The Publisher

Edward, head editor at Edward's Publishing, paced frentically. "Profits are higher than ever before," he announced to thin air, and also his unassuming secretary. (Damien.) "Our books are at the top of every best-seller list. By all rights, I should feel like a world-strider. So what is wrong?"

Somewhat rhetorically, he began pulling out drawers of his desk. This produced little beyond the expected. (A gum wrapper hurtling past Damien was duly retrieved and disposed of.) Next Edward checked his closet. He stopped. He looked at the closet. He rubbed his eyes, took off his glasses, then replaced them. It was still there.

"You know, I really didn't think I had a gnomish village in my closet," Edward remarked. (Damien turned around to look.)

"I'm sorry, good sir!" the gnomish president explained. "I really didn't mean to cause you any trouble, but we had no choice. We can't go anywhere else! We're quite trapped, you see." He gestured to the village, which (illuminated by Damien's torch) clearly extended quite a bit further than Edward thought his closet used to.

Edward kneeled down to look at the gnomish president more closely. "So you're what's wrong?" he asked.

"Oh, no, no, no, sir!" the gnome denied emphatically. "We're not wrong - no sir! We're doing just what we should be - just in the wrong place, just for a little while, that's all." He seemed to realize that this might not cut it. "It's the space voles, you see," he clarified. "They're in your chair."

Edward turned around. His chair did seem a little lumpier than normal.

"We'd be there, but they chased us out," the gnome continued. "It's our proper place! Not right at all, that's what I say, by Jove."

"And what is their proper place?" Edward asked, looking at his chair. (Damien prodded it, then withdrew his finger quickly, as one bitten.)

"We belong on Saturn!" the space moles explained. "And we're moles, not voles, as we'd thank you to remember."

"Why are you in my office chair?" Edward asked, patiently and calmly.

"Well, we were in the basement. No problems there. Perfectly fine. Tidy shop, really," the mole explained. "But then the dark god Isthenif showed up and the whole place went rather downhill. And we figured, if we were moving up, why not go all the way to the top?"

Edward stared at the space mole, then turned to look at the gnome village, bustling in the depths of his closet. Nervously, he looked downwards, as though he expected to see the dark god Elsethenif through the floor-boards. (Damien was checking his own chair.)

Quite coincidentally, the building shook just at that moment, and all light and joy fled forever. (But that only lasted a trice, don't worry.)

It turned out that rents were lower on the other side of the city anyway!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was inspired by my realization that I'd never read a story told from the perspective of a publisher. And... well, I've been reading a lot of Terry Pratchett's stuff this weekend, and I think it flavoured the post a little. Just a bit. So it's not really so much publishing related, per se...

Perhaps another post.