Zog presented the pile of scripts with all the flair of someone hawking cabbages.
"Are all these writers deceased geniuses?"
That was how Zog had described Agatha to him.
"Er, you could put it that way."
Grandpa Galina couldn't understand. He had never heard of any of these writers.
If they were all as good as Agatha, why weren't any of them famous?
One undiscovered genius like Agatha made sense. There would always be talented people who languished in obscurity, their work only discovered after they died.
But for so many geniuses to go unnoticed was just too strange.
He looked at Zog, and a dreadful suspicion suddenly crossed his mind.
'Could it be? Has the Zog Group actually imprisoned a horde of brilliant writers, locking them away in a place like the Forbidden Land of the Giant Dragon?'
'And then he forces them to write scripts day in and day out, and if their work isn't good enough, they get eaten or something.'
