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. "The city is very busy, you know, and
can't be expected to contact just anyone about every little thing." He
sighed. "I suppose you expect the city to disrupt its plans and
reroute the street?"
The kender looked alarmed. "Oh, no, Your Honor!
I've never had so many friends! In, out, in, out -- carriages
from all over the world! What I'd really like is a permit to open an
inn."
The mayor shook his head sympathetically. "You're in the wrong
place, then. What you want is the Department of Inn Permit Issuing. Up
the stairs, first room on the right -- or is it left?" The mayor waved
toward the door at the back, in the left corner of the room.
But the kender did not move. Instead he shook his head. "Oh, no,
you're wrong. I went there and they told me that you issue permits."
"They said that?" the mayor squealed. "Well, what do they do,
then?" He turned to the council members, who all shrugged, except for
one.
"Aren't they in charge of new streets'" Barlo Twackdinger, the
bakerman council member, ventured helpfully.
Metwinger shrugged. "Well, if they say we do it, then I guess we
do it. OK, you can have a permit. Next!"
While the kender with the permit danced happily out the door,
the domestic case shuffled forward, and a balding, paunchy human
slipped inside the room. Phineas Curick sat at the back of the chamber
and tried to calm himself. It had taken him hours to reach this spot.
He thought he knew where City Hall was, but somehow he'd got turned
around and had to stop and ask for directions
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