Case #1050: The Missing Manuscript

     Amidst the mechanical mania, a cry suddenly shook the office walls. Wiping away hot tears was Quillsworth the Quiggle, the veteran author who had joined the Neopian Times in its infancy and set Neopia ablaze with his quick quips and astute annotations. Quillsworth had spoken endlessly of his much-anticipated piece, which, from his frenetic ramblings, appeared to not only be the crown jewel of the anniversary issue but perhaps his entire career.

     “It was just here!” he wailed in anguish.

     "Someone find that manuscript!" Penny Pages bellowed, her usually stoic voice was only slightly more composed than Quillsworth’s anguished cry. The immensity of the situation suddenly weighed on the entire office, which sat disconcertedly still. She turned to her phone, grabbed a slip of dusty paper from the back of her overflowing desk drawer, and pressed in the faded numbers that it barely read. Help was on the way.

     Enter Detective Trills, an aged, yet jocose Weewoo with a penchant for solving mysteries. Adorning a tattered and rather squalid deerstalker cap that was indicative of their many years on the force, Trills was perhaps the last great vestige of Neopian justice. While the office interns were much too young to know of Trills, the elder staff gasped in delight. They had known Trills to crack countless cases, from the Volcano Mystery to the Neopocalypse! This, however, would be Trills’ biggest challenge yet.

     Trills scanned the room, which had been quickly sequestered to ensure the culprit could not leave. Demanding fresh coffee from their assistant, who was not there and by all accounts did not actually exist, Trills took out their notepad and compiled a list of suspects.

     “Let’s start with you, Quillsworth.”

     Suspect #1: Quillsworth

     After all, who’s to say Quillsworth didn’t fake the story for insurance money? Everyone in Neopia knew that Quillsworth had foregone his own life insurance to make sure his work was extensively covered in the event of tragedy, which quickly became a public controversy. Scanning Quillsworth’s desk, Trills noticed that it was inundated with crumpled drafts impressed with dissatisfaction, uncharacteristically stinky ink blots that were jettisoned from his weathered quill, and the remnants of his lunch (an extra-large order of French Flies).

     The only thing this man is guilty of is working in this filth, Trills thought.

     Suspect #2: The Intern

     A Kiko, interning for the fall issues, was pretending to sort through stacks of submissions far in the corner of the office, her eyes furtively scanning the floor. Trills approached, a twig hanging from the corner of their mouth. His silence broke the Kiko instantly.

     “I-I didn’t take it!" the intern stammered.

     “It had to be her!” Quillsworth exclaimed. “I saw her walk away with the manuscript as I was heading to the lunchroom for my second order of French Flies. You know, it was just the other day that I was robbed by a Kiko so that they could send their precious team to the Altador Cup! It’s always them!”

     Trills sighed, their head pointing to the sky in incredulity. “I get 10 calls a day about this Altador Cup scheme. I’m losing my feathers on the count of you Kikos,” Trills reflected.

     “I got out of that life, I swear! I had only moved it to the editor’s desk for Quillsworth because he had asked me to. I swear, sir, I swear!”

     Trills looked to Penny Pages, who confirmed that the manuscript had made it to her desk for the last round of edits before being sent back to Quillsworth for final revisions.

     This Kiko was innocent…for now, Trills thought.

     Suspect #3: The Printer Technician

     Next, Trills questioned a grumpy Skeith employee of Cybun Electromatics who was called in to fix a jammed printer and found himself in the middle of a theatre drama. With Cybun Electromatics in the red, Trills thought there might be a motive to steal the fabled manuscript and sell it, saving it from bankruptcy.

     "You think I’ve got time to steal papers? I’ve been stuck with this machine all morning! I should have become a jelly processing plant employee like my brother. He says he just eats jelly all day…”

     Trills examined the printer tray but found nothing except half-printed articles and a letter penning allegiance to Dr. Sloth.

     One crisis at a time, Trills thought.

     Suspect #4: ???

     Beads of sweat glistened on the feathers above Trills’ eyes as the room emptied of plausible suspects and the weight of impending failure pushed down on their chest. A cold case of this magnitude would upend their entire career, no matter how illustrious it was until this juncture.

     Just as Trills was beginning to lose hope, they noticed something odd near Quillsworth’s desk: a trail of saliva leading toward the forgotten annexe. Taking out their magnifying glass to follow the trail, Trills arrived at a dim, cobwebbed room filled with dusty stacks of rejected drafts and sprawled tax files, should the Tax Beast announce a surprise audit.

     In the corner of the annex sat a stray Kadoatie that, according to Penny Pages, had a history of sneaking into the building, much to the chagrin of the custodian. As Trills raised an inquiring eyebrow toward the Kadoatie, the petpet bared a mischievous grin and began bouncing off the walls in complete delirium to dizzy Trills. Poised to take a leap of liberty out the very window it snuck in through, the Kadoatie suddenly paused, convulsed wildly, and coughed up a piece of draft parchment. Thinking the hungry stray had just devoured Quillsworth’s manuscript for lunch, Trills’ heart sank… until the beating sun reflected off something particularly shiny from behind the indisposed petpet. As Trills approached and looked over the Kadoatie’s shoulder, they caught sight of moist ink entombed in Kadoatie saliva.

     “Quillsworth’s manuscript!”

     Trills let out a squawk of relief and quickly retrieved the pages from behind the Kadoatie, distracting it with a piece of string from their pocket in the process. Though damp, the rest of the manuscript remained intact. Kadoaties had a particular affinity for squid ink, which Quillsworth notoriously used.

     Of course! That smell!

     As Trills basked in the triumph of recovering Quillsworth's manuscript, the Weewoo couldn't resist turning back to give the Kadoatie a disapproving glance. The Kadoatie, unfazed, yawned and pawed at a dusty paperclip on the dilapidated floor.

     The silhouette of Trills suddenly appeared in the doorway of the annexe. The office, which remained still in anticipation, collectively held their breath as Trills strolled to Penny Pages' desk. Revelling in the complete drama of it all, Trills dropped the saliva-embalmed manuscript onto the desk with a thud of theatricality. Gasps shook the halls of the building.

     "Case closed," Trills whispered, adjusting their deerstalker cap with a flourish while staring off into the distance. The room erupted in cheers, but Trills raised a steady wing for silence. "Before you celebrate, you might want to consider investing in proper pest control.”

     Laughter rippled through the room, but Quillsworth stepped forward, clearly emotional. "I-I don’t know how to thank you, Detective," he stammered. "That manuscript is my everything. It’s my… It’s my magnum opus!”

     Trills tilted their head, a smirk tugging at their beak. "Magnum opus, eh? Tell me, Quillsworth… did your magnum opus include a subplot about blaming your desk's mess on some poor, innocent Kiko?” Quillsworth turned beet red (which was kind of hard for an amphibian), while the nervous Kiko intern let out a snort of laughter that smacked of redemption.

     Penny Pages, her stern demeanour cracking under the sheer absurdity of the situation, shoved the manuscript into Quillsworth’s chest. "Let’s make sure this actually gets to print before you start thanking everyone in your acceptance speech, Quillsworth," she said, though her tone was softer than usual. Quillsworth nodded frantically, clutching the damp manuscript with all his might.

     Trills turned to leave the relieved room but stopped sternly. “Quillsworth, there is one more thing," he started, turning back to the amphibian, whose abashed look anticipated further deriding from the Weewoo.

     Quillsworth began to perspire as Trills strolled over and slowly leaned in, their expression deadpan. The office once again found itself in a moment of dramatic pause. "Don’t use squid ink in your drafts anymore, alright? It’s gourmet soup to half the petpets in Neopia."

     The office exploded in laughter once again, and Trills tipped their cap with a wink. It wasn’t every day that a detective cracked a case and delivered a comedy routine, but for the legendary Detective Trills, it was all part of the job.

     The End.