"He's got to be here just to screw things up!"
Only when the Secret Monk's leather boots had faded away at the end of the corridor did Calik slam his fist hard on the desk.
The ink bottle bounced, ink splashing out and spreading over the piles of drafts on the desk, like an ugly bruise.
"Mentor Calik, mind your words." The research monk beside him hurried to dissuade him.
But Calik was still seething. What kind of news had that Secret Monk just brought him?
Turns out the Saint's Grandson himself was pulling strings to push through a paper that had failed review.
Some nonsense about "a certain Advisory Council representative who wishes to remain anonymous discovered this paper."
Some nonsense about "His Holiness read it and found it quite good, so he wants to sit in on the presentation."
