"If you persuaded me to take this hypothetical job, wizard apprentice, I'd believe you."

"There's some set of guarantees and bribes that would work for you.  Why not just tell me what that is?"

"What, like, a compact personally signed by the Queen of Cheliax saying that at worst I get fired rather than tortured, a thousand gold pieces a week salary, and a Barony in Nidal if I meet clearly defined and reasonable project targets?"

"Would that do it?"

"If it was literally that, yes."

"Well, I don't personally have the authorization to offer you that, because 'the system doesn't have an option for unlimited authorizations, or rather, the system does have that option and it's called "being the Queen of Cheliax"' and I am far too loyal to even think about that."

"So you're going to have to wait a few rounds until the person on the other end of this scry gets your request to the Queen for approval."

Mora snickers, and throws back the rest of her awful piss.  "It's been fun, kid, but I've had my beer and don't really want another, unless you know where I can get a better one without paying too much.  What's your name?"

"Pilar Pineda."

"The Dreaded Sorceress of Cake or Death, out of the Ascendant Three.  She Who Is Already Standing Behind You.  That Pilar Pineda?"

"Yes, although in this case it's She Who Was Already Sitting In The Tavern."

"And I've been informed that Her Infernal Majestrix, Queen Abrogail II of the House of Thrune, has approved your requested job conditions and rewards."

"Aren't I supposed to get cake, at some point in this process?"

Pilar Pineda reaches under the bar and takes out an entire chocolate cake to hand to her new superior.

"Welcome to Project Lawful, sir."

Roc de Castell.  Sixth legitimate son of a noble line of Taldor, first and last child of a mother who died in childbirth, ignored and shuffled away after he failed at wizardry despite apparent great promise, given enough of a stipend that he can afford to stay at a minor university forever if he supports himself and his position there by occasional lectures.

"Pardon me, sir, but might I ask you a mathematical question?"

Roc de Castell looks up from the library desk where he's revising his next set of lectures, frowning.  That was a woman's voice, or the voice of an exceptionally unfortunate young man.  Probably a woman, if she wants to hood herself like that to avoid trouble from people questioning what she's doing in a university.

It's not his place to enforce such matters, and she did say she had a math question, perhaps an interesting one.  "Ask."

"Suppose a repetitive random event which yields either RIGHT or LEFT, of unknown fixed frequency of LEFTs and RIGHTs where any RIGHT frequency between 0 and 1 seems equally plausible in advance of observation.  After observing two RIGHTS and one LEFT, what is the chance of seeing LEFT next time?"

He sniffs and looks back down at his work.  Not interesting, then.  "Two-fifths."

"That's a fast answer.  Did you see the combinatoric proof that quickly?"

"It's a known problem, young... person.  The proof I know of was done eighty years ago, though who's to say how long the dragons have known it."

"The proof I know is by calculus, though.  What's the combinatoric proof?"

"Imagine a ball that rolls to a halt anywhere between two bumpers, to set the frequency.  Rolling more balls, two stop on the right, and one on the left -"

"I see.  Clever.  I do thank you, then, that will be useful in lectures."

"Have you ever dreamed that your knowledge of mathematics would someday prove enormously valuable to somebody, and they'd suddenly appear at your university one day and offer you a ludicrous dream job?"

"Probably everyone who excels at mathematics, who is nonetheless not able at academic politics and so is condemned never to rise beyond the place of assistant lecturer, does dream of such a thing.  Why?"

"That day has now come for you.  I offer you wealth, respect, and power, in the service of a new employer."

"Really.  Is there a catch?"