When they returned to their room, an unexpected sight greeted them. The daylight was brighter; the windows had been cleaned. The room was sparkling clean as well, and they had proper and clean sheets, blankets, and pillows.

“What’s going on?” asked Feyra, putting the food on the table.

“Thank goodness! I’m famished!” exclaimed Diago. “It’s his fault, Lau’s. He’s a celebrity, you see. A MIP, Most Important Person. He went to speak with that elf, whateveriel…”

“I’m here, you know!” replied Rheldoriel. “My name is Rheldoriel.”

The elf was in the bathroom, kneeled under the sink.

“I have bad news. The water connection is working, but I can’t manage to stop the pipes from dripping,” he complained.

“Have you knurled the fittings?” Feyra asked.

“What? Never heard of it,” confessed the elf. “I’m a horticultor, not a plumber.”

“Then don’t mess with what you don’t understand. Just leave it the tools there; I’ll take care later.”

“Thank you so much!” replied the elf gratefully.

“And what’s going on again?” asked Istaìnn.

“I’ve told you, Lau is a biggy here. He went to this fellow, sorry, mate, forgot your name again.”

“I’m HERE!” shouted Rheldoriel because Diago had pointed to another elf, who had entered the room for a few seconds, bringing some clean towels. “My name is Rheldoriel!”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you all look the same! Anyway. He told him he's the famous poet so and so, and instantly, he got a lot of attention.”

“Of course. He’s Maestro Lau Wei-Tsou, our favorite poet!” exclaimed the elf. “His poetry is stellar. Despite your barbary, you humans have beautiful literature. I’m the chief of the literature club, so I convoked my fellows, and we claimed this corridor for ourselves. We’ll make it an example of true elven hospitality. We expelled the other students, with a little help from your big muscled guy here, and here we are. All the rooms around are ours and yours. We’ll arrange a lecture room, a dining room, a kitchen, everything you need.”

“Well, there’s power in poetry, like you say, Diago,” said the spy, twisting the knife in the wound.

“And where’s shorty?” asked Feyra. “I mean the Maestro.”

“He’s on the airfield, with the archery club. He issued a challenge. If someone beats him at archery, he’ll pay each one of them fifty gold standards. If they lose, they’ll be his soldiers for one year. He said we need some guards – hey, that my idea! protested Heyra - Is he rich? Because we, elves, are born with an ELB in our hands, you know.”

“I suppose he doesn’t intend to lose,” said Istainn. “Is Lau good, Diago? I haven’t seen him shoot safe on that hill battle. He got those two knights, and he was swift. Before, he got two hits out of three on the head-hunters, but that was quite a distance, though.”

“Mate, that was three out of three; one just took longer to die. And yes, he’s as good with a bow as I’m with a zweihander. He did a demonstration for us once, when you were after water. He neutered a mosquito in flight, at fifty yards.”

“Ah, ha ha ha, that’s a good one!” laughed Rheldoriel.

“I wouldn’t laugh if I were you,” warned Heyra. “I was there. Diago had exaggerated a bit, but Lau took off dragonflies' wings at fifty yards; that’s the truth. Never missed one.”

“Ouch!” exclaimed the elf. “Well, let’s see the bright part; a little more discipline could be useful for those poor bastards from the archery club.”

“Should we tell him?” asked Feyra.

“Tell me what?” asked the elf.

“Chances are you’ll have to learn discipline as well. You’ll be attached to us as our permanent assistant. We had a chat with your boss…”

“Faredhiel is not my boss; we elves are all equals. He just happens to have a better position in the University. But please tell me what you are talking about.”

So they did. While they explained, Lau arrived back, together with Ulfsen, who wanted some advice about a new ramp system he was trying to set up. The archer attacked the food, nodding from time to the things said. Heyra praised his initiative to form a guard, and they didn’t have to ask him if he had won the challenge; his discreetly proud attitude said it all.

“And then he proposed to name you our attaché,” concluded Feyra. “I will not accept it if you don’t want to do it, Rheldoriel.”

The elf sighed.

“Two days ago, I would have suicided. You know, some of you get on my nerves,” he said, looking at Istaìnn. “But I have to admit, you humans are not so bad as I’ve expected. Maestro Lau is a genius of poetry; you two are scientific prodigies. On top of that, we have common interests. We need to open to the world; we’re stagnating. You’ve seen the state of our University. So yes, I accept.”

“I adore you, Miss!” said Ulfsen. “I just adore you. That idea of transforming the dirigibles into weapon platforms is phenomenal. We can just sit two thousand feet in the air and shoot our heavy crossbows on those below.”

“I was thinking more about some steam machine guns,” answered Heyra. “We stuck those chairs into the floor with heavy bolts, we put some safety harness, and a sniper can just shoot through the open doors.”

“Are you engaged, miss? Would you consider a bald stocky dwarf as a pretender? I’m in my prime, almost sixty,“ asked Ulfsen, half-serious, and they all laughed, safe Istaìnn, who frowned.

“Before we meet again with Faredhiel, let’s have a mind-storm,” proposed Feyra. “Let’s put our best ideas on paper. What do we need?”

“One, we need weapons,” said Diago. “Crossbows, armors, shields, and spears. We can bring them from d'Ornia by blimp.”

“We can skip the crossbows,” said Lau. “Every elf has an ELB. For folks who never saw combat, they are decent archers.”

“We can mass-produce weapons and armor,” said Ulfsen. “And we can send them by rail."

“Let’s try both,” proposed Rheldoriel. “I suppose you will want me to go back to check with your friends. By the way, I know that the nobles’ army is on your side; I eavesdropped a little while I was waiting for you with that letter.”

“Have you told Faredhiel?” asked the spy.

“No, but why?”

“Look, I know he’s your superior – HE’S NOT MY SUPERIOR! shouted the elf – but I don’t trust him. I was trained in this stuff; I feel liars. I don’t like you because you are a prejudiced snob – Oh, Istainn, how rude! – he got reprimanded by Feyra – but somehow, I feel I can trust you. Faredhiel, not. I don’t know what’s his problem but his body language is off. Please, don’t tell him yet, until I figure it out.”

“You are a boar, Istaìnn!” said Feyra. “A boar. I feel so disappointed in you. You are the snob and the prejudiced, not Rheldoriel.”

“And I feel so proud about you!” attacked Heyra. “That’s the attitude that saved us. I have a huge reserve to put our lives in the hands of a brewing specialist. Really? You don’t see any weakness in his plans? The foes will come through the Forest, and all elves will go and fight, happy end? If you’d be a smartass wizard army and you see some elves shooting at you from behind the trees, what would you do? Let say I’m those wizards; what could I do to make you surrender, Rheldoriel? To come at me on your knees and ask for forgiveness and swear fealty?”

“Nothing!” replied the elf proudly. “I will defend this Forest to my last breath!”

“What if I’d begin to fell trees, just for fun? What if I’d put the Forest on fire, from the City to d’Ornia, in thousands of places at the same time. What if I’d sent you deer heads with apples between the teeth?”

“Providence! What terrible thoughts! Who would dare do such a thing to a beautiful Forest and innocent animals?” asked Rheldoriel appalled.

“Evil wizards?” replied the spy, turning then to the princess. “Bravo, Heyra. That’s how a real Queen who descends from the First King thinks. We need to be prepared for the worse. And we need those communication devices.”

“I don’t know…,” she sighed. “Is it wise to offer our most beloved copyrights to the elves? Could we develop those devices on our own?”

“What do you think, Rheldoriel?” asked the spy. “I’ve said I trust you, and I meant it. Shoot. Tell us what an honest elf thinks about Faredhiel's proposition.”

The elf sighed.

“Well, sincerely, I think he got you. Coffee is of no interest to us, we’re tea people, and we buy tea very cheap from the Autarchy. But mentioning coffee made you panic, and you conceded on the essential parts. Rubber, we could use to barter with the dwarves, they need a lot of it for the blimps, but that’s not a big deal, in that quantity. He got you on the bread-fruits; it’s cheap and easy to produce. You mostly feed it to your animals because a true Ohstain would not eat that…

“Of course! Only durum wheat is a proper ingredient for bread or pasta! That mushy garbage is for pigs!” said the spy emphatically.

“What do you see out there?” asked Rheldoriel, showing the window.

“Nothing special," the spy shrugged. "The city below, those big trees and the tree-houses built around them.”

“Those are elfea gigantea. You can graft the bread-tree on them. Imagine a sea of trees one hundred yards tall grafted each with bread-trees. Our production will obliterate yours. And it can be used to make alcohol too. Strong and cheap alcohol has a fantastic market: the dwarves. You might not know, but they don’t feel they drink something unless it has over 80 degrees of strength. I’d say you screwed it big with that bread-fruit thing.”

“Well, the deal is not done yet,…” started Feyra.

“Yes, it’s done,” sighed Heyra. “We have no choice; our country’s survival might depend on that communicator. “Sometimes, bad choices are the only ones, and you have to choose the less bad. But we’ll let him know we know and ask for more things, like permission to build a railway to the dwarves, through the Forest. I have a feeling we might get along very well with the dwarves. We share the love for technology.”

“For sure!” exclaimed Ulfsen.

“So, more ideas or questions?” asked Feyra. “I’m taking notes, so don’t be shy.”

“How do we turn this University back into a decent place?” asked the spy. “I might not like the elves, but seriously… this place is a mess.”

“We draft all students, as Faredhiel proposed,” said Diago. "Then we drill them to oblivion and back. That will make real men out of them."

“Pah, they’ll just run away and go home,” laughed Rheldoriel. “The archers have their pride; if they lost a bet, they’d keep their word. My poetry circle might join the army for the honor of serving with Lau Wei-Tsou. But the rest? They are just too lazy.”

“Diago, I see Pumpkin chasing after a few elves on the airfield,” announced Heyra. “Can you…”

“I’ll go check.”

The duelist rushed out, and Hyera told the others:

“Pumpkin is grazing nicely, but I needed him out. Write it down, Feyra. Lau, this is a task for you: write some poems about Diago. “

“I don’t master your language well enough. I cannot do something below my standards; it will ruin my reputation!”

“Just make a draft in your language and let Rheldoriel and his friends will put it in verse both in the common tongue and in Quenya. We badly need him to be a hero for three reasons: one, he envies you because you are famous and we need to compensate, two, we need him to become a model for the elves, and three, well, he is a hero, he deserves a little credit. Now, speaking of students, I know how to deal with those and make them join the army…”

“You are a genius, Heyra,” stated the spy. “I was thinking the same. Girls. If they join the army, girls will like them. Girls like uniforms and stuff.”

“Goodness, no self-respecting elfesse would look at an elf under forty! They are so immature now!” protested Rheldoriel.

“Might be, Rheldoriel,” continued Heyra. “But do you know what the posters for the army say? Visit new and interesting places. What do you think will happen if they go to Osht to save the Ohstian damsels from those evil wizards? I can assure you, in the City, the ladies would not object to having some handsome young elves around.”

“I can print a lot of recruiting posters,” said Ulfsen. “With quite descriptive illustrations of those damsels. Trust me, we dwarves have a lot of imagination about those things.”

“Well, that’s settled then. I declare our first mind-storm session a success!” declared Feyra, putting down the paper.