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Circulation: 194,831,969 |
Issue: 799 | 29th day of Gathering, Y19 |
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"The Weewoo of the Island" by rock_star_megs
Sherbolt Haven, Neovia's #1 private detective, needed a vacation.
Or rather, the residents of Neovia had decided that he definitely needed vacation.
(Truthfully, the residents of Neovia desperately needed a vacation from Haven.)
So it was on a cool summer evening that an emergency town hall meeting was convened. A few days prior, a hasty afternoon tea amongst the town's elders at the Crumpetmonger had come up with a plan to entice Haven to attend said town meeting (for he generally had no time for such trivialities, being an important and in-demand private detective, of course. One never knew when mysteries would come up, so Haven felt it was always best to be prepared and on standby). Mr. Cameron had persuaded Haven to attend under the guise of an urgent request to find his missing Green Antique Chair (which had somehow mysteriously – and conveniently – disappeared from his drawing room), and was adamant that there were clues to be found in the town hall itself. Never one to turn down a case or ignore clues (no matter how obscure or preposterous), Haven readily agreed to take on the case and meet Mr. Cameron at precisely half past 6 that evening at the town hall. (Haven had tried to tell Mr. Cameron that his presence was unnecessary – Haven's long-time and trusted assistant, Weatherby, would naturally be accompanying him, much to Weatherby's dismay – but Mr. Cameron was most insistent on watching the brilliant mind of Haven at work, so obviously Haven graciously allowed Mr. Cameron to observe him at the aforementioned time.)
Promptly at half past 6, Haven, dressed to impress in one of his finest Prigpants & Swolthy Gnorbu-wool dark brown suits (specially customized for this particular Bruce, with a multitude of hidden pockets that any detective would require), arrived at the town hall, looking around for Mr. Cameron.
"Hurry up, old chap!" Haven said, turning around to watch the slightly slower progress of Weatherby, a rather portly Usul as some would say, coming up the street. (Weatherby had just finished his supper before Haven dragged him out of the office, hence his slower pace.)
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