The Mycologist's eyes widen when he sees the spices. Real genuine spices, not a mushroom that thinks too much of itself. He takes the packets with profound gratitude and deposits them in the inner pocket of his tailcoat.
It's not as if he couldn't afford true Surface spices by himself. But it's always seemed like a frivolous expense when his breeding project is going so well. Besides, Mr Spices' pockets are fat enough.
Instead he notes: "I see that Balmoral has not changed one bit since my last visit, then. I had to distance myself from the place; the attendants of that particular lifting contraption seemed to have me for an errand boy whom they didn't have to pay much." His bright expression darkens momentarily.

In an attempt to save the conversation, he throws in: "I take it, Professor, that thou art well acquaintanced with the Hinterlands?"