Chapter 2
Walking along a country lane that soon became a cobbled street, Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler made their way to the Giddy Horseman as the sun went down, with Katherine’s trio of cats in tow.
The wind had changed and now was blowing frostily from the north, growing stronger as the forest thinned and the town came into view, the beginnings of its sidewalks sprouting from the earth under their feet.
I do hope Harvey feels better soon, Ember was saying, her paws gently melting the hoarfrost that had formed on the paving stones.
I’m sure he will, dearest, Mr. Scruffles said. Dragons have remarkable healing powers, don’t they?
She regarded him obliquely. Yes. For healing ourselves, and others too. That’s why if anyone encounters a dragon nowadays, they’re most likely to do it when visiting a professional healer.
Well then, there you go. Sure would come in useful, I’d imagine.
Yes.
If one were a dragon.
Yes.
I, for one, always feel my best in your company. With an ounce of your love, I can take on the world.
Ember smiled and head-butted him adoringly.
Oh, please, enough with the mushy stuff, Tilly said as she hustled closer from the rear.
Aren’t you a romantic, Tilly? Ember asked.
Yes. But not in public. She swished her tail moodily and trotted among the folds of Katherine’s skirt.
Her mistress, meanwhile, was looking around sharply for any sign that things were different in the town than she remembered.
About once a month, she visited the farmers’ market at the edge of town, but that was typically the extent of her excursions these days.
She didn’t take on as many stitchery jobs as she used to, and rather than meeting her at the market, her clients increasingly went through Mrs. Chrysler to arrange commissions.
Reassuringly, the air smelled faintly of spiced apples as they approached the town center.
Jolly yellow lights glowed warmly in windows. But a few familiar homes were dark.
“Isn’t this the old Howards’ place?” Katherine asked, stopping in front of a large stone edifice and looking up at the second story, with its scrollwork balcony and ocean view.
Mrs. Chrysler nodded. “Foreclosure,” she said, peering at the printed sign on the door.
“Foreclosure!”
“For failure to pay property taxes, it says.”
“You’re not serious!”
“It’s news to me too, Katty. I’m telling you, there’s something fishy going on.”
“Speaking of… news…” Katherine looked around them.
They stood now in the town square, near the green, and she immediately spotted the large wooden bulletin board that had long been installed there.
A couple of young men were chatting on the green, attending a couple of horses that were nibbling the frosty grass.
Their bridles glinted silver filigree, and a shine on the young men’s shirt collars hinted at satin.
Katherine frowned. Ipswich had always been a bandit’s refuge, and no bandits she ever knew had been as grand as all that.
The pair began laughing, and Katherine thought she heard them utter several odd phrases, including “Enjoying the new club?” and “Yes, such excellent wind today” and “This place is such a find. I’ve told Perkins he must bring his new yacht here.
” She tore her gaze away from them and made for the bulletin board.
“This thing still current?” she asked as she strode purposefully over.
Mrs. Chrysler caught up with her at a tottering trot. “Has been. Let’s take a look.”
Katherine scanned the uppermost tiers of announcements, ignoring the typical postings for mercenaries and odd jobs, while Mrs. Chrysler examined the notices farther down. “Couch and chairs for sale,” Katherine read. “Free Elvish lessons… Kittens for adoption?”
“No, Katty.”
“New sailing club starting up…”
“For fun?”
Katherine shrugged. “Roommate wanted.”
“Oh no, Katty, look!” Mrs. Chrysler drew her attention to a fresh-looking notice tacked jauntily on a lower edge and read aloud: “‘Does anyone know the old woman on the north shore beach? We’d like to speak with her about an investment opportunity. Signed, Ipswich Planning Board.’ Ipswich Planning Board?
Look, Katty, is that sketch supposed to be you? ”
“The cheek!” Katherine ripped the notice down and examined it. “Gods, Imogene, is that really what I look like?”
“No, no, Katty, don’t worry. Your skin is much smoother. And that nose is all wrong.”
Katherine scoffed, pleased at least that the poor likeness might forestall inquiries after her precious beach. She told Mrs. Chrysler what she had seen that morning while she tore the paper in two, balled the pieces in her fists, and shoved them in her pockets.
“I don’t know about you, Katty,” her friend said when she’d finished, “but I could really use that drink now.”
As the group finally approached the Giddy Horseman, the wooden sign above the door swung gently in the breeze, showcasing the full moon in its design as it caught the light from a lamppost.
“I always thought that sign was a bit indecent,” Katherine said.
Imogene regarded it thoughtfully. “Shows talent, though,” she said. “Being able to get your trousers down like that, and riding backward too.”
“Hmm.”
“I always wanted to meet that man. Seemed like a fun bloke.”
“I doubt he was drawn from life,” Katherine replied.
Looking down from the pub’s sign, they unexpectedly found their way to the entrance blocked by a pair of doormen. One of them was a large troll, whose crossed arms and grumpy expression implied that he himself was rather less than giddy. Mrs. Chrysler’s head came up to his chest.
“My word! Peaty?” she asked, squinting up into his face.
“Oh, Peaty, is that really you?” Katherine laid a hand on his stony arm. “I feel I haven’t seen you since you were a pebble. How are you? How’s your mother?”
Although his rocky face remained impassive, he shifted his weight uneasily, like a living landslide. “Missus Chrysler, Mizz Winterhaven. We’ve been fine, thank you.”
“Oh, I’m glad to hear that, Peaty.” Katherine recalled acutely how Peaty’s mother had fled a dangerous life in the Stinky Mountains some decades ago, rejecting the rough existence of most trolls, and how adorably Peaty had toddled after his mum on errands through Ipswich, like a gleeful river stone tumbling with the current.
“It’s just Peat now, please, ma’am.”
Mrs. Chrysler stood briefly on tiptoe. “Don’t those dark glasses make it a bit hard to see?”
“A little, ma’am.”
“Your mother still under the bridge on Breakwater Street?” Katherine asked.
“Yes. Waterfront living’s getting pricey, though.”
“Even under the bridge?”
“Mum’s had to take on a lodger.”
“My word.”
“And raise the toll. Sister in Seaside wanted to put her in a home and sell, but I wouldn’t allow it.”
“Good for you, Peaty.”
Mrs. Chrysler looked around and behind the troll. “Where’s Tin-Whistle Todd, Peaty? Didn’t he used to guard the door to the pub?”
“Yes, ma’am. But he was sacked. Was letting in all manner of people. Unhip, like.”
“Oh?” Katherine said archly.
At this moment, the second bouncer decided to muscle into the conversation. He bridled at them, puffing his matted ginger hair, and growled menacingly.
Mr. Scruffles examined the creature with concern. Marmalade? What’s happened to you, mate? You’ve lost an eye? He recoiled in shock.
The bar cat grew suddenly embarrassed, as recognition crossed his scruffy face. Oh, Mr. Stop That, sir. I didn’t know it was you. He lifted a corner of his eye-patch with a claw. No, nothing’s happened to me. It’s “atmosphere,” sir.
Ah… Well, carry on… Say hello to your brother for me.
Yes, sir. Will do, sir.
“Oh, what a handsome kitty!” Katherine leaned down and offered her hand for a sniff. Marmalade’s tail shot up in the air, and his back paws began to dance happily.
“Uh, go right in,” the troll urged them uneasily, looking around, and lifted a velvet rope to let them pass.
“Thank you, Peaty,” Mrs. Chrysler said.
“And give our regards to your mother.” Katherine reached into her pocket and drew out two gold pieces, pressing them into his stony palm as she walked by him. “For your trouble, Peaty.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
The interior of the pub wasn’t quite as dim as the street they’d just left, but it was certainly a lot louder, and more crowded. The two women looked around to gain their bearings. There didn’t seem to be anyone there over fifty-five, let alone seventy-something.
“Is this what the young people are wearing now, Imogene?”
Everywhere they looked, there were bodices and lace, low necklines and bare legs, as far as the eye could see. And the hair! Fierce cataracts of it cascaded over shoulders, and long complicated braids tumbled down backs.
“I can’t let my hair down like that,” Mrs. Chrysler said. She patted her loose gray bun, its two embedded knitting needles sticking out at odd angles. “It’ll all get stuck in my sword!”
“Best leave it up then.”
“Guess so.”
But Katherine saw her friend surreptitiously pop the top few buttons of her yellow dress. Mrs. Chrysler also casually rearranged Chauncey’s supports to heave her bosom to a slightly less natural height.
“Roll your skirt up a little, Katty,” she advised.
“I will do no such thing.”
As she scanned the room, Katherine noticed that they were drawing curious looks from some of the revelers. Mrs. Chrysler seemed not to have spotted this, and instead was fixated on a couple of unoccupied stools by the bar, at which she motioned avidly. “Fancy a drink?”
A knot of people stood near the stools, nearly blocking them from sight as they tried to get the bartender’s attention.
Nearest the available seats stood a pair of broad-shouldered young men, sporting tight-fitting leather vests unlaced to the navel.
Mrs. Chrysler wedged up next to them, carving out a space for Katherine to sit down with a wide-swinging arm.
By way of hello, she poked her head around the men’s bulging biceps and inserted herself into their line of sight.