Accounting

Wolff, once a knight, looked into the tray. It was an odd tray, full of many seeds. The seeds were green and gold, silver and brass, nut and mahogany, shining in the bright sun. He squinted at the Accountant.

Milord Accountant, what is it you do with these? Surely you are not regressing to being a bean counter? He who has beans, has been!

The Accountant grimaced at this impromptu witticism and unfurled his wings. Just a tiny bit, enough to remind Wolff of what he really was.

These are the new seeds, young knight. Primus, the old dead wood must be cleared; secundus, you are still a knight. Each new seed sprouts to balance the old wood that dies. Primus, the Highest has made it so; secundus, by His grace, none know what each seed will bring; tertius, we take it on faith that the Books will balance. At the last trump. Note: trump can be a horn, trump can be a card, both are instruments, and can be final.

Wolff grimaced in return. He had heard the Accountant was prone to speaking in footnotes. He wondered whose tray it was. And then he saw the sign of the wyvern.

Yes, so it is. And what a mess it is, to account for all of it.

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Note: The fictional adventures of Sir Wolff do provide much that is of interest. You can find them linked here. Just ignore the one about earwax. That was an accident.