Narrator 1: Per his morning ritual, Mr. Weepe is at the post office—right now at the counter, his parcel on the scale.

Narrator 3: “I noticed this one’s a little lighter than usual,” the postmaster says to him. “Not selling as much these days?”

Narrator 1: (as Moc Weepe) “Uh, no, business is booming. Just, um… y’know, occasionally happens:a brief dip in supply at present,” Mr. Weepe says.

Narrator 3: (postmaster) “Oh! I see. So you’re a sperm donor, then? Ha ha!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Yeah, that’s right, my buddy! A businessman sees an opportunity and every time he always—”

Narrator Narrator 2: They are both distracted at this point by a small dribble of squirming black fluid leaking from one corner of the parcel onto the scale.

[Uncomfortable pause.]

Narrator 3: (postmaster) “…Maybe I should—”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Please allow me! Sorry about that! Little leaky-leaky, there! Okay! I’m off to repackage this shit more securely! Huehuehue!” He skedaddles.

Narrator 2: —and reels off across the post office in such a fog of horror he almost forgets he’d been planning to visit Imelda Goldfinch next, in the Mission, and throw the Black Candle Cabaret under the bus for personal gain!

[Theme music.]

Narrator 1: Leaking package in one hand, parcel of evidence in the other, Mr. Weepe enters the Mission, greeting Imelda, announcing “Hello! I would like to open a new account!”

Narrator 3: This is a moment Imelda has been looking forward to for some time.

Narrator 2: Moc Weepe already has the application paperwork ready. He pulled it straight out of the Trustee Handbook:the perforated pages at the back.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “So I have these all ready to go, here. I, um, read the whole book thoroughly, Imelda. I hope you will be pleased.”

Narrator 2: (as Imelda Goldfinch) “I certainly am! Well, let’s see!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Yes, I followed these instructions to the letter very carefully. I read them several times just to make sure. And I used a nice blue pen. Whaddya think?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well, just let me review this. I’ll be just a minute. Please help yourself to a mint from the bowl in the meantime!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Okay!”

Narrator 2: Imelda whisks the bundle of papers away to her desk and begins looking through them.

Narrator 1: Weepe whistles a little bit, hands behind his back. Saunters around the Mission. Imelda settles herself behind her desk, arraying the application paperwork in front of her. Puts her glasses on—her little spectacles.

Narrator 2: Taps the papers so they’re all perfectly square.

Narrator 3: And in almost no time at all, little noises of pleasure emit from Imelda’s being.

Narrator 2: Now, we don’t mean that in a gross way! [As Imelda:] “Hmm! Ooh!”

Narrator 1: Little squeals. Weepe is currently admiring the large bank machine in the back, sitting quiet at the moment. He turns, arching an eyebrow.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Hmm!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Is everything alright over there, Imelda?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, yes! Better than alright! You know, this might be the most expertly-crafted application for an account I’ve ever seen!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, Imelda, you… that’s really—”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “And I’m not new at this!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “I’m very flattered to hear this, Imelda.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “No, I mean it!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Do you really? That touches my heart very deeply.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Really! There’s no mistakes, nothing is missing, all the appropriate worksheets are filled out… it’s extraordinary.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “And I have pretty nice cursive, too, wouldn’t you say so, Imelda?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well, that’s just the cherry on top!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, yes, I was always told when I was in school that even for a young lad, I had pretty nice penmanship. I practice it, usually. Sometimes I find I have different handwriting for different kinds of documents. That’s my best paperwork handwriting because, Imelda, you know something about me? It’s that if there’s anything I like in life, it’s nice paperwork.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well, that certainly shows; this is flawless!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Well, thank you. I feel like that’s something we have in common, Imelda.” Weepe is sauntering across the Mission toward her, angling for the chair in front of her desk. “I think this is something that brings us together. We see eye-to-eye. We like good contracts.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, I couldn’t agree more! And I’m so pleased to declare your account officially open.” She stamps the bundle of papers.

Narrator 1: Resoundingly! With authority. She takes satisfaction in that stamp. She punches it down.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “I just regret that I have no abacus to give you because your… well, your balance is exactly zero. Which is normally an occasion for celebration, but…”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Now, I wanna ask, of course:when you say ‘zero,’ Imelda, having read the Trustee Handbook, what I wanna ask is… when you say ‘zero,’ you mean ZERO? This is at the baseline zero? It is at ‘even’? There’s no Caenum in this?

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “That’s correct:no Caenum, no Valor.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Well, you know what, Imelda?” Weepe is sitting now in the chair but also leaning forward upon her desk, his spidery elbows…

Narrator 2: …spidering.

Narrator 1: He is leaning decorously forward, making blank, alabaster eye contact with her. She looks right back at him. She’s not taken aback by his weird gaze at all. [Weepe:] “I suppose there’s no time like the present to put something IN there for the very first time, Imelda, am I right?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Your first donation to the Trust?”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Yes. I have prepared a little offering to start my account off respectably, Imelda.” He slides a paper cheque across the desk (written out to the Mission for a considerable sum of money to be converted and deposited as equivalent Valor)  into his new account.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh! Lovely!” She pinches it. Whips it back. “I’ll just get this deposited, then!”

Narrator 3: Imelda flounces over to a small adding machine that appears to be connected via cables and hoses to some of the large teletheric transducers in the room. This space is set up for a rather large number of transactions to be completed simultaneously, however Imelda is the only official Notary on staff at this particular moment.

Narrator 2: She doesn’t seem to mind.

Narrator 1: The Mission is empty, only just open for business as of a few minutes ago. Weepe is the only customer here. He lounges in his chair, watching her compute his transaction.

[Typing and whirring sounds as Imelda processes Weepe’s cheque.]

Narrator 3: And with a satisfying ‘DING,’ Imelda clasps her hands and turns to face him.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Mr. Weepe?”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Imelda Goldfinch?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “You are officially Valorous.”

Narrator 1: Mr. Weepe stands, taking a little bow. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Ms. Goldfinch. I feel like a new man! Do I look like one?” He turns on the spot, presenting himself.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Absolutely! You’re glowing.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “WHAT?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) Imelda laughs at the way he looks down at himself in a panic, thinking it’s all a joke.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh! You don’t really mean it, do you?”

Narrator 2 (Imelda) 

“Ah! Mr. Weepe, you are a riot!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, that’s alright! I just thought maybe I was, um… I had a problem with that once. It didn’t go well. Huehuehue.”

[Sudden cut to dead silence.]

Narrator 1: He’s not kidding. It didn’t.

[Interior Mission ambience resumes.]

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well, then, will that be all? Or shall I get your abacus drawn up for you?”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh! Well, um, maybe there’s one other thing I wanna add to this account, too. “

Narrator 2: Imelda dimples attentively at him.

Narrator 1: Weepe glances to the door. There’s no one trying to come in yet. This might be his moment. The post office sounds quiet.

Narrator 2: In fact, he thinks he’d just better go close it.

Narrator 1: Yes, he goes to the door, shutting it. [Weepe:] “I think I wanna have a little privacy. I wanna speak to you about something, Imelda.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, of course!”

Narrator 3: (Imelda, cont’d) “By all means.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “So, Imelda.” Weepe wanders around.

Narrator 2: He takes a mint from the bowl.

Narrator 1: He looks at her through furrowed brows. “Imelda.”

Narrator 3: (Imelda) “Mr. Weepe.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “You’re aware that I run a business in town. The Black Candle Cabaret. I’m a partner in this business. Have you been by to visit yet?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, yes. It’s… how do I say this? It’s not really my scene, but I am very impressed with your business acumen nonetheless.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “So you understand the nature of the business. You’ve been through. You’ve seen the space.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Yes, I’m familiar.”

[Weepe’s waltz tune begins to play.]

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “And have you met my colleague, Saskia?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Just in passing, I believe. Uh… lovely blonde woman?”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Yes, of course. That is Saskia. So, Imelda: I wanna tell you something about this business that I run. That I’m part of. This business was founded as a cabaret and is still to this day. But primarily, as a large part of its operation now, it is a hiding place for escapees from the Trust.”

Narrator 2: Imelda Goldfinch puts down her pencil very slowly and turns to face him, unblinkingly attentive, not a dimple to be found.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “According to this Trustee Handbook, Imelda, this is what you call people who are in ‘Breach’ if I understand that correctly, yes?”

Narrator 3: (Imelda) “That term is traditionally reserved for individuals who are escaping contractual obligations.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Well, that’s just the thing, Imelda: that’s precisely who the vast majority of the cabaret staff are. And my colleague, Saskia, is instrumental in helping to accommodate them. To help them to escape their obligations.”

Narrator 2: Imelda steeples her fingers.

Narrator 1; (Weepe) “The Black Candle Cabaret is a stop along this Breach route, Imelda. That’s what I’m trying to tell you today.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well, naturally, you understand, such a claim will require—”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “—extremely extensive and well-documented PROOF, perhaps?” He produces from his briefcase the binder of papers.

Narrator 2: Atticus Concord’s binder of papers, to be precise.

Narrator 3: Formerly Atticus Concord’s briefcase AND binder of papers, to be DOUBLY precise.

Narrator 1: He presents the binder to Imelda. “For your review, Madame Notary.”

Narrator 2: She blinks rapidly with… relish? Anticipation?

Narrator 1: There is a LOT of paperwork in there. And if we know one thing about Imelda, it’s that she loves paperwork almost as much as Mr. Weepe.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well, um… again, help yourself to a mint while I review the paperwork.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Sure, don’t mind if I do. These are really quite nice! Where do you get them? Are they from the Un where you… or do you import these?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Hmmm? Yes, they’re imported.” Imelda cracks open the binder.

Narrator 1: She returns to her desk, already leafing through some pages, and settles herself in her large chair. Weepe does not sit. He once again paces the room, once again idly, pointlessly inspecting the bank machine. “Please, take your time! Do you want me to put the sign over there to CLOSED so you’re not interrupted?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, yes, I think you’d better. Hmmm!”

Narrator 1: Weepe does so. Goes to the door, flipping the sign… glances out of the glass pane in the door into the post office.

Narrator 2: (Imelda, reading paperwork) “Oh, my! Well, well…”

Narrator 1: More people are filing into line, but no one is yet coming to the mission.

Narrator 2: (Imelda, still reading) “My goodness…”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Yes, I think you will find the names of all of the breached individuals therein.”

Narrator 2: Imelda is a very efficient reader of paperwork and in no time at all has gotten the gist of it. “Mr. Weepe.” (Her cheeks are slightly flushed as she says this.)  “Pointing the Trust to such a cornucopia of illicit Breach activity is a VERY Valorous action!”

Narrator 1; (Weepe) “Oh, thanks for saying so, I…”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Per the particulars laid out in the Handbook, doing such an upstanding AND goodly thing DESPITE potential detriment to your own business is EXTRA Valorous, so the deed’s value is multiplied by a factor of approximately… hmm, let me see here… OOH!” She gives him a meaningful look. “Well! It’s multiplied, anyway!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “My goodness, I don’t know, uh… that’s more… wow.”

Narrator 2: Interrupting him, Imelda goes on to cite several other things that continue to compound the total relative value of his deed:“Let me see here. Tsk-tsk-tsk. New account-holder bonus…” Punch on the adding machine.

[Adding machine clacks as Imelda does math. Other clacks follow as she adds up subsequent compounding factors.]

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Member of the local chamber of commerce… the Breach Anti-confidentiality Act… and this is something I came up with:The Good Student Discount.” She winks at him. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how attentively you’ve been quoting from the handbook!”

Narrator 1: Weepe is acting very surprised. His eyebrows are WAY, WAY up. He is making a good show of being stunned by this accidental compounded good fortune. He has, of course, read the Handbook very thoroughly… and he has planned all of these bonuses. He has, in point of fact, gamed the shit out of the system.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well! Let me just get a total on this…”

[Adding and tabulating noises.]

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “My!”

Narrator 1: Weepe watches her fingers fly over the adding machine.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “This is worth among the most Valor I have ever seen accrued in a new account’s opening transaction!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “You don’t say!”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Mmm! I can see you are a man to watch, Weepe.”

Narrator 1: Well, he… huh. REALLY? This the “MOST Valor” she has ever…? How… does she… who does she ring up? Isn’t she a Notary? Doesn’t she ring up all kinds of…? This doesn’t seem like THAT much. This isn’t anything compared to the massive overall scale depicted in the Handbook, but…

Narrator 2: Unless turning in the Black Candle was worth way more than he thought.

Narrator 1: Well, he hasn’t technically seen the final number yet, he realizes.

Narrator 2: She waggles her eyebrows at him a moment, then bursts out of her chair and bustles over to the bank machine at the back of the Mission. “Time to generate your abacus! Shiny and new!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, of course! I gotta have THAT, right? Mustn’t… mustn’t… mustn’t leave without THIS shit!”

Narrator 2: She punches a few buttons. Pulls a few levers. “Of course, I’ll just need to dispatch someone from the Consector’s company over to the Black Candle to, um… conduct an official investigation soon.”

Narrator 1: Huh. That’s not great. Um. Weepe… puts up a hand. He turns, coming over towards Imelda. [as Weepe] “That’s fine, of course, Imelda. I understand you wanna verify all this. But I just wanna… you—you know what I said, um.”

[Knocking at the Mission door.]

Narrator 1: Oh, shit, there’s someone at the door. They are knocking. [Weepe:] “Well, let’s do this quick:um, the… I do this because I feel like it’s the right thing to do. But my—my—my COLLEAGUES? They’re crooks. And if they knew that I turned them in to you in this way, obviously I wouldn’t be making many friends. So if you’re gonna send an investigation, do you mind maybe just… maybe just wait… just give a little time til I’m not there?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, of course! I understand completely. I know that this is an uncomfortable situation for you. And believe me:that has been factored into the total value of the deed.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Thanks. I really appreciate your being accommodating of my particular needs and all the—”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, it’s not me, really. We have algorithms for this sort of thing. Personal awkwardness, relationships, that sort of thing. You’re doing the right thing in spite of overwhelming odds. We appreciate it.”

Narrator 3: As if to punctuate this, Imelda pulls one final large and golden lever on the bank machine and immediately beads begin to siphon down and thread onto a large and elaborate tapestry of an abacus that begins to print out of the port.

[The bank machine mechanisms whir and clatter.]

Narrator 2: Iridescent little white dots whizzing through tubes, one after the other, too fast for the eye to follow individually.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Wow! This is quite a display! Um… Yeah!”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Isn’t it? This is one of my favorite parts! I always get so excited!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Yeah, this is really quite fun. I’m having a fabulous time.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Ooh, look at them GO!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Hm! Uh… y’know, so, anyway, I’ll just give you my availability. Maybe we can schedule a time for your little investigation, okay?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Mm-hmm, yes, yes, yes. Now just as a reminder, this abacus isn’t your ACTUAL account; it’s just a REPRESENTATION of your balance, which is kept safe by the central Vault.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Right, of course, I know this…”

Narrator 2; (Imelda) “And it’s also a way to show your pride as being a part of the Trust and, of course, don’t forget the FASHION opportunities!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, I daresay that… that’s…”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “My goodness, the fashion! I completely forgot! Here, let me give you the latest Spring Valorwear lookbook from Valor Man!”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “This is exactly the kind of thing I’ve been waiting for, Imelda. I can’t tell ya how much I’m excited.”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, yes, yes! Here, let me just show you this page. I really think you could pull off the COWL look in particular.”

[Bank machine continues to whiz and clatter in the background, assembling Weepe’s abacus.]

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, yes, my lanky frame will be well-suited, to… OH! Look at this display!”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well, not only that, but the length of the abacus! You know, it takes a rather long one to pull off the cowl look. Not just anyone can do it.”

[The bank machine clanks to a stop.]

Narrator 2: The machine abruptly judders to a halt and Imelda whips her head over.

Narrator 1: Mr. Weepe looks up from the magazine. He has been eyeing a number of men’s fashion items.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, what on earth? Oh! Would you believe it? We’ve… we’ve run out of Valor beads! Let me just… let me just go and refill the machine! Yes, usually the payouts are much smaller.”

Narrator 1: Wait, Weepe is… is trying to figure out what she just said. The machine? The ENTIRE machine? Oh, god.

Narrator 2: She goes over to a shelving unit stuffed full of burlap shipping bags on the wall. Pulls one out. It seems to have the weight and handling of a sack of rice. She pops an official-looking factory seal off of the lip of the bag and pours it into an open receptacle on the banking machine.

[A glassy hiss as beads begin to pour from the bag into the bank machine.]

Narrator 1: A hopper begins to refill.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “There we go!”

Narrator 1: Weepe is horrified. Whatever he thought he was going to get, this is… way more…

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “My, that is a FINE abacus! And, of course, I’ve given you the Narrator 100-increment beads. It would be just RIDICULOUSLY long if we went with single units!”

[The machine kicks back into action, processing anew.]

Narrator 1: She cranks the lever again. The machine grinds away, spitting out yet MORE:the remainder of Mr. Weepe’s abacus. It—shimmering—spits out in its entirety into the tray where it is, well… it’s not even IN the tray anymore. It’s spilling out onto the floor.

Narrator 2: It cinches off the final end into a loop and severs the cord.

[The machine dings and goes quiet.]

Narrator 1: There is a heap. A colossal necklace.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “My, that is satisfying!”

Narrator 1: He’s gonna have to WEAR that fucking thing?

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well, it sounds like I have a line at the door, but I’d be happy to just tie this up in a very simple classic fashion for you, real quick, before you go out.”

Narrator 1: She’s picking it up off the ground and it’s like a sleeping bag:it’s this HUGE, loose, draping… and she dumps it into his arms. He—

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “New Trustees often favor the classic layered necklace look or the turban.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Well—”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “I go with the sash, as you can see.”

Narrator 1: God, this is terrible! Uh…

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Maybe a belt?”

Narrator 1: Weepe… puts a big smile on. [Weepe] “Oh, Imelda, I can’t tell you how excited I am by this! Um, any chance… just for… just for a minute, I’m not sure I want my colleagues at the Cabaret to see me comin’ in in this gigantic shawl, y’know?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Oh, oh, yes, that’s right! That’s right! Of course. Well, here, I just… I just took a bunch of Valor out of this bag. Why don’t we just put a bunch of Valor BACK into this bag?”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Sure! Put it in there for now. Hold… yeah…”

Narrator 2: She hands him the newly-emptied burlap sack.

Narrator 1: Weepe shovels the absurd abacus into the bag, cinching it up. Imelda is going to the door. [Weepe]:“Alright, Imelda, thanks so much! Um… this has really been quite a time.”

Narrator 2 (Imelda) :“Oh, thank YOU! Yes, I agree.” Imelda crosses the Mission on the way to reopen the door. “Oh, your timing is just… SO excellent, Mr. Weepe.”

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Well…”

Narrator 3: She’s putting on her coat and cranking the teletheric up.

Narrator 2: (Imelda) “Hmmm… Let’s just say… you beat the rush.”

Narrator 1: Weepe cocks his head and… grins? “Oh! Uh… good!” he says. He has no idea what that’s supposed to mean. And then the door is opening. Weepe is standing, sorta trying to keep the large bag on the floor hidden. He scoots it with his heel toward the exit a little bit. Some people are coming in and talking to Imelda. [Weepe] “Well, um, thanks for the tour, Imelda! I will see you later, okay?” Various townsfolk are coming in, already bringing questions with them for Imelda.

Narrator 2: She’s barely able to attend to him anymore.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Oooo-kay! That’s great! I’ll just, um… hey, good morning to you guys there! Okay, bye!” And he is skirting around the room, making very fixed eye contact with people, nodding, saying good mornings… so that they look at his FACE at not at his cargo.

Narrator 2: The burlap sack that he’s dragging along at floor level with one of his very long arms.

Narrator 1: (Weepe) “Good to see ya! Come on by tonight. We gotta good show for ya.” And then he’s out the door, desperately juggling the still-slightly-leaky shipping package under one arm as well. And then he’s out down the street, lugging this thing with him, already counting the days until he can flip this abacus back… into even MORE money.