I was so entranced by the pictures, I almost missed the Dispatcher himself until he rose from his desk. Perhaps “rose” is the wrong description. What he actually did was hop down to the floor from his chair which was high to begin with, but made higher by the addition of a pillow to the seat.
He strode forward, beaming widely, with his hand extended for a handshake.
“Hi there Vilhelm’s the name Your problem is my problem. Don’t sit down Standing problems I solve for free Sitting problems I charge for Reasonable rates Just a minor percentage off the top What can I do for you?”
That was sort of all one sentence in that he didn’t pause for breath. He did, however, seize my hand, pump it twice, then repeated the same procedure with Massha, then grabbed my hand again . . . all before he stopped talking.
All in all, it was a little overpowering. I had a flash impression of a short, stocky character with plump rosy cheeks and a bad case of the fidgets. I had deliberately tried not to speculate on what the Dispatcher would look like, but a cherub vampire still caught me a little off-guard.
“I… ummm . . . how did you know I have a problem?”
That earned me an extra squeeze of the hand and a wink.
“Nobody comes in here unless they’ve got a problem,” he said, finally slowing down his speech a bit. “I mean, I could always use a bit of help, but does anyone leap forward to lend a hand? Fat chance. Seems like the only time I see another face in the flesh is when it means more work for me. Prove me wrong . . . please! Tell me you came in here to take over for an hour or so to let me duck out for a bit to drink.”