( continues...) a week before some old geezer turned him into a toad in a fit of pique."

"That's unnatural, that is," said Knobby. "I don't like toads."

"Neither does he. A wizard on staff managed to change him back, but he's never been the same since."

"'ow's that?"

"Now he spends most of his time eating bugs." Dobler shivered, then surveyed his surroundings. "So here I am. Freakin' impressment is what it is."

"The captain calls it an affirmative 'iring policy, 'e does. Says the Watch needs to be more di-verse." Knobby shrugged. "Beats eatin' bugs," he added helpfully. Catsmeat him a nasty look, and as he was holding a large kitchen knife, Knobby thought it best to change the subject. "Right. So, what's all this we're makin'?"

Catsmeat hadn't come up with a name for the dish yet. One good thing about this gig was that the orcs were pretty easy to cook for, so it was pretty easy to wing it with whatever was handy. They liked meat and weren't particular about the species, as long as it was barely above body temperature. And if it was blackened and crispy on the outside, so much the better. He thought for a moment, trying to come up with an orc-themed, yet suitably exotic name. Then it came to him.

"I call it Loon à la Barad-Dûr. Fresh loon quarters lightly singed over an open flame, glazed with a pig's blood and rosemary reduction."

Knobby licked his lips. "Never tried loon before. Don't 'ave 'em in the old country. 'at's what I like about this town. Always a new culinary experience. You should write a cookbook, you should."

As he lit the flame on the propane torch, Catsmeat began to ponder what Knobby had said. He could write a cookbook. He could write about his experience with both orkish tastes and the use of, er, novel ingredients to satisfy those tastes. Maybe... Yeah, bet nobody's written a book like that before. Orkish Fusion Cuisine... Yeah, that's the ticket... And Constable Catsmeat Dobler began formulating another idea.

::claps hands in delight. waits patiently for developments::

A curious thing happened when the city converted the city militia into the city Watch, and reopened the old Greenwood Yard building for use as their headquarters. The militia's former headquarters had been a camp out amidst the forest in Greenwood Park, a neighborhood where public transportation consists of the handful of three-speed bicycles available as loaners from the park's visitors center. By comparison, Greenwood Yard stands across from Weiler Square in the heart of Blackwood Parish, the geographical and political center of Ville du Sang Sacré.

(Greenwood Yard was not named for Greenwood Park, but rather for the Greenwood Arms Hotel that once stood proudly on the site, at least before the unfortunate noodle incident destroyed the building. That building had been named by its owner, a Herr Grünwald, who'd made, and ultimately lost, his fortune investing in spaetzel futures, and who'd also thought that no one would notice that he'd named the building after his upper limbs.)

The current administration thought it made a modicum of sense to have the Watch near the center of the city, to not only lower response times, but also to enhance communication with other city departments. This was very much a change in direction for the city. A previous administration had disbanded the old police force years before, arguing that it was too expensive to maintain, and also that it was mostly unnecessary anyway. This last was partly because there traditionally had been very little crime in the city, and partly because the administration in question had decided to break with that particular tradition.

Weiler Square is also the place where most of the city's public transportation lines that aren't bicycle-based interconnect, making Greenwood Yard conveniently accessible for the majority of citizens in the city. Couple that with the well-known Unstopped Drain Theory of Sentient Behavior, and perhaps it shouldn't have taken anyone by surprise when those same citizens began arriving at the front desk in droves to register reports of crimes and suspicious activity, not to mention complaints about flightless waterfowl playing the tuba at all hours of the night. But it did...

So now the Watch found itself not only having to enforce the laws of the city, but also the Law of Unintended Consequences.

"Bloody Hell!" Charpe muttered under his breath as he tried to make his way through the main entrance hall of Greenwood Yard to the front desk, beyond which lay the corridor marked "authorized personnel only" and escape. The curse was inaccurate. He'd met beings from Hell, and from their descriptions of the place, Hell was nothing at all like the scene currently surrounded him. Hell was apparently much quieter, for one thing. Also, there wasn't any obvious blood lying about, although the outlook on that point was promising.

The problem here was that the main entrance hall was packed to the gills with a mass of increasingly belligerent citizens all trying to make their particular reports of crime and suspicious behavior to an increasingly belligerent Corporal Harrass. The beleaguered Harrass was exactly the wrong orc for this duty. He was an orc of the Old School, a school whose curriculum taught that the best way to drive across one's point in a debate was by shouting at those arguing the contrary position, hacking them up into tiny bits, and then shouting at them some more.

So far the only thing that had prevented any actual bloody mayhem was that Harrass wasn't at all used to humans shouting back at him. In his experience, most humans upon seeing him would cross the street, walk briskly back to the last corner, and then go 'round the block the other way just to avoid his gaze. He didn't resent this. In fact, he preferred things that way. He was a firm believer in using fear as an enforcement technique. But these people here either didn't understand, or else just didn't care about the potential danger that an angry, old school orc represented. This confused Harrass, and that confusion was a fortunate thing for the folks yelling back at him.

The fortunate thing for Charpe in all this was that the mob was so intent on Harrass that they didn't even notice Charpe was in the room until he'd made it safely behind the desk. Escaping down the corridor, he spied Sergeant Chopper and hailed him. "It's a bloody circus out there, Pit. Why is Harrass on the front desk? I thought Dobler had the duty today."

"He did, sir, but I had to do a wee bit of retrainin' with him, so I asked Harrass to cover."

"Retrainin'?"

"Yes, sir. I had to remind Dobler that the first question he asks the victim of a robbery should not be 'And would gettin' your payroll back be worth somethin' to ya?'"

"He didn't?"

"He did, sir." Chopper shrugged. "Just a misunderstandin', I'm sure, so we had a bit of a talk, I went over proper Watch procedures with him, and things got straightened out. Well, exceptin' his finger. He'll be over at Kingston-Kean gettin' it set, but he should be back soon enough."

Charpe shook his head, trying his best to stifle a chuckle. "That's all well and good, sergeant, but in case you hadn't noticed, there's a bloody great mob of people out there all screamin' at Corporal Harrass, and you know how he gets. Give 'im a hand before he kills one of 'em, will you?"

"I was on my way, sir, but first there's a man settin' in interrogation I think you should talk to." Chopper looked towards Interrogation A. "This fella was takin' a walk through Greenwood when he heard a strange noise, saw a bright light, and then the next thing anybody knows he's settin' in the dandelion patch in Van Dyke Park. Phred happened across him while joggin', noticed he seemed a bit dazed, and brought him down."

"Does this mystery man have a name, Pit?"

"Yes, sir. It's Reeves."

"What, Gudanov's butler?"

"No, sir, this Reeves isn't a robot."

I've returned from timecon, lots of new time machines there. I really liked the ones that haven't been invented yet. I even got some tips on how to get my time machine finally working. The next one is schedules for October 12th, 1580 which means I'll have to get mine working if I want to make it to another one.

Hans is in the lab tinkering with reality distortion machine that still isn't working right.

"How is it going Hans?" I ask

"Not good, what to take a look?" He shows me the plasma regulator he's been working on.

"Looks great." I tell him.

"Except it's vorthless vithout a plasma phase converter."

"Yeah, I remember now. Weren't the Orcs supposed to get one for us?" I ask.

"They took it." Says Hans simply.

"Took it where?"

"Greenwood Yard, they said they'd give it back if you'd contain your experiments to the watch training area." He explains.

"My experiments are already contained to the castle. I mean sometimes they affect a larger area, but it's never anything dangerous. Well, okay the reality distortion means that the world will actually end at the end of the Mayan calender, but that's 2012. Loads of time to work out the bugs and turn it off."

"The vorld vill end?" Asks Hans disconcertingly.

"Um, yeah. There was a collision of asteroids that sent a big one on a collision course with the Earth one the reality distortion machine came on-line. It'll hit at the end of the Mayan calendar. But like I said there's loads of time to fix things up. If we just get that plasma phase converter, where's the 800 series? Computer, locate the 800 series butler robot. I need it to retrieve the phase converter." I speak to the computer console.

I turn to Hans, "I'm sure they'll be glad to give it back once Reeves explains the situation."

Hans looks nervous. "Did you just use the castle's AI to do that?"

"Um, yeah what's the problem?"

"It's evil."

Crap, I totally forgot. I type a few commands and a video screen comes to life showing an animated paper clip with a goatee, the AI's avatar. "Clippy, how did you respond to my request?"

"I executed your command." Says the AI with an evil paper clip grin. "I told it to go to get the converter and eliminate anything that gets in the way."

"I didn't specify that last part." I point out.

"I interpolated." Explains Clippy the evil AI.

I turn off the computer. "Well, maybe it will still work out."

"Didn't the AI just send an unstoppable killing machine to the city watch. Shouldn't we do something?" Asks Hans.

I wave it off. "You're forgetting that my 800 series isn't programmed like the movie. It's really more of an unstoppable cleaning machine. He'll eliminate all the dirt and grime if they don't give him the converter, he's not going to hurt anybody. While we're waiting maybe we should put reality distortion project aside and work on the time machine. 2012 is a long ways off and if the time machine works, I just have to travel back and tell myself that the reality distortion machine isn't ready to be turned on yet."

Hans looks troubled, "But wouldn't we already know if..."

I gesture for him to stop. "Don't think too much about temporal logic, it just gives you a headache. Hand me that wrench."

The man in Interrogation A was definitely not a robot. He was tall for a human, or perhaps the way he sat up straighter than most humans made him look taller than most humans Charpe had met. He was well dressed, and looked remarkably unrumpled for a man who'd been found lying in a patch of dandelions. "So, Mr. Reeves is it? I'm Captain Charpe. The sergeant says you told him quite a story."

"If you say so, sir. I did not embellish it, if that is what you are wondering about." It wasn't so much a denial as a statement of fact. The man seemed very self-possessed.

"No. Mr. Reeves, I don't wonder if you embellished it. I do wonder what you were you doin' wanderin' about in Greenwood after dark? There's not a lot out there, and strange things have been known to happen."

"I was on my way to an appointment with a prospective employer. The address I was given is in the park."

"Let me guess. Castle Gudanov?"

"Indeed, sir. Might I inquire how you determined that?"

"It's the only private residence in the park." Not to mention the fact that Charpe had met a robot called Reeves at the Castle, a robot that spoke in the same manner and voice as this Mr. Reeves. "What was the job?"

"I was given to understand by the agency that Mr. Gudanov required a butler."

"But you say you never got there?"

"I don't know, sir." It was the first time in the interview that Reeves actually looked somewhat discomfitted. "As I told the sergeant, the last thing I remember was walking along Dunsany Road. There was a noise and a bright light from above, and then the next thing I knew, Mr. Phlint was looking down at me." He paused for a moment. "I shall need to call the agency to let them know I missed the appointment."

"I'll have Sergeant Chopper let them know. He'll need to check some details with them anyway. Now, is there anything else you can remember."

As Reeves thought, odd sounds started to come from the direction of the front desk. It sounded like someone was running a vacuum cleaner. Charpe vaguely remembered something about the city hiring a cleaning service, but he'd assumed that it would come during the night shift. Anyway, nothing Chopper couldn't handle. Reeves seemed to think of something, but just a quickly dismissed it.

"You had a thought, Mr. Reeves?"

"I almost hesitate to say, sir, but there was one thing."

"What?"

"The squirrels, sir." He hesitated. "It almost seemed as though they were watching me."

Chopper entered the room a bit faster than he might usually.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but the other Reeves is out front, and he's brandishin' a vacuum cleaner."

Reeves looked perplexed. "Other Reeves, sir?"

"Let's just say that it's likely you were missin' for a bit more than a day," Charpe replied as he headed for the door.

The figure standing in front of the front desk had accomplished in thirty seconds what the combined manpower of the Watch hadn't been able to do in over a week. It had completely cleared the waiting room of people. Just one glance at the quarter ton of mobile stainless steel that had come through the front door with a weapon that whined like a vacuum cleaner from Hell where its right arm ought to be had been enough to convince most folks that it was long past time to wash their socks, and that they'd better get right on it. Of course, had they not been in such a hurry to rinse out their hosiery and other soiled articles of clothing, they might have noticed that the robot's right arm was, in fact, a vacuum cleaner. They also might have noticed that the weapon the robot brandished in its left hand was merely the world's most dangerous looking scrubby sponge.

Charpe, Chopper, and Reeves watched from around the corner of the corridor, just barely out of sight. "What kind of weapon is that?" Chopper asked quietly.

The human Reeves answered. "It's a Robinson-Brooks Dust Demon 3000 vortex action wet-dry vacuum cleaner, sergeant. It's the state of the art in atmospheric displacement technology. A recent article in one of the consumer magazines rated it a 'Best buy.'"

"A vacuum cleaner? How dangerous is it?" asked Charpe.

"Dust bunnies have been known to quake in terror at the mere mention of its name, sir."

"I'm more concerned with somewhat larger creatures, Mr. Reeves."

"Of course, sir. I think it unlikely that it would cause any permanent damage, sir, although one might expect that direct contact with the inlet tube may produce what I believe is known in the vernacular as 'one whale of a hickey.'"

Corporal Harrass was still standing behind the desk, relieved for the moment that most of the mob of citizenry had disappeared. He looked the robot up and down with a sneer. "May I 'elp you?" he said loudly enough to be heard over the noise from the vacuum.

The robot reached over to his right arm with his left hand and flipped a switch next to a bright yellow light. The light went out, and the din began to fade away. "Excuse me," it said quietly, "but I'm here to see Captain Charpe."

Charpe stepped forward from the corridor. "Here I am. What do ya want, Reeves?"

"Ah, Captain Charpe. I hope you will excuse this imposition, but my employer has sent me to retrieve the phase converter. I must warn you that if you do not produce it forthwith, I have been instructed to use all means at my disposal to retrieve it."

"Ya have, have ya? And what happens if I refuse to give it to ya?"

"Then I am afraid, sir, that I shall have to give your headquarters a thorough scrubbing until you cough up the goods, as it were."

Charpe went back to Chopper and Reeves, and asked Chopper, "What do ya think, Pit?"

"Well, sir, Gudanov has been keepin' his activities confined to Greenwood, so he is meetin' his end of the bargain ya proposed."

Charpe thought a moment, then, "Yeah, you're right. Okay..."

Reeves coughed quietly, then spoke up. "If I might make a suggestion, sir."

"Yes, Mr. Reeves?"

"Well, sir, the building is a bit, er, dingy. Perhaps it might work to your advantage not to return the item right away."

Chopper added, "Aye, it could help, sir, the budget bein' what it is an' all."

Charpe nodded, then turned back towards the robot. "Sorry, Reeves, I can't turn it over just yet."

"Then I shall have to do my worst, sir. I'm afraid I did warn you."

"Ya did, and now we must suffer the consequences. Do ya have any preference as to where ya'd like to start?"

"I can start here if that is consistent with your wishes, sir, and then if you could provide someone to point me towards any other areas that I can sanitize, I'd be most appreciative." The robot reached for the switch on his right arm.

"That will be fine, Reeves." He turned to Chopper. "Get Knobsmasher up here."

"You missed a spot," said Constable Knobsmasher as he indicated the one remaining smudge in the cell. He was sitting on one end the bunk within the cell.

"Ah, thank you for pointing that out, Constable." The robot extended its left index finger, and a small quantity of cleaning solution squirted out of the tip onto the stain. It followed that with a vigorous swab with the world's most dangerous looking scrubby sponge, completely obliterating the offending globules of grease. The cell positively gleamed.

"You're very good at cleanin', you know," said Knobby. "A real professional, you might say."

"Thank you, Constable. I did warn Captain Charpe that I would be merciless in my assault upon the grime in this building if he did not accede to my employer's demands. Has he decided to hand over the phase converter yet?" The robot looked hopeful.

"No, not yet 'e asn't." He got up from the bunk. "Can't imagine why not. All this cleanliness is terrifyin' me."

"If I may say so, Constable, your Captain must have nerves of steel to run this sort of risk." The robot did a quick tidy of the cot, the end of its right arm rotating until an evil looking upholstery brush locked in place at the tip. The vacuum spooled up to full power, and quickly removed a considerable accumulation of dirt and dust from the spot where Knobby had been sitting. The robot followed this up by straightening and tucking the covers until one could bounce a half-dollar off them.

"The Captain is a tough one, there's no mistake. 'E's got a policy 'bout negotiatin' with terrorists, see. If you ask me, you're goin' to have to do some serious scrubbin' to get 'im to change 'is mind."

The robot turned back to Knobsmasher. "Well, there's nothing for it, then. I shall just have to continue on this rampage."

"I'll take you to the next cell then, shall I?"

"Thank you, Constable. That would be very helpful."

Meanwhile, Charpe and Reeves (the human one) were in the squad room, watching the robot on a security monitor as it terrorized the Yard's wide assortment of dust critters. Across the room, Chopper was using the phone at his desk.

"Sir, I couldn't help but notice that the robot's voice sounds remarkably similar to my own, and that neither you nor the sergeant seem surprised by that. I can't help but think that there is something that you haven't told me yet regarding the robot," said Reeves.

Charpe looked up from the monitor at Reeves. "Mr. Reeves, Sergeant Chopper and I met that robot at Castle Gudanov three weeks ago. It told us it was Gudanov's butler."

"Three weeks ago? That seems hardly likely, sir. I was still employed then. How would Mr. Gudanov have obtained a copy of my voice and mannerisms? It's all seems very mysterious."

Charpe nodded. "I think the problem is that we've been assumin' that your appointment at the castle was last night. Just out of curiosity, Mr. Reeves, what date do ya think today is?"

Reeves answered. Charpe slowly shook his head, then turned around the desk calendar at the station so Reeves could see it. "Just as I thought. You've actually been missin' for..."

"Twenty-four days, sir," said Chopper, returning from his desk. "At least, that's when the agency said Mr. Reeves' interview was scheduled. They also said that Mr. Reeves had been employed by Gudanov since then."

"What?" Reeves looked dumfounded for just a moment, but regained his composure quickly. "I see, sergeant."

"'Fraid so, Mr. Reeves," Chopper continued, "I just called your agency to check a few things, an' they said that Gudanov's assistant, Hans, had called to confirm your engagement as butler for one month, an' that your wages an' the referral fee had been paid in full."

"I see," said Reeves again.

"Also, Mr. Henberry would like ya to call him when ya have a moment. Ya can use my phone if ya like." Chopper pointed towards his desk.

"I see," but Reeves slowly shook his head in the manner of one whom, in fact, does not see, then stood up. "If you will excuse me, sirs." He walked over to Chopper's desk and began to dial.