Panic

"A successfull start," commented Amora in a buisness-like tone to her board of governers.

The assembled children, all under twelve years old, all nodded and muttered to eachother.

"Silence!" Missy raised a hand commandingly. The board instantly fell quiet. The only sound was the faint scratching of expensive pen on paper, as the nominated scribe copied neatly exactly what was said in the meeting.

"We collected approximatley eight hundred million dollars worth of fine art," Amora read off a leather bound clipboard infront of her. Her eyebrows mashed together, and she scowled sweetly at her board.

"This isn't good enough. Too much of the art was damaged being removed from the gallery. Burnt, torn, stains.." Again she read words off her clipboard, waving her hands as she spoke.

Amora slammed the clipboard onto the solid oak table with a bang. "Not. Good. Enough." Her eyes swivled round the table, and her gaze latched onto an unfortunate boy of about ten with shocking ginger hair.

"You. Explain."

As the ginger boy stammered his way through an analysis of the raid, the tall blonde woman who had accompinied the man in a suit to the gallery slipped in through a secret door.

The leant over Amora and whispered in her ear.

A slow smile spread across her face. "Shush," she ordered the ginger boy. "We have an important visitor, ladies and gentelmen." She alwats addressed her board this way. "If you would please excuse me for a moment."

The End

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