Visit with the Prime minister.

The new Prime minister of England adjusted his tie as he entered his office, anxious for the meeting.  Now this meeting he was going to have, hopefully in six minutes, was no ordinary conference, he had found the informant letter sitting on his desk four, the day of his inauguration, days prior, it was made of old papyrus, and written in a type of dark blue ink.  It had told him of a foreign ambassador was coming to welcome him into office.  The clock over the fireplace chimed seven o' clock, the appointed time, the Prime minister waited for his secretary to call him any minute now.  No buzz from the secretary, he waited.  Then came  a rap on the window, outside the window was four pigeons, he got out of his high-back leather chair and strode to the window to open it, he felt like he should.  As the pigeons flew in, the Prime minister noticed one pigeon was slightly green, and slimy.  When the pigeons landed on the carpeted floor, they changed all of a sudden, into, well, not humans.  Two were about five feet tall, pointed ears, long chestnut hair, and held a silver-tipped spear and glittering armor, another, the green, slimy pigeon was small, green, hook-nosed, and wielded a hammer and shield, the fourth was smaller than the first two by about a foot, had inseectile wings, but looked like the first.  The English Prime minister stood there for a moment, then went to his desk, took out a bottle of strong stuff, and chucked it out the window, then sat down in his chair.  The mythical creatures before him walked around the room, looking it up and down, then one of them, presumably an elf, took out a crystal ball from his rucksack, spoke some Gaelic into it then approached the desk.

"Good evening, Prime minister, in just a moment the ambassador will arrive.  And I see you think this is some type of hallucination, I assure you, this is not, just call the Taoiseach of Eire, we visited him on his inauguration.  But I assure you, there is nothing to worry about, call security if you wish."  The minister's hand stopped inches from the button.  Then the ambassador came, an elf garbed in a dark gray tunic that came to his knees, and a silver chain mail shirt underneath.  He came flying through the window, a great falcon, and turned into an elf just above the chair, he sat there, green eyes on the Prime minister.  The four guards stood behind the elf envoy, ready to protect him from any danger.

"I, uh, suppose you are the foreign ambassador?"  Stammered the shocked Prime minister.

"I am indeed, Prime minister.  I am the representative of the fairy peoples, a race you and your kind have long thought mythical.  I have come to welcome you into office, and I ask that you continue to uphold the Avalon-Britain Pact, made in the fourteenth century by King Richard the second and the fading Queen Caelia."  The Prime minister searched his memory, Avalon-Britain Pact?  He'd never heard of it.

"Please explain, Mister uh...?"

"Goldleaf."

"Mister Goldleaf."

"The Avalon-Britain Pact states that no British citizen may go into a fairy fort, and all standing stones are to be left as they were, also any old oaks and yews should be left alone, in return fairies will never trespass on British property, we will protect those who preserve the sacred sites, and Gog and Magog are the eternal protectors of London."

"Um... yes, I see."  Stuttered the Prime minister.

"Here is the contract," he handed the minister a sheaf of papyrus, "take your time, and read carefully."  The elf and his bodyguards waited while the Prime minister read the contract, the goblin flexing his diminutive muscles in the mirror.  At the bottom of the document, the man saw eleven signatures; Thorn Halfberry  Oren Ironforge  Garden C. Seeds  Grub-skin  Torus Hurus  Mistletoe  Robin Bind  Amethyst Williamson  Colin Forktounge  Sprig K. J. Brown Bogan.

"Who are these, uh, names?"  Asked the minister, having finished and signed the contract.

"The eleven current councilors."  Answered the elf, taking the sheaf of papyrus.  "My thanks, Prime minister, and the Council's, we hope your term is good and prosperous."  The unearthly party went to leave, but then Goldleaf turned to the Englishman, "Ah, and one more thing, if you need any help, ask the mirror, and I or one of my helpers will answer on the other end.  And this meeting is strictly secret, as you read in the document, "top-secret" as you humans would say, and now adieu."   

The poor Prime minister of the United Kingdom and Northern Ireland sat in his 17th-century leather chair for a few minutes, he called up his secretary,

"Debora, cancel my seven o'clock."