Great Fenrir’s Fleacollar! Thor stayed forever–two pots of tea and an entire box of shortbread–before I was finally able to manhandle him out the door. In his gluttonous postprandial, hyena-scratching haze of contentment, he left a little something behind.
I can’t lift the thing because I’m “not worthy” (whatever THAT means), so it’s really no bloody use to me, but I’ll be hanged if I’ll miss this opportunity to discommode the blond oaf. If nothing else, I can certainly cast an illusion around it so that the dolt can’t find it.
The note’s a work in progress. What should I ask for in exchange for telling him where it is? Money? No, too mundane. For him to dress up as, say, a Princess and sing “I Feel Pretty” at noon in the plaza in front of the Academic Building? Hmmm. Yes… I believe that will do nicely.