“Anyhow, we’ll find what we need when the Seadyne boys come in. They know how to get things going. They should be an inspiration to the likes of you.”

“Hum?”

“Two words: Private. Sector. Look for a job where they really move that paper,” Old Spots stage-whispered, then nipped Alfonzo’s knee.

Alfonzo jerked.

“But, I mean, you didn’t hear that from me, right?”

“Who, me? No! I don’t hear anything but the pipes whistling.”

“Whistling while they work, am I right, chief? Okay. You know nothing. Nothing is good to hear. You’ll be hearing about next steps soon enough.”

And with that Old Spots turned on his hooves and clicked away down the hall. Alfonzo’s stomachs wrapped themselves around his spine. He felt faint. He chewed hard on his wad of breakfast grass in an effort to rein in his nerves.

He caught a subtle movement. It was Mitchell’s door inching open. A familiar eye peered through the crack.

“Shush.”

“What are you doing, you loon?” Alfonzo hummed. They were all going crazy.

Mitchell eased open his door just wide enough to yank his friend into his office.

Mitchell hovered with ears pricked in case Old Spots decided to return. When he finally relaxed, he indicated with his wrinkled brow that they should use the lowest possible tones. They both wagged their tails nervously.

“Where have you been?” Mitchell whispered. “I’ve sent you three emergency tube messages.”

Ah yes, Alfonzo realized, this plan of the mayor’s must be much bigger than he imagined.

“Did you get a memo, too? About Seadyne? I got a memo! Or, rather, the department did. I think they’re trying to shrink Records to nothing. What does this mean? Have you heard?”

Mitchell waggled his ears yes and then no. He gave a few exaggerated winks. What he said next he didn’t even say, but rather mouthed the words. Knot. Ear. Fat. The. Hen. Oh woe. Ticks.

But who was Fat the Hen? It didn’t make sense. Alfonzo was a terrible lip reader.

“We need to go on another site visit.”

Alfonzo was annoyed. “Now isn’t the time for sneaking out to the shore.”

Even though they’d seen each other, Mitchell and he hadn’t really been talking. Alfonzo had been tangled in his sadness. A gap had opened that misunderstanding crept into. Alfonzo tried once again to get an answer. What should he do to prevent being downsized or investigated or booted because of misuse of office resources, broken tubes, and basement leaks?

“Did you get a memo this morning or was it just me?”

“No.” Mitchell nodded yes.

Alfonzo was going to lose his job, and his main ally was behaving like a harebrained secret agent. This goofy caterpillar-looking ass llama was going to ruin his life. Mitchell leaned over and bit Alfonzo. Not hard, but still. Physical violence always took him by surprise. Again with the biting.