Middle Management of Evil

Scene 1An Unusual Interview

The letter arrived by raven, which was alarming, and the raven waited for a reply, which was rude. Now Tamsin Vale sat in the Black Tower of the Thornwastes, on a very uncomfortable chair, across a desk from Lady Morwen Ashgrave — the most feared villain in the kingdom.

She was younger than the stories, and she wore reading glasses. “Your former employer dismissed you for drawing maps that were too accurate,” she said, leafing through a folder. “I value accuracy.”

She slid a contract across the desk. Generous salary. Excellent dental. A clause about lava that Tamsin decided to read later.

“Your first assignment,” Morwen went on, “is to rescue Prince Aurel.” She paused. “Yes, the one everyone believes I kidnapped. I didn’t. And somebody is very keen that nobody finds that out.”

They chose Negotiate a better job title first

Scene 2Assistant to the Regional Menace

“Henchperson,” said Tamsin, “is not a title. It’s a description.”

Morwen set down her pen. Grub, the goblin from Human Resources, gasped audibly from the corner. Nobody, apparently, had ever negotiated before.

What followed was the most enjoyable hour of Tamsin’s professional life. She rejected Minion First Class, Shadow Associate and Lieutenant of Lamentation. She countered with Director of Strategic Rescues. Morwen countered with Chief Mischief Officer and a corner office overlooking the lava. They shook on it.

Then, at Tamsin’s request, Morwen showed her the evidence: a letter from the prince himself, held by the shining Radiant Order and begging her not to do anything dramatic. “Well, Chief,” Morwen said. “What’s your strategy?”

They chose Write to the prince and ask what he wants

Scene 3Correspondence with a Prisoner

Tamsin wrote to the prince on plain paper, hid the note inside a loaf of bread and sent it up to the Sunspire with the bakery’s morning delivery. It was the least villainous thing she had ever done.

His reply came back two days later, folded inside a returned bread basket.

Thank you for writing. Nobody asks me anything. They tell me I’m being protected from my aunt. They tell me I’m being protected from my uncle’s enemies. Nobody has asked whether I’d like to be protected at all. I don’t want to marry the duchess. I don’t want to be king — not yet, maybe not ever. I’d like to study maps. Real ones. Accurate ones. Is that a ridiculous thing to want?

Tamsin read it three times. She had an idea for a job offer of her own.

Their own move “Ask him to draw a map of the Sunspire, from memory”

Scene 4A Map in the Margins

His reply came back folded into a perfect square. On one side, a polite note. On the other, a map of the Sunspire so accurate it made Tamsin’s teeth hurt — every stair, every guard post, every loose stone, drawn in fine, steady ink.

In the corner, in tiny letters, he had added a legend. A small star marked his room. A small skull marked Sir Gideon’s. And a small, careful question mark sat over a door on the ground floor that wasn’t on any official plan.

Underneath, he had written: I don’t know where this goes. I’ve never been allowed to find out. Would you like to?

Morwen looked over Tamsin’s shoulder and went very quiet. “That door,” she said, “was bricked up the year I left home.”