He frantically scanned the room for a drawer, a cupboard, anything that could hide his apparatus-to-be. The inspector called again.
“Oy! Don’t make us knock your door down! Devil knows you couldn’t pay for the damages!”
“D-don’t!” Deiniol stammered. “Wait one minute! I’m…not dressed!”
It was the best excuse he could think of in the moment, and it proved effective. The knocking stopped with a muttered swear about the habits of freshmen and three loudly spoken words: “Fine. One minute.”
Dan began throwing the parts onto the bed, piece by piece. When finished, he wrapped the sheet around itself until it resembled nothing more than a lumpy mass of cloth, innocently tangled at the foot board. He sighed with relief. No one would search for a still there.
“Right! We’re coming in now, and you’d better have your bleeding breeches on.”
Dan was now quite confidant he would pass inspection, until he noticed that the wormwood leaves were still sitting neatly on his desk.
His stomach backflipped.
The doorknob turned.