Treneth preferred his office to be free of color and playfulness. 

Heavy brown curtains surrounded a lone window that allowed a speck of light to peek through. Lanterns offered plenty of visibility for his tidings and Treneth kept them running at full both day and night. His diplomas, awards, and accolades were all set in perfect alignment to the wooden planks that ran from floor to ceiling. Each frame was made of the same dark mahogany as the paneling.

He scanned the room as he always did, seeking for anything out of place. 

Satisfied that all was in order, he stepped into the room. He was careful to avoid the third floorboard. It always creaked. Creaking was a sign of imperfection. Treneth abhorred imperfection. He had learned to tolerate it because the world was full of it, but where it could be avoided he endeavored to do so. Repairing the board was not a priority in the grand scheme of things, and the dust, noise, mess, and disruption the fix would cause was out of the question. 

He stopped at his large mahogany desk, noticing a problem. He pointed to a smudge that sat just under the lip of its edge. 

“Vigilance, Rimpertuz,” Treneth said to his apprentice. “It is the only way we attain perfection.”

Rimpertuz hustled over to buff out the smudge, stepping on the loose board and apologizing as he had done many times.

Treneth sighed. 

A verbal lashing was almost always in order for Rimpertuz. Treneth had all but given up on trying to correct the man. As his father had once said, “You cannot make a diamond out of a piece of coal.” It wasn’t at all accurate, but the intended point was taken. Treneth had often toyed with the idea of dismissing Rimpertuz, but being linked to losing an apprentice would be another tarnish on Treneth’s record. And, to be fair, Rimpertuz did have his uses now and then, being that he was just a cut above dimwit. 

It was a good sign that the outbox sat reasonably higher than the inbox. He tidied up one of the stacks as he sat in his high-backed leather chair. 

There was much work to be done. His aim was first a council seat and then the council chair. 

Whizzfiddle’s demise was an important step in attaining that goal because Treneth deplored unfinished business. It muddled his thinking. Since Whizzfiddle had a history of ignoring rules, or rewriting them, all Treneth had to worry about was setting things in motion and occasionally tweaking dynamics to keep his former master tripping. 

Fortunately, the Wizards’ Guild council had ruled in Treneth’s favor, setting Whizzfiddle to have to complete a quest to the letter within thirty days. Knowing the old coot as he did, Treneth felt confident that the man’s wizarding days were at a close. Vengeance was a beautiful thing, when done correctly.

“I have a special assignment for you, Rimpertuz.”

“Yes, sir?” 

“You will follow Master Whizzfiddle today and report to me any information that you glean.” Treneth adjusted one of his pens to set it parallel to another. “We need to understand our prey. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Rimpertuz said. “Which god are we praying to, sir?”

“No, Rimpertuz.” Treneth closed his eyes and clicked his teeth. “Not pray as in seeking divine guidance—something we have discussed at length and, again, I will state that there is nothing divine to offer any such prayer to—prey as in a rabbit to a fox.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Vigilance, Rimpertuz. Always. Now, you will find Whizzfiddle at that wretched pub by the clothier.”

“Gilly’s, sir,” said Rimpertuz a little too quickly.

“Yes,” he said at length while tapping a gloved finger on the desk. “You may frequent the establishment for this purpose only. I repeat, for this purpose only. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t dream of attending without your express permission, sir.”

“Pray you do not.”

“Like a rabbit to a fox, sir.”

“No…” Treneth started and then shook his head. “Look, go to the pub and find out what you can, and keep yourself from being noticed.”

“You can count on me, sir.”

Sadly, Treneth could not. Treneth could only be in one place at a time, though, so Rimpertuz would have to do.

A thought occurred to him as Rimpertuz was shutting the door. 

“One more thing! Keep a close eye on Whizzfiddle’s hat. As long as I’ve known the man he’s been hiding something under that hat and I would be quite pleased to learn what it is.”

Now that his plan for Whizzfiddle’s demise was flowing, he would have to think of how best to finagle his way on to the council. 

Chairperson Muppy could be a formidable foe, but she was flighty at best. She had a temper, to be sure, and she had moments of clarity that Treneth would have to watch out for, but all in all he felt certain that she wouldn’t be much of a deterrent to his goals; Councilman Ibork was an exceedingly fat halfling that was too much of a dullard to be of any real concern. He was more of a threat to a bowl of stew than to the likes of Treneth of Dahl; Councilman Zotrinder was an elf that was entirely too caught up in his looks and personal grooming regimen to even know what was going on half the time; and the Croomplatt twins, Elik and Esin, didn’t have enough grasp of the local language to bring arguments against him regardless of what he did. They merely said “Ha!” as a response to most everything, and typically in unison. 

Still, Treneth would have to be patient and smoothly set plans in motion so that he could ensure his spot on the council. Once that was complete, he would begin the next phase of taking over the main chair. Then he would be able to enact the rules and regulations that he believed every wizard worthy of the title should follow. 

He leaned back and smiled. 

Finally things were moving in the right direction.