it? My agent?'

'We are here to hash, are we not?' Nekabov asked.

'Vladimir and my father served together in the army,' said Medvelov. 'And after Father suffered injuries in combat and withered to naught, Vladimir helped me chart a course in this woeful world. One thing he is not? My mouthpiece. I speak for myself, sir. Hence, Comrade Nekabov, instead of squandering time, I'll come to the point: I want one hundred rubles per page with an advance of three hundred rubles effective the second after we emboss parchment.'

'One hundred per? Be serious, man!' Nekabov spat.

'You have the brass,' said Medvelov. 'How much did you pay our author comrade to wrangle me?'

Saith Nekabov: 'Appreciate: I'm doing _you_ a favor; I'm giving you an occasion to prosper.'

'You've heard my terms,'along my spine, it does!'

Goodness, the absurdity! 'Though the villains weren't apprehended, it's dubious they're under foot plotting acts of mayhem,' said I with a tang of arrogance. 'Conspiratorial tosh is a fantasy of the collective mind. Where does the speculation end, eh? Here me now: like a riddle, it never does.'

His grotesque face puckered into a pout.

I could've spent countless breaths ridiculing the dullard; he would've spent countless more refuting my salient points. Wedged at this impasse, I collected the goods and tossed brass on the counter. But as Zupricka counted the dosh, an idea tickled my soles...

'Are you familiar with Comrade Nekabov?' posed I.

'Of him. The publisher, correct?'

'Yes. He's a pot stirrer, this Nekabov. Sensationalism is good for his business. If you don't believe me, I