From mrhyde@netcom.com Wed Dec 14 02:05:20 1994 Date: Tue, 13 Dec 1994 16:32:26 -0800 (PST) From: "Mr. Hyde" To: Beware the other head of Science! Subject: HouseStorming 2/3 >From alt.pub.dragons-inn Wed Mar 9 10:06:10 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7084 Path: netcom.com!csus.edu!wupost!cs.utexas.edu!not-for-mail From: chm173s@nic.smsu.edu (Robotech_Master) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [HouseStorming] The Fine Art of HouseBreaking Date: 5 Mar 1994 15:31:53 -0600 Organization: UTexas Mail-to-News Gateway Lines: 376 Sender: daemon@cs.utexas.edu Message-ID: Reply-To: Robotech_Master NNTP-Posting-Host: cs.utexas.edu Thanks to EVERYBODY in the HouseStorming author group who collaborated on this; my part in it is actually rather small. I hope we can move this thread along now that we're finally getting started... --Chris ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Is everybody confused? (NO!) I'm making no sense at all You want a room with a view You need ideas for walls --Men Without Hats "Service entrance is in the rear," the butler sneered, his nostrils flaring -- an especially distasteful sight considering that he was holding his head so that he could look down his nose. "Just take the letter, Jeeves," the young man snarled. The butler noticed the envelope, sealed and with a cantrip that made his fingers itch. "Don't open it, it's not for you," the youth said, and whirled, sprinting down the path to the gate. The butler frowned. Similar young men were visible from his high vantage point, performing similar visitations upon the next three houses down the street. "Ricardi, who was that?" The Master was standing in his morning robe at the foot of the stair. The butler sighed quietly to himself, making certain that it wasn't detectable by the Master. "A runner, sir, bringing a sealed letter. It carries a privacy cantrip." "Well, put it on the decurser and then bring it here," the Master said, patiently as if talking to one of the downstairs servants. "Immediately, sir." The butler placed the envelope in the truelead box on the desk by the door, and spun the prayerwheel on the top. He removed it and carried it into the sitting room where the Master was serving himself breakfast from the cold table. "The letter, sir." "Thank you, Ricardi." The Master tapped the privacy cantrip with his silver knife handle, and it sparked. The letter folded open. He scanned it and shrugged. "Nothing special," he said. "The cursed mansion at the end of the road was sold again. The new owner has hired some specialists to de-trap the place, starting ... hmm, about midmorning today ... ah, and she wants us not to worry about them. Better than the last two who had the place, eh, Ricardi?"