program

If it sounds like he is perfect, I assure you that he isn’t. There are many things

that Simon doesn’t shine at, but he very craftily avoids them, so that he appears

to be a hero out of literature.

“Another game?”

There didn’t seem much point to it, that morning. Rain always made me feel

glum, and my mood had been considerably worsened by the fact that a truck

had rumbled past me this morning, soaking me from head to toe.

With a heavy sigh, I leaned back into my chair, feeling as miserable as the

weather.

“How do you do it?” I asked. Simon had not just easily won the Chess part of

our match, he’d also won Old Maid. Having assigned values to each of the chess

pieces and to the cards, in an ideal world we would have tallied up the scores to

find out the victor. That was completely unnecessary today.

“Practice. Now come on, I’ll give you a handicap.”

Before I could shake my head, there was a knock at the door, and our faithful

servant “Joseph” entered, his shoes shined to a gleam. Cutting a lithe figure,

Joseph had a crooked nose that looked to have been broken one too many

times, and ear tips that might have belonged on a half-elf of fiction.

He had worked for Simon long before I came onto the scene, and was

unfailingly polite, efficient and helpful. Anyone standing next to him tended to

look underdressed, and it was he that prepared Simon’s clothes so that he

didn’t look like a walking trash can.

“What is it, Joseph?” Simon had already begun to pack away the pieces as if he

knew exactly what it was.

“You have a guest, Sir. Tamayo Judas.” It never failed to surprise me how deep

Joseph’s voice was. If I’d had to describe it then I would compare it to the soft

rumble of thunder. He needed only to put on a stern expression and raise his

voice slightly in order to intimate unruly visitors. Thankfully there was rarely a

need for it.

“Show him through.

“Yes, Sir.” Departing, Joseph closed the door with a gentle click, that told me he

had taken a hold of it carefully lest it throws itself shut on the breeze of wind

that rushed across the room.

At that moment Simon swept away the rest of the figures and swiftly collected

the cards into a neat little pile, shoving them towards me in haste.

“Hide them, quick.”

I did as he asked, and had barely returned to my seat when Mr. Judas was

shown inside.

A tall man, Mr. Judas had to duck beneath the doorway, a handheld atop his

head as if he were holding himself down. Despite his years in the country he still

spoke with a strong accent that blurred together his words in excitement, and

his soft eyes shone with friendliness when he was stood behind his shop

counter.

Today there seemed something different about him, as he strode across the

room towards the small table.

Simon straightened himself up immediately. “No gift today, Tamayo?”

Immediately I recognized what it was that had been bugging me. Mr. Judas was

a collator of information, and whenever he felt that he had something

important up his sleeve he would always drop by to sell it to us, a hopeful look

in his eye. What was more, he never failed to bring a gift with him, usually a tub

of coffee beans for Simon, or a new product that he thought we may like.

“No, Sir. What more can you expect from a man who has just lost his most

precious possession.”

Sensing a case, Simon leaned forwards in curiosity. I was sure that he did so

subconsciously because he always took care to maintain his posture in front of

clients. Gesturing to one of the spare seats, the ones reserved for visitors, he

suggested that Mr. Judas take a seat.

Mr. Judas shook his head, hands twisting around in front of him. Agitation

curled about him, seen in the way his body slightly vibrated, and his eyes

blinked rapidly. Whatever could have upset him so?

“I don’t see how I can, Sir. I’m much too wound up.

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