“We
regret to inform you of this, M'lady,” Mo says, “But that is not
the Author.”
“Not
the Author?” Robert asks, “What are you talking about?”
“Please,
M'lady,” Mo pleads, “It is time for us to go.”
“Go?
Go where?” Robert asks. “Aren't you supposed to be helping me?
Can't you just tell me what I'm supposed to do.”
“Time
to go,” his companion announces firmly.
“So
you say,” Robert replies, “But go where? You're not being very
forthcoming.”
“We
apologise, M'lady,” Mo shrugs, looking into the distance.
“I'm
not your...” Robert begins, before understanding sets in. “How
is it that you can speak to my wife, but not me?”
Again
the midget shrugs. “But a short physical intervention,” he says,
“Seemed the only way to obtain your full attention.”
“You've
got my attention,” Robert says frustratedly, “What do you want
with it. What do you want me to do?”
“Raven
is at the door,” Mo replies.
