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Order Only: Bored and waiting
Sep. 23rd, 2008 07:57 amAgatha and I have arrived safely in Calais and have begun the tedious business of negotiating with the wizards in charge of customs through the Oldcastle Chunnel.
Good news: Our disguises and aliases, Victor and Ilsa Laszlo, seem to be holding up just fine.
Bad news: Because they think we're Czechoslovakian, they are speaking very slowly and loudly, and what they are saying amounts more to a history lesson on the Chunnel than useful data about our shipment. No, I do not need to know that the Chunnel was dug by Henry V in memory of his friend and court wizard John Oldcastle. While I care that it is impervious to leaks and that it is staffed by the finest group of inspectors the Lord Protector's influence can command, I don't give a damn about the Venetian tile or the Goblin-made ironwork. I care about how long it will take to process our application as a supplier of Bavarian Hornwood and rare Baltic Niebelung leaves and so on for potions.
They assure us that the Committee for Magical Commerce has received our application and is 'reviewing' it. Whatever that means. Pierre Nicola, the agent commissionnaire assigned to our shipment, has hinted that he might be able to 'speed things along' in exchange for a few concessions of his desire.
In other words, we are being run round and extorted. No surprise.
So we wait. If nothing shakes loose today, Albus, I'll make my way to Paris so that I can access my vault with the Parisian branch of Gringotts. A little grease in Nicola's palm and perhaps a few others' is sure to accomplish more than any other form of appeal.
I've been keeping an eye on things in the wake of my manifesto ... no unforeseen repercussions, are there? The last thing I want to do is make anyone's situation worse. Still, it already seems to have sparked some conversation, and that's something.
You've always taught us, Albus, that ideas are the hardest things to kill. It cuts both ways, of course. But I can't help but think perhaps these ideas already have roots in the soil, and just need repeated exposure to get them growing like weeds.
Mordieuce, I hate waiting.
Good news: Our disguises and aliases, Victor and Ilsa Laszlo, seem to be holding up just fine.
Bad news: Because they think we're Czechoslovakian, they are speaking very slowly and loudly, and what they are saying amounts more to a history lesson on the Chunnel than useful data about our shipment. No, I do not need to know that the Chunnel was dug by Henry V in memory of his friend and court wizard John Oldcastle. While I care that it is impervious to leaks and that it is staffed by the finest group of inspectors the Lord Protector's influence can command, I don't give a damn about the Venetian tile or the Goblin-made ironwork. I care about how long it will take to process our application as a supplier of Bavarian Hornwood and rare Baltic Niebelung leaves and so on for potions.
They assure us that the Committee for Magical Commerce has received our application and is 'reviewing' it. Whatever that means. Pierre Nicola, the agent commissionnaire assigned to our shipment, has hinted that he might be able to 'speed things along' in exchange for a few concessions of his desire.
In other words, we are being run round and extorted. No surprise.
So we wait. If nothing shakes loose today, Albus, I'll make my way to Paris so that I can access my vault with the Parisian branch of Gringotts. A little grease in Nicola's palm and perhaps a few others' is sure to accomplish more than any other form of appeal.
I've been keeping an eye on things in the wake of my manifesto ... no unforeseen repercussions, are there? The last thing I want to do is make anyone's situation worse. Still, it already seems to have sparked some conversation, and that's something.
You've always taught us, Albus, that ideas are the hardest things to kill. It cuts both ways, of course. But I can't help but think perhaps these ideas already have roots in the soil, and just need repeated exposure to get them growing like weeds.
Mordieuce, I hate waiting.
