"I thought I asked you not to come here," Amyntas sighed, only to find a letter hung unceremoniously in his face. The Mustachioed Devil gave him a faintly-glowing amber glare from behind the Professor’s message.
"Perhaps in the future," the Mustachioed Devil drawled, "we’ll keep your mail to ourselves. I’m sure we can find a worthwhile price from someone interested in this ‘C,’ mm?"
The letter was carelessly dropped into Amyntas’ hands. Fumbling for his glasses, he gave it a quick once-over before returning his attention to the devil at his door. "If you would prefer that the souls I acquire come through the Bazaar instead, you can continue making overtures to betray my trust."
The Mustachioed Devil chuckled, patting Amyntas hard enough on the back for him to stumble and wince. "Settle down, ‘A.’ Nobody’s betraying anybody. The Embassy is in eternal admiration of your services to us, and we hope to continue a long and prosperous relationship." The devil straightened, adjusting his tie and dusting off his suit. "But while we’re on the subject of the Bazaar, what’s this I hear about you picking up a folder full of permits from Baseborn & Fowlingpiece?"
Amyntas’ fingers clenched, nearly tearing through the paper of the letter. His expression tightened. "Is it abnormal to want a little leverage over our mutual friend?"
"It’s abnormal to want thirty permits’ worth of leverage, I’d say."
"Well," Amyntas puffed, "forgive me for not consulting you first."
The Mustachioed Devil’s lips curled upward in a thin, mirthless smile. "Consider yourself forgiven, Amyntas. Come 'round the Embassy for lunch sometime, won’t you? You can bring your new friend."
"I doubt he’d be interested," Amyntas muttered.
"You’ll never know until you ask him. Good day, Amyntas." The Mustachioed Devil turned on his heel. Moving away from the door, he accidentally kicked aside a stray bottle of laudanum. With a series of shrill clinks, it tumbled down the stairs and shattered halfway to the bottom. A dark spot spread across the stair where the bottle had shattered, making Amyntas wince. "Oh, clumsy me," the devil hummed, starting down the laudanum-dampened stairs. The door slammed loudly behind him.
Amyntas had not taken ten steps back into the apartment proper when Collins piped up; "WHO WAS THAT?"
"A business associate," Amyntas explained, plainly distracted by the letter, "nobody you need to worry about."
"YOU DO NOT LIKE HIM."
"I don’t like his attitude. He’s no different from any other devil." Collins went quiet long enough for Amyntas to take a seat at his woefully-cluttered desk. "She wrote this with a typewriter. Why don’t I have a typewriter?"
"IF YOU DON’T LIKE HIM, WHY DO YOU TALK TO HIM?"
"I thought you’d be familiar with the reasons," Amyntas slumped forward over the desk, "you weren’t fond of the man you worked for, were you?"
"NO. BUT I DID NOT KNOW ANY BETTER THEN. NOW I WOULD NOT WORK FOR HIM."
Amyntas shook his head sadly. "Even people with free will have to work with people they’re not fond of, Collins. When you want something, sometimes you’ll have to endure unpleasant people and unpleasant circumstances to get it. That’s the price of being able to want for yourself."
"IS THAT WHY YOU WORK WITH ME?"
Amyntas opened his mouth to speak, but paused. A long, heavy breath came out in lieu of words. He swept Reflector’s letter aside and dug out a new sheet of paper. "No, Collins," he assured, beginning to write, "I’m very fond of you, it just so happens you’re willing to help me."
"BUT WHAT IF I CANNOT FIND HER?"
"I will still be fond of you, Collins. I’ll be disappointed, but I’m used to disappointment."
"WHAT IS THAT LIKE?"
Amyntas paused again, nibbling absently on the end of his pen. "It’s rather like losing your soul," he decided, "when you realize it’s happened, you’re surprised it doesn’t feel as miserable as you thought it would. You move on because you’ve forgotten why it would have been worth dwelling on."
"I WOULD NOT WANT TO LIVE LIKE THAT." Decisive. Singular. Amyntas was impressed, even through his growing melancholy.
"Then you should be happy that you aren’t me," Amyntas advised, "in fact, focus on being happy that you’re you. I want you in a good mood for when we start your next lesson."
~
Amyntas’ letter is hung from a doorframe by a string, neatly folded and stamped on one side with a chess bishop. It might be the mark of an urchin-gang, given that Amyntas probably doesn’t make all these odd deliveries himself. The hole made to accommodate the string passes through the center of the letter when unfolded. The letterhead is still present on this paper, but one can only see the very edges of it - the rest has been ganted.
Professor,
I am delighted to hear of your continued interest in C’s progress. I believe the whole process of educating him might be worthy of a book, but you have proposed quite a novel idea: teaching a Clay Man of love and courtship means distilling it to its most basic form and working upward. Those lessons could benefit many - perhaps even other Clay Men! Our first proper lesson will be later this evening, and I will make sure to take notes if it seems to be fruitful. Collins is growing brighter every day, and I am no longer hesitant in expressing my high hopes for his progress.
You may be pleased to hear that Collins knows of you. He has yet to read your articles at length, but he wrote his response to the problem of Gears on the pretense that it would be sent to you, and he seemed happy to hear that you liked it. I told him of this letter, too, and he seemed very interested in what you had to say. I hope he does not come to resent me for speaking to others about his interests, but presently he is excited at the idea that the famous Professor Reflector is giving him advice. You see, he has it in his head that you are quite famous. I haven’t gone over Slowcake’s in a few months, but I have no interest in convincing him otherwise regardless of what the truth may be.
Since you have brought it up, I can assure you that my intention is not to make him a minion of mine or anyone else’s. Gears was his introduction to morality and since then I have kept the topic at arm’s length. Occasionally we will discuss what society expects of him, or what the laws are and how the people feel about them, but I have not instilled any hard-and-fast moral precepts in him yet. Given his response to Gears, it seems to be that he is capable of forming his own moral judgments. I will try to guide him to be conscientious and considerate, but he knows that we are different people and that I have no interest in molding him in my image.
The day of our first outing draws near. I do not have much time to teach him before his first test. I shouldn’t tell you this, but he’ll be going out to Caligula’s and I’ll be taking stock of his etiquette. Should you decide to sit in, so to speak, I doubt he will be hard to find. He looks quite smart in his new vest.
Rife with anticipation,
A