The Senior Administrator entered what had been delicately named as the ‘Artisan District’ of the newly founded village. Thankful at least his current quandary did not require him to go anywhere near the tannery.

“You,” The senior Administrator paused to mentally search for the most appropriate noun to describe the entity he was talking to, erring on the side of caution he settled upon ‘child’, “child, tell me the way to the house of the woodworker.”

A few minutes later, The Senior Administrator was stood outside the dwelling he had been directed to. Tentatively, he knocked upon the door and awaited a response.

“My lord!” The woodworker declared upon opening the door, instantly recognising The Senior Administrator despite his best attempt to travel in the poorer parts of the village incognito. While he had forgone the deep scarlet velvet robes and brocade cornette, his long pointed silk carpet slippers with the small brass bells, The Senior Administrator still had his three Temporary Administrators in tow, each furiously scribbling down every word, recording every action.

“Please, do not.” The Senior Administrator urged the woodworker to stay back as the sawdust covered worker eagerly stepped forward to received a much hoped for blessing. “Seriously, do not.”

Once the woodworker calmed down, though continuing to grin, The Senior Administrator broached the reason for his visit.

“Each month, woodworker, I send you one log…”

“The finest Cocobolo, my lord, cut from the jungle forests less than fifty leagues to the north of our new village…”

“Yes…” The Senior Administrator was not used to being interrupted, however he had never spoken to this particular woodworker before.

“… a very hard, fine textured and dense timber, but is easily worked, although due to the abundance of natural oils, the wood tends to clog abrasives and fine-toothed saw blades…”

“Yes, yes!” The Senior Administrator snapped, temporarily stunning the woodworker into silence. “And from this single log you make?”

“A rake, my lord,” the woodworker grinned.

“A rake?”

“Yes, my lord, the very hard, fine textured and dense timber stands up well to repeated handling and exposure to water, making it ideal for knife handles and rakes.”

“But just one rake?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Which weighs?”

“Just half a pound, my lord.”

“From a log that weighs one hundred pounds?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Sensing a mild migraine approaching, The Senior Administrator decided to quit while he was ahead so turned to leave; however, before he had gone three paces, the woodworker spoke again.

“Though the horde of hamsters kept by the Most Glorious Mistress Baas, our Queen, are well provided with ample bedding…”