"We've got trouble, Bob," he spat as soon as he saw me.

"I'm not Bob," I told him.

"That's the trouble! Our best employee, Bob Newbold, has been killed in a tragic car accident."

"Killed? That's terrible!"

Stigers shrugged. "Well, not killed as such. Just knocked down. But he'll wish he'd been killed when I get my hands on him. I mean, fancy getting run over on a day like this."

"What's so special about today?"

"We've got the businessmen from Japan coming over to look over the files for the new Rolls Royce we're designing. Bob was in charge of the files and with him getting himself run over this morning, the files aren't finished." Stigers grins nastily and points at me. "Which is where you come in."

I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "M-me?"

"You," confirms Stigers. "I'm going to put you on the RR project and you're going to get those files in mint condition before the Jap chaps get here or you'll be out of a job."

"But I've never worked on the RR project in my life," I say. "I'm the factory teaboy."

"Indeed," says Stigers. "And as a result you're the most expendable member of the team. When the boys from London hear about this cockup, they're going to be coming down on whoever's in charge of the RR project like a tonne of bricks. Which will be you." Stigers punches the filing cabinet a few more times then heads for the door, stopping only to say, "I'll be sending my secretary, Debi, in with the first batch of files soon. I suggest you get yourself ready."

I wait for him to leave the office then spend a while cursing myself.

My office is the usual ramshackle mess that I've come to know and love (or hate actually, I'm just too darn lazy to tidy it). A broad oak desk where I do all my work sits beneath the window, a comfortable armchair behind it. Over in one corner is a filing cabinet, home to the many hordes of files I deal with on a daily basis. Through the open door to the north I can see the workers scurrying back and forth on the factory floor. The coatstand is by the door.

> x lower drawer
I rummage through the lower drawer and - lo and behold! - find my calculator.

> x lower drawer
A further rummage and I come across the key to the upper drawer.

> open upper drawer
Using the key, I do just that. After all the hassle I went through getting the drawer open (well, looking in the bottom drawer and then typing "open upper drawer" but it seemed like a lot of hassle at the time) there isn't really a lot in the upper drawer. Just my pencil and some crisps. I take both for no other reason than they're there.

Through the doorway walks Debi, the stunning secretary of Stigers.

"Where do you want me?" she asks.

"Er... what?" I gasp, wondering if all of my dreams have come true.

She sighs. "The files, teaboy. The files. If you'd stop trying to catch a glimpse of certain other parts of my anatomy which you're not going to catch a glimpse of if you live to be a hundred you'd see I was carrying a great load of very heavy files."

I pull my eyes off the certain other parts of her anatomy and notice the files. "Ah," I say. "Put them on my desk."

She dumps them there with enough weight to make the room shake. "Best of luck," Debi adds.

"Do you really mean that?"

She shrugs. "Nah. But rather you than me."

She turns and walks away and such is the size of the files on my desk that I don't get to see the parts of her anatomy that I'm always trying to look at.

> x cabinet
The filing cabinet contains all the files I work with on a daily basis. Being a teaboy, this isn't a whole lot of files but when you've got to make tea for 118 different people three times a day, it pays to keep notes.

A telephone is on top of the filing cabinet.

> kick cabinet
Realising that brute force is needed here, I summon up all the strength I've amassed over years of carrying heavy cups of tea around the factory and unleash it all in one direct assault on the filing cabinet.

RAAAAARRRGGG-HHHHHHHHHH-HHHHHH!!! The filing cabinet gives away before my strength and a pile of files and some tablets fall out onto the floor. Suddenly realising that I might well have damaged company property (punishable by no sugar in your tea for the next two months), I hastily gather the files up, shove them back in the cabinet and shove the tablets in my pocket before anyone notices what I've done.

> x files
The files are in an ungodly mess. How Bob Newbold worked on them I don't know because they aren't even in the correct page order. Something tells me that during my college years I might have been better off paying more attention to what the tutor was saying in maths class instead of drawing graffiti on my desktop to amuse the cute girls in my class.

When I'm ready, I'd better start work on the files.

> start work
Pencil at the ready, I go at the files.

Hard work it is (complex theories about car engines and jet powered fuel aren't quite as simple as remembering how many spoons of sugar Stigers has in his tea) but I get there in the end. Maybe not everything is 100% correct but I'm sure the Japanese businessmen will be hard pressed to find fault with my work.

Through the doorway walks none other than Stavros, one of the workers from the factory floor.

"Hey, teaboy," he grunts. "I want a tea and I want it now."

"But I'm working on a special project for Stigers," I say. "I haven't got time to make tea now."

Stavros looks about ready to take a swing for me but glances back out of the office then sighs. "Hell with it then. I'm not having the swine come down on me for making you waste your time."

> ask stavros about anything
"Geez, this headache is a pain," he grunts. "All I did was headbutt the other guy's car. You'd think it wouldn't hurt like this."

> give tablets to stavros
Stavros takes the tablets, swallows them and sighs in relief. "Amazing," he says. "Me headache's gone!"

"Really?" I say, being quite relieved that the tablets didn't outright kill him.

"Really," he confirms. "Say, maybe you're not so bad after all, Martin. I'll be sure to mention how swell you are to the Jappo guys. Oh, and I see you've got some crisps. Ta." He swipes them out of my hand. "I'll be sure to hand these out to the lads. Not often we have any food these days. You'll be really popular after all this, Martin."

He turns and wanders off, leaving me speaking to empty air as I say, "my name's not Martin."

> move cabinet
Exercising the muscles I have had cause to use during my many trips across the factory floor with heavy cups of tea, I strain and struggle and eventually move the filing cabinet several inches across the floor. Situated behind it, I find (of all things) the socket for the telephone. Now why would someone put a filing cabinet in front of a telephone socket?

> plug in telephone
I plug the telephone cord into the socket and, sure enough, hear the wonderful dialling tone.

> sit in armchair
I decide to have a quick rest in the chair - and come to with a start to see Evans, one of the company stockholders standing in the doorway.

"Ah," he says, "you must be Tim."

"Er, my name's not-" I say.

"Good, Tim. Listen, I've been thinking about some of the suggestions the workers have come up with for improving conditions on the factory floor: no chains, whipping no more than twice an hour unless they really deserve it and a maximum working day of 22 hours. What do you think?"

1) I think that's a great idea.
2) I think that's a terrible idea.
3) I think the stockholders should take a cut in pay so we can pay the workers more than 35p an hour.

Debi enters.

I spend a few surreptitious moments trying to catch a glimpse of those areas I'm not supposed to be looking at before saying, "that was quick."

She shrugs. "Stigers is impatient to get the files to his technical people so they can give them the once over before the Japs get here. I hope for your sake you've made a good job with them. I'll be back with the next lot soon."

She struggles to pick the files up, muttering as she does so that "a gentleman would offer to help me" and then goes staggering to the door with them.

I'm so nervous with worry over whether I made a good job with them or not that my mind, for once, is on other things than her posterior as it wends its way through my door.

> 1
"Me, too," agrees Evans. "Okay, tell you what: I'll run these ideas by the rest of the stockholders and we'll see how things go from there. Nice talking to you, Tim, and I'll be sure to put a good word in with Stigers to let him know what a great ideas man you are."

Evans departs my office.

> x coatstand
The coatstand is pretty much empty of coats (on a teaboy's salary I'm still saving for my first coat) and all I find on the base is a piece of paper which I decide to take with me.

> read paper
It contains the numbers for the local hospital though why I'd have this information in the coatstand I'm not sure.

> call hospital
Acting on a hunch, I dial the hospital and ask to be put through to Bob Newbold's room.

"Harry!" he cries.

"Er, no, my name's-"

"Not to worry. I'm terrible at remembering people's names. Surgery does that to you. So, are you the poor schmuck Stigers has dumped with all my files?"

I admit that I am.

"Listen, Harry, and listen good..." Bob goes on to relate a few secrets relating to the files to me. "I always wanted my files to look such an ungodly mess that the company'd never be able to fire me because no one else would ever be able to figure out what they meant. But I know how important this Japanese deal is and I doubt I'll have a job left if you mess things up. So best of luck."

"Thanks, and get well soon, Bob."

"Likewise, Harry."

And on those puzzling last two words, the telephone goes dead.

> inventory
I am carrying a pencil, a calculator, the upper key, some crisps, my wallet and a piece of paper. A business card is inside my wallet.

> read card
In elegant print, the business card advises: "Got a problem - call the Samaritans on 0181 GOT OH ELL"

Maybe I should take them up on the offer.

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

Again Debi comes staggering through the doorway with some files. She drops them on my desk with a thud and mops her brow. "Ooh, a girl can sure work up a sweat carrying all those files," she gasps.

"I've noticed," I say.

My reply to this is a sigh and a slap across the face. Normally a slap across the face would be a bad thing but as this is the most intimate contact I've yet had with Debi I consider it a positive boon.

She doesn't wait for me to make another comment but nips out of the door instead.

> start work
Although this set of files is quite a bit harder than the first, I soon have the basics of it cracked thanks to my pencil and calculator. All said and done, it wasn't a lot harder than my usual morning tea-round.

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

Debi wanders in.

"You finished working on the files?" she asks, and scoops them up before I can answer. "Stigers has only got one more set of files and he's bringing them in himself so if you want to look at someone, look at him."

"It's not quite the same thing," I say.

Debi shrugs. "Tough."

She goes staggering out with the files.

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

> z
Time passes...

Through the door this time walk not the delectable Debi but instead my boss, Stigers. Believe me, there's just no comparison.

"Glad to see you're still alive, Steve," he says.

"My name's not Steve," I say.

Stigers waves that away. "Whatever. Only one set of files left now and these are the worst of the lot. Not even written in English."

"But I only speak English!" I protest.

"So did Bob Newbold but the awkward sod decided he'd be different with this lot of files and write the entire thing in an ancient form of Latin that hasn't been used for at least four thousand years." Stigers dumps the files on my desk (which groans under the weight). "Anyway, best of luck. Just give me a call when you're finished and I'll come fetch 'em. No rush. No pressure." He considers this then amends it to, "well, the only pressure is that you're fired if you don't get 'em done on time. Definitely no rush though." He considers again then amends it to, "actually there's a rush as well but the Jap businessmen ran into a spot of bother at the airport and so you'll have longer to figure things out than you did before. Best of luck."

Stigers leaves.

> call samaritans
"Hello," says a strange voice. "You have reached the Samaritans. What seems to be your problem?"

I relate my problems to the strange voice.

"So you need to be taught an ancient form of Latin in the space of a few minutes that hasn't been spoken in over four thousand years?"

"That's about it."

"Well, you're in luck there," says the strange voice, "because I happened to have studied under a wise sage in Africa for most of the past year and one of the languages he specialised in was ancient Latin from just over four thousand years ago. Isn't that a remarkable coincidence?"

"Not in an adventure game."

"Okay, listen carefully. I'll tell you what you need to know..."

The strange voice does that and afterwards I can speak fluent Latin from over four thousand years ago.

> start work
The third set of files turns out to be the hardest of the lot. But the ancient Latin I was tutored in by the strange voice from the Samaritans proves a real bonus and in no time I've completed the files to my satisfaction.

> call stigers
I shout and a moment later Stigers comes bursting in.

"You'd better have done a good job here, Jim," he says, "because you'll be looking for another teaboy job if you haven't."

"My name's not Jim," I say.

"It will be if you've messed these files up," Stigers says.

With that strange threat hanging over me, Stigers grabs the files and rushes out.

> north
As I approach the door, Stigers' voice calls out, "you'd better not be leaving that office until you've done all the work I asked you to do, Mike!"

"My name's not Mike," I call back but Stigers doesn't seem to be listening.

> north
As I approach the door, in comes Stigers.

"Sit down, Andy," he says, "and let's review how well you did with the files."

I consider telling him my name's not Andy but I'd probably be just wasting my time.

Stigers sits in my seat and I sit on the floor while he goes over the notes from the meeting with the Japanese businessmen.

"How did it go?" I venture.

"Hmm... Let's see. Mr Yoshi said he wanted to buy our plans for the RR project and handed us a sizeable cash payment up front to get the ball rolling. The total payment was somewhere in the region of £170,000,000 and so here's your share for your sterling work on the files." Stigers drops a couple of pound coins on my desk with the proviso: "don't spend it all at once. What else? Ah yes, Mr Tanoko said he thought our designs were the best he had ever seen and wanted to merge his own company with ours. Mr Roshani said he'd never been so impressed in his life and offered to marry you." Stigers winces a little. "I tried pointing out that you weren't his type but he wouldn't take no for an answer. He also insisted that when our companies merge, he wanted you to be put in charge."

"But isn't that your job, sir?" I ask.

Stigers sighs. "Not any more it seems. I've now been officially designated the new teaboy. On top of that, the boys down in London want to elect you as the new God on account of the fact that you did so well that you actually beat the best score. Amazing. Unless you cheated, of course. I think this concludes our meeting."

"Not quite," I say.

Stigers looks at me.

"I'll have a tea, black with two sugars and don't stinge on the water."

Stigers looks about to protest but remembers the abrupt shift in our positions and instead gives me a cringing nod and a "...yessir..."

Teaboy to head of the company in the space of one day. It doesn't come much better than this. On a scale of 1 to 7, I managed a rather impressive 8. I'm now in charge of the whole company and soon to be elected God. I think I did pretty well.

Well done, you finished the game and achieved a score 1 better than the maximum. You really did do well.