest!”

“Then the position should suit you famously!”

“And my stipend?”

“It shall be exactly that of Weamish, even though Weamish is a skilled and able associate of many years. In such cases, I play no favorites.”

“In round numbers, then, Weamish earns how many terces?”

“I prefer to keep such matters confidential,” said Twango, “but Weamish, so I believe, will allow me to reveal that last week he earned almost three hundred terces, and the week before as much again.”

“True, from first to last!” said Weamish.

Cugel rubbed his chin. “Such a stipend would seem adequate to my needs.”

“Just so,” said Twango. “When can you assume your duties?”

Cugel considered for only a moment. “At once, for purposes of salary computation. However, I will want a few days to study your operation. I assume that you can provide me adequate board and lodging over this period?”

“Such facilities are provided at a nominal cost.” Twango rose to his feet. “But I keep you talking when you are surely tired and hungry. Weamish, as his last official duty, will take you to the refectory, where you may dine to your selection. Then you may rest in whatever style of accommodation you find congenial. Cugel, I welcome you into our employ! In the morning we can settle the details of your compensation.”

“Come!” cried Weamish. “To the refectory.” He ran limping to the doorway, where he paused and beckoned. “Come along, Cugel! At Flutic one seldom loiters!”

Cugel looked at Twango. “Why is Weamish so animated, and why must one never loiter?”

Twango shook his head in fond bemusement. “Weamish is a nonpareil! Do not try to match his performance; I could never hope to find another like him!”

Weamish called again: “Come, Cugel! Must we stand here while the sun goes out?”

“I am coming, but I refuse to run blindly through this long dark corridor!”

“This way, then: after me!”

Cugel followed Weamish to the refectory: a hall with tables to one side and a buffet loaded with viands to the other. Two men sat dining. The first, a person large and thick-necked with a florid complexion, a tumble of blond curls and a surly expression, ate broad beans and bread. The second, who was as lean as a lizard, with a dark leathery skin, a narrow bony face and coarse black hair, consumed a meal no less austere, of steamed kale, with a wedge of raw onion for savor.

Cugel’s attention, however, focused on the buffet. He turned to Weamish in wonder. “Does Twango always provide such a bounty of delicacies?”

Weamish responded in a disinterested fashion. “Yes, this is usually the case.”

“The two men yonder: who are they?”

“To the left sits Yelleg; the other is Malser. They comprise the work-force which you will supervise.”

“Only two? I expected a larger crew.”

“You will find that these two suffice.”

“For workmen, their appetites are remarkably moderate.”

Weamish glanced indifferently across the room. “So it would seem. What of yourself: how will you dine?”

Cugel went to inspect the buffet at closer range. “I will start with a dish of these smoked oil-fish, and a salad of pepper-leaf. Then this roast fowl seems eminently edible, and I will try a cut off the rare end of the joint … The garnishes are nicely turned out. Finally, a few of these pastries and a flask of the Violet Mendolence: this should suffice. No question but what Twango does well by his employees!”