And on the seventh millennium, God looked at the work of His hands and said, “Something’s messed up. We need to call Joe.”
But what about our hero? He sits quietly, minding his own business, sorting out his life, having no idea what clouds are gathering over all the wizards. Well, in truth, the clouds aren’t gathering at all—because they haven’t called him yet. But for how long?
A gentle word is pleasant for a cat, and for our pensioner, even more so—especially if that word carries a promise of payment. We magicians are a poor people, but we’re enterprising! What needs to be done?
Help? We’ll help! Frame someone? We’ll frame someone. Clear the Augean stables? But is anyone there?
…We’ll clear them! Any whim for your money, comrade goddess!
Just don’t peek…