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. We had to do something to ensure that he would
return, so we locked up his favorite uncle. Now, if you don't mind, I
think I have a concussion." The mayor looked toward the door and
swayed unsteadily.
"I'm sorry to bother you with this, Your Honor," Phineas said
quickly, blocking his path. "But there's a small matter of a debt
which is owed me."
The mayor looked up, his eyes glassy. "If I have a bill, then I
should pay it." He reached into his robes. "How much --"
"Not you, Your Honor," Phineas said, willing himself to remain
calm. "Trapspringer Furrfoot. If I could just speak with him, I'm sure
we could clear the matter up."
"He's not here," the mayor said, grabbing the edge of the table
as the room began to swim. What pretty colors! he thought.
"Yes, I know that, Your Honor," Phineas said with forced
patience. "Where is he being held?"
"Prison, dear," the mayor mumbled incoherently, crawling onto
the table. "At the palace. We're having a party tonight. Wear your
blue dress to match my new cape...." Laying his cheek on the cool
wood, he closed his eyes.
"Thank you, Your Honor," Phineas breathed in relief. He was
about to dash out the door when he felt a twinge of guilt. He looked
at the snoozing mayor -- could he leave him like this? He was a
doctor, after all -- well, sort of. Phineas didn't think Metwinger
would die; at worst, the mayor's head would feel like a pumpkin when
he woke up. Still...
Just then, several giggling kender padded through the door;
Phineas recognized them as council members who'd been seated with the
mayor
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