Prerequisites:
Committee report
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter I: Scenery of Salvation
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter II: Introduction to a Diligent Task
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter III: The Smiling Man
The Tale of a Secretary, Interlude: Mr. Reed's Everyday Life
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter IV: Trahison D'être
The Tale of a Secretary, Chapter V: Reaching the Rubicon
The gosurori is a mythical creature, but fortunately not nearly as rare as dragons or unicorns. If you wish it hard enough you can catch a glimpse of them in the corner of your eye when you least expect it. They come in all sizes and colors, from large pink ones to more tender ones clad in black lace. Not being particularly fond of piglets as anything but breakfast, Reed favored the latter. He also despised the superfluous self-help books on the subject that encouraged innocent young girls to “Release Your Inner Gosurori in Ten Days” or “Learn to Hold an Umbrella – Five Simple Steps to Ultimate Success”. A true gosurori is born as one, not made by merely putting on a Victorian dress and holding an umbrella at the correct angle. Of that he was certain.
The two acolytes sat on the old bench in the park as a herd of gosuroris walked past, almost ethereal in their appearance. It was day, for once, so the sun shone. Birds also fluttered about in the trees, giving a summery feel to the scene. It was the very epitome of serenity, if your definition of serenity includes two men in dark coats gawking at young girls.
“Can you guess which word was the word, by the by?”, Reed asked, breaking the silence.
Libel looked askance at Reed, not wanting to miss the parade. “What do you mean?”
“I’m further blurring the line between reality and fiction by making external references.”
“Hm?” Libel casually raised an eyebrow.
“Like when a character in a story speaks with the narrator about things which the character - as he is bound by the frames of the story - has no means of knowing. Not mentioning that he is already overstepping his bounds by being aware of the narrator.”
“We don’t really need that. This place is smug enough as it is, don’t make it worse.”
“But The Club demands it!”, Reed exclaimed jokingly.
“No, it most certainly does not. Don’t try to use the self-regulatory mechanisms of The Club as a pretext to abuse the second pillar.”
“Hah, you’re just grumpy because you can’t figure out which word is the word.” The glee was evident in Reed’s voice.
“Oh, please be silent...”
Reed smiled and continued to ogle the gosuroris. In his mind a verse from an old nursery rhyme kept spinning around, repeating itself over and over:
Taffy was a Welshman,
Taffy was a thief.
Taffy came to my house
And stole a leg of beef.
I went to Taffy's house,
Taffy was in bed.
I picked up the leg of beef
And hit him on the head.
