Argort was a great name for a great man who was destined for nothing. Named so in a prophetic vision that determined his course, and from thence hence whence he was a mucker at a muckraker stable in the little town of All Town. This was his job. It was not so bad but he was bad at it.

“Argort!” cried the stableman, his boss, who caught Argort sleeping in the hay one day. “Get off your ass and on your feet!”

Argort shot forthwards like a projectile fired through a whimbler and started working. MUCKING. It was Muckday and he was on duty. The sun was high and so were the spirits of those who were not him. Argort had three hours left till quittin’ on the brittin’. The expression was a common one, but not here, not in All Town and certainly not anywhere else.

“Sorry boss,” he said, being not sorry and wiping his overalls and smearing the dirt around the fabric, burying it deeper into the fabric, making the fabric a brown unwearable thing. He would have to exchange this for a new overall system at the nearest shop down the road. He liked that shop but did they like him? This question has been asked before today.

“Hmmph,” grunted the boss. “Just finish the work!” He walked off. He shouted some more but mostly he just walked off. He had three other stables to man today and nine other muckrakers to straighten out and twelve more to hire for the four extra stables he bought on the other side of All Town. He was a BUSY MAN. He didn’t need any extra cruft and that was clear from the gettin’.

Argort shuffled over to the rakes. Which rake to use to muck the rakin’? He needed to rake three more mucks today before the High Courtman came down from Castle Land for the inspection: an insane time for all residents of All Town. Tensions were flaring, including the boss of the stables. So you can see why he was in a bit of a sour mood. Argort needed to finish his work.

Heave! Ho! Heave it on the hoe! No hoes in the stable so Argort had to make do, as he always did, having never used a hoe anyway. Rakes for him.

And so he raked the muckrakin’ like the pro he had established himself to be. The sun? Still burning down as it was wont to do. Just fine. He liked the sun. It was bright and it cut through the dark corners of the stable, exposed the minions and demons. Argort CAUGHT flailing Berkerkernin and rang it out, shooed it away and pushed the remainders into the trial position. This was how it was done.

“ARGORT!!” hollered a voice on the other side of this scene. Loud and grating, gargling perhaps (perhaps?), not unlike the scraping sound that a rake makes against another rake. Boss? Nope. No boss could emit a voice like that. This was no boss. Argort knew the sound well. He liked it. He APPRECIATED IT.

“AYE!!” shrieked Argort before he could help himself. It was the standard response after all.

“Just sayin’,” muttered the voice which belonged to his old friend Hargort, a fellow mucker but recently promoted to INN-tendent. Not quite the level of innkeep you understand but a tender of the inn was necessary in these parts, in the old backcountry where ways were different and folks had their ways. Be warned young traveler for the ways here may mismatch your ways from your homeland, for this is the way of traveling and these are the folkways of these folk for this is what you signed up for young traveler for these are the ways we way when we wen

“’Tis fine,” said Argort. Hargort nodded to Argort and they exchanged a brief nod of the head together. It was their secret code. It meant Meet me ‘round back by the Gragtentorgen Tree at just past three whistles. Bring the ol’ stockin’ stick and get ready for a clangin’. There’ll be nigh abouts two hunner of them suckers and we ain’t got nobody but who can’t be waitin’ for such!

It was their FAVORITE secret code, this nodding of the heads. They had worked it out months past, during the great Rain System that had blown through the region at the time. Nobody liked the rain so it made it an ideal time to get things movin’. Cool.

Hargort whistled as he walked by, taking care to step through a scene that contained no specific descriptions of any sort. Nothing was here. Just a stable, lads, nothing too fancy. Over there, the stable door, and just opposite of that? The hay pile Argort slept in. Do you see it? Look at it. In betwixt these fathomless distances lay the floor, a rugged brown terrain that needed muckin’!

“Gotta keep!!!” yelled Argort. He put his back into it and let the good times rake. Rakin’ on around this situation and he would be paid for it, mighty good coin, useful for purchashin’ a mighty good mug of Red Breetings. The lasses favored these and if he could hold ‘em down, well, that’s Argort for ya. All the lasses liked a lad who could land a laddie lad land of lakes of the land of the lad lad ladder landing on the lannanenebe

“Ok stable’s cleaned up,” said Hargort, surveying the area and deciding on a spontaneous value judgment. “Ain’t no place o’ mine to judge but the mind’s makin’ up its mind on all occasions and I DON’T see why this ain’t no such difference.”

“Word came in, word from the outsides.” Argort spitting facts.

“Aye,” said Hargort, agreeing with the facts.

“High Courtman’s on his way and he’ll be makin’ judgments of his own in right no nally a time.”

“All Town’s all a-frenzy and we can’t keep up with it,” said Hargort. “Let’s say you and I grab a case of it and just blow on out of it.” The glinter in his eye was one worth ignoring.

Argogorot shoved the last of the old squirrelies off into the corners and chucked his rake on the ground. “I’m fine with that. I am actually. I don’t really mind.” The boss was done for the day and so was he. He was taking a personal one.

“Okay,” huffed Harguem. “Let’s get the town going on it.”

“Town’s not in on it!!” screamed ARgorg!!! He was beefy red. Beefy beet reds. “High Courtman can go all off for all that I care!” He stomped on the ground. No need. NO NEED GOOD SIR.

“HEY.” Another voice pierced through the shattered world. The boss. The boss?? The boss was blumbin’ through the stable, red eyes making a vision of all of it. Red eyes smoking like a red rock on lava. The boss!!!

“Yes sir,” Argoram said, eyes down and looking at nothing. He was just pretending of course but it mustn’t do to not show what wasn’t not being shown when it wasn’t not the undoing of what was not undone. This was how the stable muckrakers had it. “Yes, it will happen.”

Hargogoer had disappeared. It was not like the young sandy-haired man to do such a thing but he had emerged fully formed just today so he had not had much time to establish lifestyle patterns. Do you see? Do you understand? This is how it is for these people. They wake up and they muck their muckers and rake their rakin’ and that’s just how it is. We can sit back and look at them and go “well now the way I see it yes of course I do think the system was designed this way from the top down to be a rather sordid manipulation of the market but we can’t discount the index percentage of the mutual market that was shorted on the bond fund. Let’s talk logistics. You need to go in there tomorrow and say ‘I’ll not be that when you want me to be it’ and let me tell you, they appreciate good solid honest feedback like that.”