“Dear Mr. Gumpsion,” read the note. “A kilo of your best Fine Fossimax. Please deliver without delay.” Signed Amy Marble. 46 Grimace Street.
Mr. Gumpsion looked again at the note. It had been a long time since he had heard from Miss Marble. For her to be ordering fossimax meant there was a problem of some dire urgency to be dealt with.
As it was he knew that orders from her did need to be treated as high priority. He had once been somewhat tardy in delivering her order which was not greeted with the usual smile and kindness but with a wrath he never knew Miss Marble to possess.
Fine Fossimax took time and labour to manufacture. It wasn’t easy. The raw materials were getting more and more scarce. Mr. Gumpsion’s workers were having to go further and further a field where the quality wasn’t as good as that found in the local fossimax quarries.
He scratched his head and headed to his stock room to check on the available supplies. Fine Fossimax was super grade A stuff. He knew Miss Marble would know if he tried to send her a less than grade A fossimax.
He found he had enough to supply her with the kilo she required but it would be an all-night job to refine the fossimax into Fine Fossimax as Miss Marble demanded.
He flicked the switch and the giant refining machine sprang into action. He fed in the raw materials checking each amount for any signs of imperfection. The machine would grind, then refine, grind again and finally deliver the desired fossimax. It was a slow and time consuming process.
As the early morning light appeared in the eastern sky Mr. Gumpsion took the kilo of Fine Fossimax and held it to the light. It was pure beyond doubt.
Now he faced the prospect of delivery. Only he could deliver to Miss Marble as she had told him in no uncertain way in the past that only Fine Fossimax could be delivered from his hands as she trusted no other person. Miss Marble lived across the other side of town and Mr. Gumpsion set off on foot carrying his precious cargo.
As he walked through the early morning he wondered as he always did what it was that Miss Marble did with his Fine Fossimax. He knew that mixed with various other elements it was capable of producing great magic. Like curing the warts on the legs of elves inflicted with Swamp Wart malaise. Another time he’d heard she’d used it to help her neighbor grow bigger and better vegetables in her garden but he’d also heard they did get out of control and her zucchinis although the talk of the street, did end up in more compost bins than on dinner plates.
Fossimax was powerful stuff Mr. Gumpsion knew but Miss Marble was one witch who seemed to have control of its considerable power.
At last he reached Grimace Street and there at No 46 was Miss Marble standing on the veranda staring in his direction. As Mr. Gumpsion approached she took her wallet from her back pocket and had his money ready as he climbed the steps. She thanked him for the promptness of his delivery, held the bag of Fine Fossimax to the light and remarked it looked an excellent batch. Thanking him again she disappeared into her house.
Mr. Gumpsion was left standing on the veranda with a fist full of money and whole lot of questions he knew he’d never get to ask.