Chapter 3: Their First Jobs

In a dim back alley of the town a sputtering fire burned in an upturned hubcap. Over it a butterflied creature was suspended on a rake, slowly roasting. A ragged tarp of about five feet on each side had been stretched across the alley just behind the fire, making a small amount of shelter from the pouring rain. Tending the fire was a man wearing a garbage bag as a rain slicker, with holes cut for his arms and head to stick through. He was feeding part of the rake’s handle into the fire, at the same time as holding a bent bit of tinfoil to catch the drippings from the cooking animal. Nearby another man sat on an upturned bucket, a garbage can lid balanced on his hooded head like a conical hat. He was picking the feathers from a small, dead bird as he spoke.

“Well, Maniac, is that creature about done cooking now?”

Maniac took a slurp of juice from the tinfoil and squinted an eye in thought.

“Oh, about ten more minutes I would say. And I’m pretty sure that it was a dog before it was hit on the road.”

“I still think it must have been a raccoon. Dogs don’t have striped tails. Besides, I would not want to eat a dog.”

“It’s better than a squished raccoon. They taste horrible. But suite yourself, it doesn’t matter what we think either way. There is no way of telling now,” Maniac shrugged, heedless of the rain which fell on his unprotected head, “by the way, is that bird plucked yet?”

“Just done.” Leaflow threw the skinny, bony little thing over to his companion. It hit with a wet squelch on the cement, before Maniac scooped it up and spitted it on a smaller stick leaning over the fire. They had been camping in the alley ever since they were chased out of the shed by an old man with a shotgun. He ran after them shouting and firing for miles, it seemed. On the way they had picked up the flattened creature on the roadside, as well as the bird, which had tried to fly into someones window recently. But they had not seen any sign of Eugene the whole time.

“Poor Eugene,” Maniac sighed, “he’s probably been hauled back to that jail by now, or a different, harder to escape one. He seemed like a nice kid, too.”

“I know,” Leaflow nodded agreement, “and he would have been beaten, dragged around and tasered when they found him, especially if he tried to get away. He might have even been shot. It’s a sad world.”

“He was an excellent lock pick, but they won’t let him pick locks now,” Maniac said sorrowfully, before shaking away his gloom and adding more cheerfully, “oh, well, at least we get a bigger share of meat this way!”

Leaflow moved his bucket closer to the fire at the mention of food.

“I still can’t help feeling sorry for him. Alone in a cold jail cell, beaten and bruised, probably with nothing to eat as a punishment…”

—

Eugene popped another candied peanut into his mouth, sighing as he stretched luxuriously in front of a crackling fire. He had taken off all of his outer clothes and thrown them away, hoping to find something more fitting to wear once he was dry. Until that time the orange glow of the fire felt wonderful on his bare skin. And the bowl of fruit and sweet nuts laying on the table beside the bed kept hunger entirely at bay.

No one had seen him come in to the great mansion on the hill, sneaking in through a bedroom window. He had found the room all laid out for someone, fire roaring and bed done up with scarlet blankets. It was the sort of bed with four posts and a mattress wide enough to sleep at least three people. A real antique. Watching through the window, wet and miserable, he had seen a maid come in and put the bowl of fruits on the table, as well as a glass of red wine. The glass was empty now, laying on the carpet at his feet where it had fallen from his lax hand. Life was definitely looking up.

There was, of course, the problem of when the rightful occupant would show up and claim the room for their own. But Eugene had happened to listen at the door when he first came in, and heard two maids saying that the guest had just called and would be later than expected. In fact, the guest would be delayed from appearing late that night to early the next morning. The fire was being left to go out and no one in that rich house bothered about the wine or nuts.

Feeling wonderfully sleepy, Eugene dragged himself to his feet to fall into the soft bed, wrapping himself in silken sheets before falling asleep. He slept so soundly that it was only the bustling noise of a pair of maids coming down the hallway toward the room that awoke him.

With nothing else he could do in that short space of time, he scrambled out of the bed and rolled under it, thankful for the long blankets which draped down and hid him from view.

He heard the girls come in and exclaim over the eaten nuts and drunk wine, but they both blamed it on a butler named Fred and asserted that they would report him to their master. All the time they were working straightening up the room, they complained about the butler, as well as the lack of good servants in the house.

“Labor is so expensive now, though!” One of them exclaimed, shaking out the coverlet with vengeance.

“Not only that, but good people so hard to find,” the other agreed, “most servants are lazy no-goods these days, just coming for the wages and easy position!”

Not long after that the two vindictive maids had left, Eugene began thinking of quitting the room. But before he could get very far he heard the sound of more footsteps coming his way, these ones full of authority. He only had time to hurry back under the bed before the door opened and a kindly, older man’s voice said, “now, my dear, this will be your room during your stay. I hope it suites?”

“Yes, thank you,” a woman’s voice, cool and commanding, responded. By her tones Eugene could tell that she was still a young woman and one very much in control of herself, but also a little anxious or angry about something. Her footsteps were firm as she walked into the room, but as soon as the door shut they hesitated. Then, in a fury, the high-heeled shoes were yanked off and Eugene heard them thumping as they hit the wall.

“Agh, Harry had to be here seeing his father when I came to visit Amedele!” The woman’s voice exclaimed, now full of barely-contained fury.

Eugene was surprised to hear the string of curses which followed afterwards. But the second occupant of the room soon became cool and detached again, as a taxicab driver came in carrying her luggage and laid it on the bed for her. She paid him a tip and got rid of him, before beginning to unpack. Eugene heard every thump and shuffle right above his head as she sorted out her clothes on the blankets before putting them in the tall wardrobe nearby. Soon he heard her picking out a new dress and slipping it on, even heard the small sound of the zipper being done.

He was in a bad position. If he was caught, with almost nothing on and covered in bandages as he was, hiding in the lady’s room, the best they could think of him was that he was plain crazy.

But when he heard the lady sigh and move to look out of the window, he could not help peeking out. A tall shape in a rose-red dress stood looking out of the window, shining black hair falling down her back in a cascade. When she turned back toward the room he found himself looking up at a pale, fine face, eyes filled with cold sorrow. She was, without doubt, a ‘beauty’.

Eugene let go of the blanket and shifted further under the bed, hoping he had not been seen. She didn’t look like the type that would scream if he was spotted; oh no. She would calmly ring for the servants while making sure that he could not leave the room. And he would be done for.

Luckily, she did not stay in the room for long after that. Fitting her mistreated shoes back on with sharp little jerks, the woman strode out into the hall and away. Finally finding his opportunity to escape, Eugene waited five minutes before slipping out into the hall and making towards the servant’s quarters. If it was servants this mansion needed, it was servants they would get.

—

The new serving boy quickly won the two maids over with a shy smile, explaining that he had just been hired. Which explained the old blue and silver bellboy uniform that he was wearing, with its smell of mothballs from being stored away in a chest in the servant’s quarters. He gave young Mr. Harry and Miss Amedele Ruble a respectful nod when he brought them the lemonade from the cook, telling them that the master had just hired him. And when he was sent to bring old Mr. Ruble his mid-morning cup of coffee on a silver tray, he explained to the master that Harry Ruble had asked him to work there that morning, to aid in the accommodation of the guest.

But when he was sent to the lady guest’s room with a glass of lemonade and some crackers on a china plate he came silently, set the tray on her desk while she was writing an email on her laptop, and backed out with a wordless bow for her absent, “thank you.”

She looked up a minute later and was unpleasantly surprised to see a red rose on the tray with the snack. Her face turned white, cheeks red and she threw the flower out of the window.

Eugene was setting the table for lunch that noon when he noticed that Harry Ruble was standing in the corner of the room, watching him narrowly. He ignored the dark-haired man’s haughty glance and kept at his work, until Harry called him over. He came swiftly and gave another respectful nod.

“Yes, sir?”

“Where did you come from, boy?” the young master asked.

“Clingervill originally. A small town to the north of here about sixty miles. I moved in to this city just recently,” Eugene’s eyes were downcast.

Voice just slightly raised above normal, Harry asked, “why did you lie to me earlier? My father never hired you. What are you doing here and who are you?”

With the last words he grabbed the thief by the shoulders, giving him a shake and a glare.

Seeing that the game was up, Eugene fell to his knees with tears in his eyes, “please sir, don’t throw me out. I needed the work and did not think you would hire a cripple unless you saw what he could do first,” he held up his hook, displaying the place where a hand should have been, “I’m fast sir, and steady despite my missing hand. But no one believes me and I need the money…it’s my sister, sir, she’s going to have a baby and her husband has just walked out on her. I’m trying to provide for us both.”

He put so much earnest tones into his voice, so much despair in his hook’s gesture that it could not have failed to touch the most toughened heart. Harry Ruble frowned for a moment more, before letting go of the thief and nodding once.

“I see. Well, either you are a brave young man or a complete scoundrel, I’m not sure which. But if you behave yourself better than looks possible and work hard, you shall have a place here and wages. Where is your sister staying?”

“In a trailer on the other side of town, sir,” Eugene confessed, still kneeling.

“Hmm, nothing to be done about that. At least she isn’t in the streets,” Harry shrugged, stepping back, “well, don’t just stay there on the ground. Get up and finish the table. You’re now officially hired.”

“Thank you, sir,” Eugene stood up, gave the other man’s hand a shake that was almost as fervent as a kiss would have been and went back to work.

As soon as Harry had left the room he muttered savagely under his breath, “stuck-up pig. I’m glad I don’t have a sister to throw on his mercy.”

As he finished his work he thought of the guest’s words after having tossed her shoes across the room and did not blame her a bit. He promised to himself that he would find a way to put a stick in Harry Ruble’s spokes.

After a moment he trotted off to see if the maids needed any help bringing out the lunch. As he was carrying a large pot of soup for them, he noticed that the rain had stopped falling outside of the windows and that the sky was starting to clear up. That reminded him of his companions and their insistence on staying out in the storm.

“They really don’t deserve my help,” he muttered, going back for a rack of condiments which he slung on his hook, and a pair of teacups he juggled out to the table so flawlessly that he impressed the maids for once and all, “but Leaflow knows where my missing agent is and is his business partner, or was before they got separated, and…I can’t help liking those two goons anyway.”

“You said, earlier, that the master was needing more help about the place, didn’t you?”

He asked one of the maids. She nodded, busy settling her uniform more nicely, as she was to be the one serving at table.

“That’s right. The old butler was fired today and we haven’t had a gardener for ages. I don’t have the time to do the work, nor does Clandesty. The weeds are getting terrible outside, the roses all overgrown. And someone should fix little things like the squeaky gate out back. Do you know anyone who we might trust to help instead of hinder?”

“I know a pair of guys who are down on their luck, but good people at heart,” Eugene said cheerfully, wondering how far their hearts must be buried by this time if what he said was the truth, “maybe I’ll tell the master about them.”

“Please do,” the maid sighed with an irritatingly long emphasis on the first word.

Eugene smiled and assured her that he would right away. As soon as he had a chance, in fact, he went to speak to the old man.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

—

The sun had come through the clouds and was starting to shine on the morning as Eugene had the taxicab driver stop in front of a shady back alley in the town. The driver seemed wary of the place, but Eugene had seen the smoke rising from it and guessed what it meant. Where there was smoke, there was fire. He could only think of one pair of people running loose in the city who would be so desperate for a meal that they would cook it over an open fire in an alleyway.

Jumping out of the cab with a bundle of clothes in his arms, the young man trudged slowly back into the alley. As soon as he saw what was in it he let out a sigh of relief. This was the right place.

A garbage can lid over his face to keep the sun out, Maniac lay sprawled next to a hub cap, asleep on the wet cement. The wisps of smoke were coming from the coals in the hubcap and the strands of the man’s ragged hair which kept blowing into it and singeing. Not far away Leaflow crouched under a thin overhang of tarp, playing with a lost kitten and a bit of string. The gnawed bones of some sort of medium-sized creature lay around the camp, bits of blackened meat still clinging to them which made Eugene feel nauseous.

They had thought that it would be unpleasant to stay at the mansion. He couldn’t think of many living conditions worse than the one he saw in front of him.

Looking up from the kitten, Leaflow caught sight of him. The cloaked man dropped the string and gave his pet one last pat on the head before carefully stepping over Maniac and walking up to the young man, “greetings, Eugene. We thought we would not be seeing you again. Where did you steal all of those clothes?”

“I didn’t,” Eugene dropped them on the ground and bent to begin sorting them out, “they were given to me, so that I could bring them to you. We’re all hired.”

“Very interesting. Did you tell our new employer that we’re jail birds out on the town?” Leaflow queried, watching him.

“Of course not!” The thief snapped, “we’re going to be hiding from the police there, hoping to go unnoticed.”

“A one-handed thief, a man with glowing eyes and another with metal bits stuck in his face. Yes, it’s easy for us to go incognito.” Leaflow’s words were full of irony as he looked pointedly at his companion’s peculiarities.

“Oh, it won’t be for long, anyway. These people aren’t the type to find out about escapees from the prison. It would be beneath them,” Eugene stood up, holding out a black dress coat and white undershirt in one hand, while a somewhat grubby tee-shirt and overalls hung from his hook. He held them all out toward the cloaked man, “either should fit. Do you want to be the gardener and handyman, or the butler of the house?”

“I’ll be the gardener,” Leaflow returned, eyeing the clothes warily, “but I’m not putting any of those on.”

Eugene waggled his hook invitingly, “oh, come on, don’t be shy. It will help with our staying ‘incognito’ if you don’t have the same clothes as you wore in jail. Just look away from anyone who comes searching and they won’t recognize you at all.”

“No,” Leaflow crossed his arms stubbornly on his chest, “I won’t give up my cloak.”

“Why not! Surely you don’t need it to survive?” The thief growled, still holding them out. Something in the back of his mind was trying to tell him that his friend had killed a man for trying to get him to give up the cloak, but he pushed the thought mulishly aside. It was for their own survival, now. Not being able to spot a dark phantom of a character from a mile off might slow the police down.

The green eyes glowed brighter in anger.

“I’m not taking it off, Eugene. And you can’t make me.”

“You stupid thing, it’s for the best!” Eugene shouted, flinging the clothes onto the ground in a rage. The noise of their argument awoke Maniac, who tipped up the garbage can lid to peer over at them. Seeing the thief standing there with his face red and a pile of clothes at his feet, Maniac came over, “now, what’s going on here? Nice to see you back, Lockpick. What’s all this stuff?”

“The uniforms for the new jobs I found us,” Eugene explained bitterly, “but Leaflow won’t change his cloak for the overalls. Stupid!”

Maniac picked up the dress jacket, turning it back and forth in his finger tips, “they are a bit fancy, but I don’t see a problem with them. Look here, Leaflow, why don’t you put on the overalls under your cloak if it means so much to you? Then you’ll be in proper uniform and we can make a little dough to by food with.”

The dangerous glow went out of the cloaked man’s eyes, “an excellent idea.”

He began slipping the clothes on over his black leggings, under the drapes of his cloak. Eugene grabbed his own hair and yanked on it, shouting, “that’s not the point!”

“Stop shouting,” Maniac came over pulling on the slim-legged pants of the butler’s suit, which were a bit too tight for him, “If he’s a freak, he’s a freak and there’s nothing we can do about it. It probably wouldn’t change anything anyway, if someone got close enough to see him.”

“You guys are just stupid,” Eugene repeated the adjective for the third time, turning away with his arms crossed. He wandered to the end of the alley, still sulking outrageously when the other two finished getting dressed. They walked up looking faintly absurd in their new clothes. Maniac’s did not fit very well, so he had left the dress jacket open down the front to spare the buttons. A goodly expanse of white undershirt was exposed way, stretched tight over his muscular frame.

Leaflow’s overalls, on the other hand, fit just right. But since they were under his dark cloak all that could be seen of them was the dusty pant’s cuffs and about six inches of pale blue denim on each leg, terminating in a narrow stripe up the front until the cloak was fastened across it.

Eugene refused to speak to his companions as they got in the taxi and began driving back the way he had come from. Even when they pressed him about where they were going or who their employer was, he would not speak. He just kept his arms crossed one over the other, hook laying over opposite elbow, and face turned toward the window. They tried soothing him, baiting him and even promising him cookies (which was Leaflow’s idea) but he did not say a word. Eventually they both fell silent until the gate of the estate was before them.

Maniac shouted, “why, it’s this place again!”

“Yes,” Eugene finally spoke, smugly, “the one you two didn’t want me to go into.”

Neither of his companions had anything to say to that as they were driven up the gravel road and dropped off in front of the mansion. Eugene had orders from Mr. Ruble to pass his friends in review as soon as he brought them back, orders which he had agreed to only reluctantly. Now he lined them up and marched them into their master’s study, where the old man sat at his desk with a pencil balanced between his hands. He had not been writing, as there was no paper in front of him. He could not have been typing on his computer, either, as it was shut off. Eugene had a small hope that he had been awaiting a phone call on the slim, black office phone which lay beside him, but that did not explain the pencil. No, he was waiting for them.

His angular, kindly face looked all of them over carefully, before he asked dryly, “where did you find these two, in the circus sideshow?”

“No, sir,” Eugene drew himself up, looking for a fitting explanation, “they are just…uh, er–”

“Never mind,” Ruble waved the words away, “if they work hard and are good-mannered it doesn’t matter what they look like. I suppose. As my two little maids are always going on about, it is hard to find good hired help these days. Especially because, unfortunately, Harry is a little rough on the servants and word has got around.”

He bowed his head in thought for a moment, almost seeming to have forgotten about them. But when Eugene shifted on his feet impatiently and Maniac began cracking his knuckles, Mr. Ruble looked up again, “ah yes, your orders and wages. Well, you’ll get competitive pay, worker’s compensation, health benefits–”

“Ah,” Leaflow interrupted then, “I take it that this place is more healthy to work at than others?”

Eugene elbowed him in the side, while the master stared at him for a full minute in silence before going on, “yes, well, as long as you stay on Harry’s good side we have a good working environment here. Now, as to orders. Tomorrow evening I am going to host a party in Ms. Rillcoe’s honor–”

“Ms. Rillcoe?” This time it was Eugene who interrupted and Leaflow who elbowed him vengefully in the side.

“Yes, our guest, Ms. Irene Rillcoe,” the master eyed them all again before going on swiftly, “so I want the whole place gone over to get ready for it. Garden straightened out, house cleaned from top to bottom, lawn mowed, leaves raked and the front redecorated tomorrow morning with all the usual things. The maids will know about that. Sara and Clandesty Fruglebump are competent girls. Oh, and one other thing. Have someone take you to buy a new suit, Mr. butler. I should have known better than to trust a skinny one last time.”

“Yes, sir,” Maniac saluted cheerfully, “small butlers are never a good idea. A good butler must be ready at every moment to throw unwanted company out of the door.”

“Quite,” Mr. Ruble sighed and reached down into his desk to pull out a piece of paper for each of them to sign. The formalities straightened out, the new servants went on their way.

“Alright, you clowns,” Eugene growled as soon as they were away from the study, “what were you trying to do in there, get us thrown out? ‘A healthy place to work’ and ‘Throw them out the door.’ He must think that you were both raised by wild gorillas.”

“I wouldn’t speak, Eugene,” Leaflow held up a gloved finger and waved it at him chidingly, “Asking questions about his lady guest. Tsk, tsk, she’s far above your standing in life.”

“That’s what you think,” the thief went stomping off toward the kitchen, Maniac following him with a shrug, trying without success to button his jacket up the front. Behind them Leaflow strolled back out into the yard, searching for tools to get to work on the plants.

Eugene spent the rest of the day helping the sisters clean the house, starting in the attic at the very top. No one had gone there for quite some time and the floor was covered in a thin layer of dust. All of the old furniture up there had been enveloped in white cloths to protect them and Eugene was set to pulling these off to take outside and shake out.

“What’s the point?” he complained, “no one will see these during the party. No one comes up here except for us servants to clean it!”

The maids laughed at him, one sweeping and the other scrubbing the floor.

“Cleanliness is a good servant…and a bad master,” one of them quipped. Eugene rolled his eyes dramatically and slapped his forehead with a dusty hand, sending them off into tides of giggles once again.

—

“What do you think?” Maniac held up a bright red and pink bathrobe to his chest, cocking an eye coyly at the cook, who had come with him to buy him a better-fitting outfit with the master’s purse, “do you think it’s becoming to my complexion?”

“We did’na come for fripperies,” the cook, who was a plump scotch woman with a thick lowlander’s accent, replied, “you ken we must find the proper uniform and return to th’ lairds mansion, with his money well-spent.”

“You’re such a practical chaperon,” Maniac shrugged, dropping the sleeves of the bathrobe and moving along the aisle of clothing, “how about this, is this what we’re looking for? I would far prefer it over these flimsy things I’m in.”

He had taken a black leather vest off of its hanger, going on before the cook could dissent, “and look, it is the right color. It’s just my size, too. In fact, it’s perfect.”

He had the sleeveless jacket pulled on by now, fastening the sliver buttons up the front and listening to the decorative chain hanging from its pocket jingle.

“Ah, now, I’m no sure that–” the cook began, twisting her hands anxiously together. Maniac cut her off before she got any further, patting her on the cheek with a rough hand, “but I am sure. And you wouldn’t want to argue with me, would you? Just be a dear and pay for the things when we’re done.”

Trembling a little at the implied threat in the words, the cook followed him further into the clothes store, determined to steer the purchasing toward formal clothing as much as possible.

—

Leaflow started up a ride-on lawn mower in the garage, piloting it out to cut down all of the weeds and bag them up for compost. After bumping around on the whiny, temperamental machine for a few hours he put it away, thankful to be done with it. Its blades had seemed to hit a dozen rocks that could not be seen, it didn’t run unless he left the choke on so long that he almost strangled the thing and it drank gasoline like a pirate drinks rum.

He had left a few odd frills in the grass near the drive, but other than that it was perfectly smooth now. He had also scraped off of a tree once, leaving a scar, but that was easily fixed with a small handful of mud. Now Leaflow’s task was to trim the roses. Fetching a pair of long pruners from the garden shed out back, he began to peacefully trim the somewhat overgrown bushes on the right-hand side of the front lawn.

The roses on them had been selected and planted carefully so that their flowers ran from deep red, almost burgundy, at the entrance of the yard, down through shades of pink and into the purest white at the back of the enclosure near the flower beds. Exercising his imagination, the cloaked man paid attention to the shape of the whole stretch, leaving some bushed higher, some lower and sloping them all gradually in to each other. He also decided to trim out some of the leaves on the lower halves of the tallest bushes, so as to give the whole thing the effect of a Chinese dragon, simply without a head.

Leaflow had almost finished with his creation when he heard an exclamation of anger behind him and turned to see Harry Ruble standing there, face turning red.

“What do you think you are doing?” the young master shouted at him, gesturing at the trimmed bushes with a wave of his hand.

“Straightening things out, just as I was ordered,” Leaflow told him, shouldering the pruners complacently.

“Did you have orders to trim them in such a fantastic, silly way?” the young man demanded, going on when Leaflow only gazed at him silently, “wait until my father sees this! His favorite old roses, cut about like a restaurant’s shrubbery! I’ll show him right away.”

Storming off, he went to find his father. Left in complete quiet for a few more minutes, Leaflow finished trimming the flowers, giving the last few feet of white roses an especially pronounced wave. Then he walked back in the front yard to look the whole thing over.

“It was better running wild,” he muttered to himself, “but if they want it trimmed…”

As he was standing contemplating his work, Eugene appeared out of the door with a pile of coverings to shake out. There was dust on his face and on his clothes, which he patted at ineffectually as he walked out onto the lawn.

“Looking good, Leafy,” he called over, adding after a minute of shaking the covers, “what are you going to do with the clippings?”

“Stack them to burn at some point, I suppose,” Leaflow shrugged, guessing that one of the masters at least would have an opinion on that subject.

“Hey,” Eugene trotted closer to look at the stems, some of which still had roses clinging to them, “you mind if I take a few of these?”

With a derisive note in his voice, the cloaked one replied, “As many as you like, just don’t flood her room.”

Turning just a little red, the young man stooped to grab two up, one of which he stuck in the button hole of his jacket, “what do you mean? It’s for me.”

He hurried back to beating the cloths, while Leaflow looked after him with mocking eyes.

“Two for one button hole, I suppose.”

While Eugene was raising a dust cloud the two Rubles appeared, striding across the grounds to where their gardener stood. The junior was still waving his hands about and talking angrily, gesturing from Leaflow to the roses. The senior listened with closed expression until he got to the point where the whole stretch was visible.

He raised a hand, silencing his son.

All three of them gazed at the flowers in church-like silence before the master finally gave his pronouncement, “I like it.”

He nodded at the gardener, “good work. It looks professional.”

“It’s not,” Leaflow returned bluntly, “but I’m glad you like it. Your son did not enjoy the style so much.”

“He has…different tastes,” Mr. Ruble shot a reproving glance at his son, who turned white, then red again and stalked off.

“But please, ask me before you do anything else so definite to the garden,” the master continued, meeting the green gaze, “I don’t know where you come from, or what sort of person you are. But if you want to work here you must be obedient to our wishes on all occasions. No more fantastic styling, please, not without our approval.”

“Very well,” Leaflow shouldered his pruners once again and began to walk toward the back garden, “I will keep things much simpler if you insist.”

“I do,” The master replied firmly, not knowing what he was asking for.