Full Boar

Chapter 13: Profiles of the Enemy

There were very few things that could get Mason to start drinking at 11 AM. Paperwork was almost one of them.

In all honesty, if Mason had had to fill out and file the stuff in a soulless office, he would have started drinking two hours ago. A linoleum cage, with a sad, wilted excuse of a potted plant to serve as a cruel and mocking reminder that the outdoors exist was something that chafed at Mason, like a collar on an unruly dog.

Instead, he printed out the forms at home, and home, for Mason, had a much nicer view than linoleum.

He lived out in the forest, surrounded by trees and greenery, and had even renovated the wall of his living room to be a floor-to-ceiling window out into the thick woods behind his house. It was a good beginning to a day, Mason had to admit, even when the day consisted of clerical work.

His coffee table lay awash in Tribunal documents; folders spilled out their contents of various ne'er-do-wells and criminal sorts' biographies and profiles, stacks of printout websites indicated trends in online Wary communities, and internal Tribunal memos (all watermarked with the elaborate coat of arms of the Tribunal) reported on the latest criminal apprehensions, monster cullings, and hazardous magic incidents.

"So," Vince said, his voice muffled from the mouthful of cereal, "what's news?" He carried the bowl with him as he sauntered into the room.

"Vampires are down," Mason said, "mummies are up."

"Mummies?" Vince asked. "I've not run into a mummy any time recently."

"Incidents with mummies is up by 300 percent." Mason gestured at the appropriate Tribunal memo. "Granted, average mummy encounter is... one a year?"

"So three or four?" Vince shrugged. "Same incident Just multiple offenders?"

"Yeah. They're locked up now, from what I understand," Mason said. "Turns out a Melissine with a specialty in psychomancy and some resin and plaster dummies works just as well to placate the archaeologists. That and spiking some of their food."

"Some of their food? Spiking it?" Vince asked.

"Implanting false memories usually leaves some psychic... turbulence," Mason said. "Bad dreams, other stuff like that. So, the Tribunal found it useful to convince them that bad dreams and general awfulness came from food poisoning."

"Oof. Sucks to be them." Vince set down his bowl of cereal on a side table and began to sort through the documents. "You gotta read through all of this?"

"Eh," Mason said, "more like skim it." He gestured towards one report. "For example, there's been a resurgence of pishtaco in—"

"Fish tacos?"

"No, Vince, pishtaco. They're kind of like vampires. Peruvian fat-suckers."

"Oh, that's nasty," Vince said.

"Yeah it is," Mason said, "but it's nice that they're content to stay in Peru and neighboring countries of South America. Since we don't get them up here in Philly, it's useful to know what they look like, but not crucial to be fully informed of the intricacies of their plots."

"But what if they were trying to move up?" Vince said. "America's got an obesity epidemic. What if a pack of them arrived here?"

"I said you don't need to know their intricacies. Something like that is major. Hence, skimming," Mason said.

Vince was about to answer before his phone buzzed. His eyes went wide. "That's the phone we got from the werewolf." He paused. "Well, the werewolf's apartment. That place was disgusting."