"I'm WHAT?!"
Weaver shrugged. "You're temporarily evicted. As per your rental contract, section eighteen, paragraph--"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up here." Mandrake threw up his hands. "I need a home, and I've done everything you've asked--"
"This isn't about being upset or disappointed, Drakey. This is part of your contract." The robe gestured toward the factory. "I'm running a business here--a business you can't fully understand--and I need to have some people on the outside, check the market, make deals. Besides, it's not like I'm sending you out ALONE."
Mandrake snorted. "What, the Magistry counts as company?"
"He can talk," Weaver replied. "And even in the areas where he can't, he can. Thought-speech."
"Even in the--What does that even mean?!"
The robe sighed. "Look, take Athanaric and go, alright? Once you've obtained something interesting, I'll let you back in."
"But--"
The door shut in Mandrake's face.
He glowered at it for a bit, then turned to the imperial creature beside him. "Right, lets go figure out where we're going. Maybe we better listen to the local rumors..."
Athanaric shrugged, following his temporal master. Ten minutes later, they were hopelessly lost.