Glenn was changing out of his sweaty work clothes into a slightly fresher shirt and breeches when he noticed the supervisor at his current job site enter the room. Odd. They almost never mingled with the common employees. They preferred to do their business in their rooms, which were much nicer, and usually belonged only to themselves. His supervisor was a human of average height, muscular build, and a barely noticeable limp.

?Glenn? The boss wants to see you.?

?The boss?? Glenn said, looking puzzled.

?The boss. Don't keep him waiting.? And just like that, Glenn's supervisor was limping his way out of the room, much faster than he had thought possible. Glenn sighed, put on his white dress shirt, still wrinkled and rumpled, and made his way to the head supervisor's office, which was in one of the larger suites on the living quarters floor.

Glenn opened the door carefully, and resisted the urge to laugh. He had been in the personal offices of a rich person or two before, and it was clear that the head supervisor was trying to pass himself as high class. But a quick glance around the room, and he was able to break through that charade, just by examining the furniture. The bookcases on either side of the desk looked expensive, but it was all looks. They weren't expensive. The carpenter who had built them had just put some mahogany veneers over the cheaper base wood. And he'd done a poor job at that. It was clearly peeling away in places. The desk had a cherry finish on it, but whoever had selected the wood for the desk had completely screwed up and selected something that didn't hold finishes well. It was patchy in places on the front, where the staining hadn't fully set in, and he imagined it was the same story underneath all that paperwork, clutter, and the plaque that gave his boss' name: Mr. Honeycutt. He guessed that the books in the bookcases were probably facsimiles of antiquarian encyclopedias and novels, not the real deal, and that the lamp on his desk was not as ancient as it first appeared. Mr. Honeycutt himself also looked like he was playing at being rich and respectable: he wore a black suit, blue tie, and white dress shirt, but it was obvious they had been poorly fitted, or not fitted at all. The suit was too tight on his muscular arms, and the knot on his tie was clumsily done. Mr. Honeycutt waved a hand at the chair in front of the desk: it was beat-up, unfinished, and looked like it might have a wobbly leg.

?Good evening, Grenn, have a seat.?

?No thank you, sir, I'd rather stand. And it's Glenn, sir.?

?Yeah, yeah, yeah. I insist you sit.? Mr. Honeycutt smiled, but his hostility was thinly veiled on his rough face. He hadn't gotten where he was, in charge of the day-to-day operations of the West Rhydin Construction Company, by letting people do what they wanted. Glenn sat. ?So, Grenn, I have some bad news for you.? Mr. Honeycutt started shuffling papers.

?What?? Glenn's voice was a mixture of incredulity, dread, and relief. Mr. Honeycutt took no pains to hide the fact that he was reading his words to Glenn from a paper; Glenn was sort of surprised that he could actually read it.

?We are grateful for your contribution to the West End Rhydin Construction Company. After much deliberate consideration, we have decided to terminate your employment with our organization. We wish you the best of luck in all of your future endeavors.?

?You're-you're firing me? Why?? Mr. Honeycutt set down the sheet of paper and looked right through Glenn, his voice curt and barely masking the venom in his words.

?Why are we firing you Grenn? Well, you've been sick or injured much more often than any of your fellow employees. We're not even certain all of those injuries are real, or if you're just faking it to get out of work. You're sloppy. You've almost collapsed a ceiling on your fellow employees at least twice, because you weren't paying attention when setting up temporary supports. There's the fact that your nightmares not only apparently prevent you from sleeping, but disturb the sleep of others around you. And, let's face it. Honestly? You're not very good at what you do.?

Glenn's mouth opened and shut, but no words came out. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words wouldn't come out. When he finally did speak, his words were quiet, his head down. ?I...guess I understand.?

?Good. You need to leave the boarding house tonight.?

?Tonight?? Glenn yelped. ?But I don't have anywhere else to stay!?

?That's not my problem. Karax! Come here.? The door swung open, and a minotaur, who easily towered over Glenn while he was standing, entered the room, snorting. His nostrils flared, and Glenn could've swore he was going to start stomping his feet and charge through the room. ?Please gather up Grenn's things and escort him out of the building.?

?You-you don't have to do that.? Glenn said, trying to muster up some strength in his voice.

?No, no. I insist.? Mr. Honeycutt smiled a toothy grin, showing Glenn where one of his front teeth had been knocked out. Karax strode across the room quickly, resting a powerful hand on Glenn's shoulder. He stood up, letting Karax lead him out of the room and into the main sleeping area. Karax lifted Glenn's steamer trunk onto his shoulder easily, leaving Glenn to carry his knapsack, bag of saws, and miscellaneous articles of clothing. Karax continued to walk behind Glenn, carrying the trunk with one hand and keeping the other near Glenn's back as they exited the boarding house.

As soon as they were away from the entrance, Karax tossed the box unceremoniously onto the sidewalk. The box, which hadn't been locked, popped partially open, spilling some of Glenn's tools, money, and various bric-a-brac onto the sidewalk. Karax then wiped his hands, walked inside, and slammed the door shut. Glenn spent the next few minutes gathering up his possessions, shutting the chest, locking it, and then sitting on top of it. What was he going to do now?