Napoleon opened the car door and looked around. They were in the middle of a field, with one other car. A man emerged, coming over to greet them.

"I shall take Mr. Waverly from here, thank you." He said curtly.

"Where are the children?"

"Well, they're back at--"

"No kids, no Waverly." Napoleon said flatly. "That was the deal. Come on, we're going back--"

Waverly stepped out of the sedan. "And where will Mr. Solo be picking the children up?"

"Sir, you aren't just going to trust him, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, of course I'm not just going to trust him." He turned to the stranger. "We shall take our car. And in the future, I would appreciate it if you would inform us *before* switching the pickup point."

---/-/---

"'Trust me.' Croaked the frog. And having no choice, the prince trusted."

"And then what happened?"

"I'm getting to that." He sighed. "The next morning, the three shirts were presented to the king. First, Piotr's bride. However, her shirt was poorly made, for being the daugher of a baron, she had never learnt to sew properly. Then, Ivan's bride. However, she had sewn one of the sleeves closed, and had not hemmed the silk, for being the daughter of a count, she had never learnt to sew properly. And then, Napasha's bride. The little frog hopped forward, and presented the king with a brown paper package. When it was opened, inside was a fine silk tunic. 'Wonderful!' Cried the king. 'I shall wear it to only the finest occasions of state!'"

"How did the frog do it?"

"Frogs can't sew."

"Obviously, Napasha married no ordinary frog." Illya explained. This was good enough for Claire, who rested her head against his chest once more. The guard was still watching them.

"What was the second test?" Micheal prompted, after a slight pause.

"Each wife was to bake a cake. Now, this time, the wives of the two eldest sons sent out spies, so that they would know how the little frog did it."

"What did the spies see?"

"The spies saw the little frog mix flour, eggs, and water, and throw the lump on the oven bricks to bake. So the spies ran back to their mistresses, and once they were gone, the little frog stripped its green skin away, revealing--"

"A handsome prince." Claire interrupted.

Illya stared at her. "I do not believe that this was the case, Claire. It's not the sort of story to have a handsome prince. Well, not a fourth handsome prince, anyway."

"I believe it was the case." She countered.

"Anyway, the little frog stripped its green skin away, and if the spies had stayed, they would have seen the most beautiful creature ever to grace their presence, with hair as gold as sunlight, eyes as blue as ice--"

"Ice isn't blue."

"The sky is blue."

"In this faraway kingdom, the sky is grey and ice is blue." Illya countered. "Skin like milk and honey, lips like rosepetals... need I go on?"

"No." Micheal pulled a face.

"Yes." Claire sighed.

"A willowy figure and an enigmatic smile." Illya finished. "And naked as a newborn babe. The former frog threw out the old lump of dough and began to chant and sing. Suddenly, the kitchen filled with sprites and faeries, and with their help, the cake was made."

---/-/---

"What did you spill on, anyway?" April sighed, shaking out a handful of papers.

"How should I know? Oh, don't read them, they might be terribly confidential."

"Which is exactly why I will read them." She grinned.

"Yeah, Slate." Ginger peered over the other girl's shoulder. "Lighten up."

"Strumpet."

"I know what that means."

"Miaow." DeLeon pawed April's thigh, eager for attention.

Mark picked up the cat.

"Boring." She tossed one of the papers onto a stack of documents. "Expense reports."

"Hey, wait!" Ginger snatched the third sheet down. "Don't throw this one off yet. It's not a report, it's a letter. A steamy one, by the looks of it."

Despite any better judgement he might have professed having, Mark crowded around the group for a better look. "Knowing him, he's got dozens of them."

"Yeah, from about a million women." April snorted. "What's it say."

"Read it yourself." Ginger handed it over, blushing. "I'm not going to repeat some of that."

"Well?" Mark intercepted it. After reading a few lines, he was red as well.

"Yes?"

"Whoever it is, I'd love to be introduced."

April grabbed it away. "This is explicit."

Ginger grabbed it back. "Isn't it, though? We really shouldn't."

Mark read the next few lines over her shoulder. "But we will."

DeLeon, thoroughly disgusted with the lack of attention he was recieving, squirmed away and headed for his food dish.

April caught up with them at the bottom of the page. "We are spies, after all. Think of it as training. Someday, we may have to covertly read other people's letters."

Ginger grabbed it back again, looking at the bottom. "Oh. Oh! April..."

"What?"

"Look at who wrote it." She hissed.

"S lyu-- Oh!"

"What?" Mark made a lunge for it, but it was snatched away.

"Guess."

"I can't guess, there are too many possibilities."

"Guess."

"Lisa."

"Illya."

"Bugger me!" He gasped. If he had been drinking more coffee, the letter would have been obliterated.

"You're not the prime candidate for buggering, according to this letter." Ginger grinned.

"Miaow."

---/-/---

To be continued...

---

This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit.