Chapter 2 #3
“It is quite short,” said the nymph. “Along with a proviso that much yes-or-no questioning was needed to work out what Todd wanted to say. But the nymph network looks after its own.” She cleared her throat.
“Here was the exact phrasing passed on the wind: The convent is going down. The old people are going down with it. The nuns are very worried they will all lose their home.”
Katherine shifted in her seat uneasily. “I don’t suppose you know which convent he was talking about?”
“Yes. The trees say Todd is employed at Saint Percival’s, in Burnt Umberland,” said Rosalind.
“He bounces?” said Mrs. Chrysler. “At a convent?”
Rosalind raised her knotty shoulders. “I just know what was shared by the nymph network.”
“All right. That’s all right,” Katherine said. She gave Mrs. Chrysler another meaningful look. “Is there any more?”
“Yes. Apparently, Todd felt it was very important that the two of you get this message. He said, and this was a tricky one evidently, that you have a history with the convent.”
History indeed. Katherine saw Mrs. Chrysler squirm next to her and nodded. “Yes. Thank you for the message, Rosalind. You can tell the trees that you delivered it.”
The tree nymph smiled broadly and nodded. “All right then. Goodbye, friends of Todd.” She turned to leave, trailing several more acorns as she headed for the door.
“Enjoy your trip south!” Mrs. Chrysler called after her.
Then she turned to Katherine with wide eyes.
“Well, what do you think about that? Clearly, Todd thinks we’re still regulars here.
It’s a lucky thing you agreed to come out tonight.
Who would have guessed he was trying to get in touch with us?
” She took a sip of her beer. “It’s quite nice to get a message from an old friend, although it would be nicer if the news were more pleasant. ”
“I’m surprised Todd even remembers our last job,” Katherine said. “We didn’t really like to talk about it much, did we?”
“Just that one time, after a few beers too many.” Mrs. Chrysler shuddered and adjusted her skirt a bit, smoothing out the folds. “I wonder how he ended up there,” she said.
Katherine nodded. After a few moments of replaying the encounter over again in her mind, she asked, “What was it he said? ‘The convent is going down’? And ‘the old people are going down with it’?”
“Yes, Katty.” Mrs. Chrysler frowned.
“That sounds ominous, Imogene.”
Mrs. Chrysler nodded. “Yes, it does.”
Katherine shifted on her barstool. “Well, what could Todd expect us to do about it?”
“I don’t know, Katty.”
They sat in silence again for a few moments, alone with their own thoughts.
This is boring, Tilly said, polishing her nails on the woodwork of the bar top. I think I’d rather be at home. She curled her tail around her four purple paws and sat erect, looking stiffly over Katherine’s shoulder.
Boring? said Mr. Scruffles. There’s so much to see. Look, that man is wearing a helmet with horns on. And that woman’s got mice all over her!
Ember peered into the room where he indicated. I think that’s a minotaur and a fur coat, my love.
Ah. At any rate! Lots to see.
Tilly sighed. Lots of people in a small space always leads to trouble, she said.
A little bit of trouble would be welcome, said Mr. Scruffles.
Ooh, said Ember. Here seems to be some now.
A stubby man with a low-cut tabard and a thick carpet of chest hair was approaching, carrying a tankard of beer and wearing what he probably thought was a charming expression.
He settled down on the stool next to Katherine, who regarded him with surprise.
“So,” he said, as if they had already been mid-conversation. “I have a bet going with a friend of mine over there.” He gestured vaguely with the tankard to the other end of the bar.
Katherine looked around for the friend.
Mrs. Chrysler nudged her, turning Katherine back to face the man who’d approached her.
“Oh. Yes?” she managed.
“You are a witch, right?”
Katherine’s full attention now narrowed on his smug little face.
Her eyes were steely as she relived a past run-in with a coven that had left her unimpressed and resentful.
At this point in her life, all the witches she knew were a few loaves short of a dozen.
“No. I am not a witch. I don’t just wave a wand around and expect things to get done. ”
“But you have a black cat.” He pointed at Mr. Scruffles, who tried to sniff his finger.
“I have lots of cats.”
“Does she ever,” Mrs. Chrysler muttered into her beer.
“And you’re wearing a black shawl,” the man continued, gesturing at it.
“I have other shawls. But black goes with everything,” she said, adjusting the wrap more tightly around her shoulders.
“So you’re not a witch.”
“No.”
“No midnight séances?”
“No.”
“No frolicking naked, around bonfires, under a full moon?”
“No!”
The barman, who couldn’t help but overhear, shuddered.
Katherine turned to Mrs. Chrysler. “Do witches even do that?” she asked.
“I think Arlene Buggins used to,” Mrs. Chrysler replied. “But she wasn’t a witch. She was a nudist.”
The man persisted. “So you can’t do any magic at all?”
“Well, I am magically inclined,” Katherine said airily, adjusting the amethyst brooch on her blouse in an absent sort of way.
“Oh, good. I might just win my bet.” He took a swig of his beer. “You can do tricks?”
Katherine allowed herself to pause a moment. Tricks, she scoffed inwardly. “I can make a coin go up your nose,” she finally said.
He laughed. “Don’t you mean, pull a coin from behind my ear?”
“Not the way I do it.” She flashed him a hostile smile.
The man’s lips pursed. His eyes widened. He slid off his stool backward and retreated without looking away until he’d melted back into the crowd.
“Katty, you’re scaring away all of the fish.”
Mr. Scruffles perked up. Fish? he asked.
Not that kind, my love, said Ember.
“The man was just interested in your talents, Katty.”
“Talents my behind. He was annoying.” Katherine drained her cider and looked around. “I think we should get out of here, Imogene. Find someplace with perhaps a few more people… our age. Or at least closer to.”
“No, wait, Katty. Here’s another gentleman. Might be a winner, this one. He’s gorgeous. Probably not that smart.”
A young man with a distinctly triangular shape was striding toward the bar. Long auburn hair swept over his temples into a loose ponytail at the base of his neck. He approached Mrs. Chrysler and leaned on the bar beside her.
“I like your sword,” he said.
“Thanks!” said Mrs. Chrysler. “Really handy for cutting holes in stone walls, you know, or disarming a bloodthirsty mountain troll.”
“Literally,” Katherine muttered in disapproval.
Mrs. Chrysler shot her a look and pressed on. “Used it to kill a gargoyle once.”
The young man’s brow stitched, but he quickly rallied. “Is that right?”
“Well… twice. Head grew back. They do that.”
He paused again, then grinned winningly. “Gargoyles, eh? Well, I don’t know about them. But I do know swords.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I collect them.”
“Really? How nice!” Mrs. Chrysler elbowed Katherine eagerly. “Perhaps we could help you collect some more.”
“I think you might.”
Katherine leaned closer. The hair on the back of her neck was starting to stand up.
“What kind of swords do you collect?” Mrs. Chrysler was asking. “Broadswords, épées, sabers, foils, cutlasses?”
“All of those, really.”
Mrs. Chrysler indicated Katherine. “Her magic sword could be any of those, if you asked it politely. But she sold it.” Katherine rolled her eyes.
“Oh, well, that’s a shame. But actually, right now I’m looking for a sword…
Just. Like. That. One.” With each flirtatiously punctuated word, the man had walked his fingers up Mrs. Chrysler’s arm.
And now he reached out to touch Chauncey’s hilt.
Quick as a whip, Katherine rapped him on the hand with one of the knitting needles from Mrs. Chrysler’s hair.
“You try that again, young man, and I’ll turn you into a toad,” she said.
“Katty!” said Mrs. Chrysler.
“You said you weren’t a witch,” the man said, nursing his hand. “Plus, mind-altering magic’s illegal.”
“All right,” Katherine said, “I’ll turn you into a eunuch then.”
“Now, now,” said Mrs. Chrysler. “Calm down, you two.” She turned to the man and sugared her voice. “You want to touch a lady’s sword, young man, you ask permission.”
He looked repulsed, but only fleetingly. “My apologies. Can I hold it?”
“Ha. I don’t think so.” Mrs. Chrysler chuckled lightly and readjusted her supports. “Chauncey’s going to stay right where he is, I’m afraid. Now, you were saying—the swords you collect…”
“I asked nicely.”
“Well, you didn’t say please,” Mrs. Chrysler pointed out.
Katherine looked around and noticed that their immediate vicinity was a bit more crowded than before.
Many faces were looking their way, and several rather unpleasant ones were pushing closer.
She gripped her purse a bit more tightly, and planted her sturdy Elvish boots on the floor, recalling times many years ago when tavern crowds had turned suddenly nasty. Her cats were watching intently.
The man continued: “I’m not going to ask again.”
“Well, you could, but it wouldn’t get you anywhere.
And ‘please’ is the magic word, you know,” Mrs. Chrysler said.
Katherine nudged her in the back as more angered faces drew nearer, including that of the stubby oaf who’d first approached her, but Mrs. Chrysler clearly was not grasping the gravity of the situation.
The man’s face darkened. “All right, granny.” He stood up sharply.
“HEY!” The transformation that befell Mrs. Chrysler shocked even Katherine.
“I ain’t nobody’s granny!” she roared, pointing her finger in his face.
“Pip ain’t been married that long!” She reached for Chauncey’s hilt but struggled to draw it, and nearby a punch landed explosively, knocking out the man’s stubby friend and sparking the entire bar into chaos.