GOING OUT IN A GLAZE

The construction worker scratched her head.

“So, let me confirm this, Ms. Clearbeard… You want me to build a canister up here”—she tapped higher up on the wall—“that will spout a different donut every minute for eternity?”

Clearbeard nodded. “Aye.”

In these hours of weight self-consciousness, no one will ever think to use their sugary weight-enhancing abilities to break through the floor to the treasure, Clearbeard thought as she rubbed her hands together with a wry smile.

The construction worker stared at Clearbeard blankly—probably because of the aforementioned hand-rubbing and wry-smiling.

“Okay, no problem, Madame,” the construction worker said brightly. “We can get that setup by tomorrow.