"I do," Kevan said shortly, thinking that it had been a mistake to mention it. "As did my mother, and her mother before her. But it's never interfered with a job I've held."
"Of course not." The worried expression was fading from his face. "You're hired. My name is Brian Shanachie."
"But—but I don't understand," Kevan said. He was feeling confused and he wasn't sure whether it was the hangover or the company. "Don't you want to know my qualifications?"
"You've already told me," said Brian Shanachie. "Your name's MacGreene and you hear voices. What more could I ask—even though it's true I'm in a bit of a pinch? Here I was, with every one of my men out on a job and me with an emergency on my hands, when, Finbheara be praised, in you walked. You'll be quite ready to go to work at once?"
Kevan MacGreene was more confused than ever, but a generous streak of stubbornness came to his aid. "You may be satisfied," he said, dropping into the chair in front of the desk, "but I want to know something about the job before I take it. What does Troubleshooters, Inc., do?"
"You don't know?" the little man asked in surprise.
Kevan shook his head, an act which painfully reminded him of his headache.
"Oh, well," sighed Brian Shanachie, "but it'll have to be brief. There is an emergency. Tell me, Kevan MacGreene, you know of the Little People?"
It was Kevan's turn to be surprised. "Gnomes?" he asked.