Felice had heard other stories about the East Wing, but many were assumed to be made up by the executives to dissuade investigation. She was certain that she had heard of some of those that worked here, if only by how badly their reputation had plummeted since they arrived.
The door to the next room up was labeled '13', but there didn't seem to be any numbering system around here - she knocked and the squeak of a chair and a grunt or sigh at least told her someone was listening.
'Hello?' hesitant opening of door...
'Ah, you must be the new sacri- uhm, applicant. Uh, come on in.'
Felice continued through into the dark room.
'Oh, thank you dear, the light from the corridor is most annoying and it's good you, ah, closed the door.'
The figure speaking was behind a desk at the back of the room, as much as she could make out, sitting behind it - was that a cigar in (his?) mouth?
'Oh, take a seat my dear, uhm, what can I do for you?'
'I was just shown my room and I really have no idea what I am supposed to be doing, Sir.'
'Uhm, you don't have to be that formal around me, Miss Strange, ah, you can just call me Johan - Johan Bowiel.'
'Are you the Johan Bowiel?' Felice said without containing the amazement. 'The Johan Bowiel who stopped writing five years ago? You're practically a legend!'
'Um, I wouldn't go so far as to, uh, say that, Miss Strange. I was simply good at what I did. The time came that I had to, ah, let the up an' comings come and retire gracefully. Uhm, I couldn't just finish like that, so I, aha, came here to wind down. Some of the people who work in this wing are, um, very remarkable. Pity that none of our -'
'Please, can you just tell me what we are - I mean I am - supposed to do here?'
Johan creaked his old chair.
'It's hard to say.'
'What do you mean?'
'Look, uhm, you just take the package next to the door down the hall, ah, up the stairs and across the floor to the Juggler, and then we'll, uh, talk about your work.'
Felice stared blankly at nothing for a while. 'Ooo-kay,' she drew out. She felt around near the slightly less dark of the crack under the door and quickly left the room with the package.
It occurred to her, although she couldn't have told for sure what she had seen in the pitch black, that if Johan did have a cigar, it hadn't moved while he was umming and ahhing, and not once had he taken a puff.
The door to the next room up was labeled '13', but there didn't seem to be any numbering system around here - she knocked and the squeak of a chair and a grunt or sigh at least told her someone was listening.
'Hello?' hesitant opening of door...
'Ah, you must be the new sacri- uhm, applicant. Uh, come on in.'
Felice continued through into the dark room.
'Oh, thank you dear, the light from the corridor is most annoying and it's good you, ah, closed the door.'
The figure speaking was behind a desk at the back of the room, as much as she could make out, sitting behind it - was that a cigar in (his?) mouth?
'Oh, take a seat my dear, uhm, what can I do for you?'
'I was just shown my room and I really have no idea what I am supposed to be doing, Sir.'
'Uhm, you don't have to be that formal around me, Miss Strange, ah, you can just call me Johan - Johan Bowiel.'
'Are you the Johan Bowiel?' Felice said without containing the amazement. 'The Johan Bowiel who stopped writing five years ago? You're practically a legend!'
'Um, I wouldn't go so far as to, uh, say that, Miss Strange. I was simply good at what I did. The time came that I had to, ah, let the up an' comings come and retire gracefully. Uhm, I couldn't just finish like that, so I, aha, came here to wind down. Some of the people who work in this wing are, um, very remarkable. Pity that none of our -'
'Please, can you just tell me what we are - I mean I am - supposed to do here?'
Johan creaked his old chair.
'It's hard to say.'
'What do you mean?'
'Look, uhm, you just take the package next to the door down the hall, ah, up the stairs and across the floor to the Juggler, and then we'll, uh, talk about your work.'
Felice stared blankly at nothing for a while. 'Ooo-kay,' she drew out. She felt around near the slightly less dark of the crack under the door and quickly left the room with the package.
It occurred to her, although she couldn't have told for sure what she had seen in the pitch black, that if Johan did have a cigar, it hadn't moved while he was umming and ahhing, and not once had he taken a puff.
