"Hey, hey, hey, time-out!" Dexter protested, making a T with his hands. "I am not an Elder. I've only been home for four days, and the first time I met her she was already being forced to go to school. My only job is making sure the blind man here doesn't walk into walls. I absolutely can't be held responsible for any world-saving Val's done."

John had chosen to walk up during Desmond's monologue, dragging his mop and empty wheeled bucket, and clutching Erskine's paperwork. He froze at having been singled out, and raised a hand. "I have no idea what's going on," he said quietly. "Can I not be held responsible either? I'm a janitor. Janitors aren't responsible for anything but making sure things are clean. But if you want the Grand Mage, I think he's still in his office."

"You'd throw the Grand Mage to the wolves?" Solomon asked, and John shrugged self-consciously.

"It's his job to get thrown to the wolves."

"Stay away from the eels when you tell him that," Solomon murmured.

"I didn't intend to tell him that," John answered delicately, "seeing as it's not my place and all. I'm just a janitor." He held out Erskine's paperwork. "I, uh, got your paperwork, Erskine. That pile clipped together on top is the one with its magic broken." He'd tested it with a quick attempted soaking of one corner. Sanctuary-stamped paper was supposed to be weather-proof, but the page had gone wet instantly.

Melissa was paying attention, but only partly. Everyone needed janitors. Even magic, apparently, couldn't come up with spells to keep things clean indefinitely. She was more interested in something Dexter had said. "Someone was making Steph go to school?" she asked, and her relief was audible. There was someone around who was intelligent about a teenager's life. "Who? Can I hire them as a chaperone?"

"Only if you're interested in making him a janitor."

Melissa ignored Elder Solomon's smart remark in favour of looking at Dexter. He looked as if he'd much rather not be under her scrutiny. "I have no idea," he said. "He's not exactly a member of the Sanctuary."

"That doesn't surprise me, actually."

"Or even a member of Ireland."

"Where is he a member?"

"I think he was originally Welsh. Was he originally Welsh, Gabe?"

Gabe was laughing quietly to himself, but he nodded. Melissa turned to him. "You know him? Would he chaperone? Apparently I need someone keeping an eye on my daughter's teachers."

"He might," Gabe admitted, "but he won't be here for very long, either. Relatively speaking. He's got an odder sense of time even than most sorcerers."

There was a joke here that Melissa really wasn't getting. She could tell. Gabe was practically laughing his head off and Solomon was smirking, and the janitor's eyes had just widened with realisation. "Wait," he blurted out. "You don't mean--I thought he was just--wasn't that just someone really, really up themselves? I mean, uh, no offence ..."

"I can imagine there's someone somewhere who chose the name for grandeur," Gabe said thoughtfully. "But no, in this instance, he's the original."

"But they were referring to him as you and your brother's nephew. And he's old."

"He is," Gabe admitted, "but my brother and I have only lived time in a linear fashion, too. He hasn't."

"Oh." The poor man's eyes were very wide, and he was clutching his mop like it was a lifeline. "Can I go back to being just a janitor please?"

Melissa's stomach turned over. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not."

She nodded firmly. "Okay. Then I don't know. And as amazing as this man's credentials seem, I obviously can't hire him if I don't know who he is. Guess I'll just have to find someone else."