Chapter 5
Luckily, the establishment known as the Gilded Midden was still very much in existence, and practically unchanged in the nearly half-century since either Katherine or Mrs. Chrysler had last visited it.
The squat, wood-framed building sat obstinately at the end of a row of newer-looking storefronts and townhomes made of ruddy brick.
No one on the street seemed to notice the group materialize in front of it.
“Still too wet to burn,” Mrs. Chrysler said, nodding approvingly. What with its abundant swamp gas, the town of Burnt Umberland had a reputation for semi-regular renewal. The old man looked around quizzically but seemed otherwise unperturbed by the sudden change in scenery.
“—background,” he finished. “Hey, I used to come here all the time! Caterina, did you—”
“My name… is Katherine,” Katherine said, as she checked on her cats and stowed her brooch. “Katherine Winterhaven.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Chrysler said. “And I am Missus Imogene Chrysler. Now, before I finish the job nature’s begun and pound your skinny bones into dust, it is only fair that we know who you are.”
The old man regarded the pair with a faint, bemused smile. “You serious?”
“Your name, man!” Mrs. Chrysler cried, thwacking him with her ponderous yarn bag. This drew several odd looks from passers-by.
“Ruben! Ruben Hoode. Counterfeiter extraordinaire.” He opened his hands widely, puffed his chest, and gave Katherine a conspiratorial wink.
The two women stared a moment.
“Never heard of you,” Mrs. Chrysler finally said. His face fell.
Katherine realized that her expression was probably a mystified stare and made an effort to neutralize it.
She adjusted the lockpicks around her wrist and stowed the remains of the broken ones in the pocket of her dress.
Then she wrapped the map in its tissue paper and tucked it safely away in her bag.
A tickling puff of breath on her neck indicated that Ruben was at her shoulder, and she hastily closed her pack, heat rising in her cheeks.
Mrs. Chrysler checked him by planting her elbow in his ribs.
“Ow.”
“All right,” said Mrs. Chrysler. “Shall we go in?”
I don’t think they like him, Ember said as they made for the tavern door.
Then why’d they rescue him? Tilly asked, peering out from Katherine’s skirt.
If they didn’t like him, they’d have knocked his teeth out by now, Mr. Scruffles said, sniffing the man’s ankles.
Maybe in the old days, Tilly said, emerging from her hiding place. It doesn’t look like he has many teeth to start with… She followed her companions over the threshold.
It was some comfort that the Gilded Midden still stood, but Katherine was less ecstatic than Mrs. Chrysler that it seemed utterly the same, or even more like itself than she remembered.
As they stepped inside, familiar dark beams and charred stone enclosed them, seeming to block out the world.
An ancient fire burned sullenly behind a grate at the far end of a large, yet low-ceilinged room.
The fire shed surprisingly little light, and candles spluttered on the walls, radiating a dull glow that never quite reached the tavern’s corners.
Few patrons were visible inside. They sat hunched singly at small tables or talking low in pairs.
Rough hands clasped metal tankards or wooden flagons.
The class of an establishment could always be measured by its drinkware, Katherine mused approvingly.
No glass at the Gilded Midden. It could be shattered over someone’s head far too easily.
Although the rest of the place seemed unchanged, she didn’t recognize the squat barkeep, who sat on a high stool behind his counter, moodily running a dark cloth inside the depths of a well-polished mug.
He seemed scarcely interested in their arrival, barely looking up.
In an establishment like this, rule number one was minding your own business. Rule number two: See rule number one.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” Mrs. Chrysler said. “You go get us a table, Katty.”
Katherine nodded and steered Ruben Hoode in the direction of an enclosed booth near the open fireplace. The cats trailed behind, except for Tilly, who delicately picked her way ahead of them as a purple tail, bounding from table to stool to chair as carefully as she could.
What a mess, she was muttering to herself.
Katherine too was dismayed by the floor, which had not preserved itself in her memory to quite this degree.
It had always been a bit sticky, she remembered, but it seemed the years had added considerably more residue from spilled drinks, expectoration, and other fluids not to be considered too deeply.
Ruben’s fuzzy slippers kept sticking and tripping him up.
“The barkeep really should add more sawdust,” Ruben said as Katherine helpfully tugged him loose again. He nodded gratefully.
“Why don’t you suggest it?”
“You think I should?”
Katherine paused a moment, taking in his earnest expression. “Better not. I think Imogene wants to pound you herself.”
“Ah-ha-ha, good one.”
Ah, the Gilded Midden, Mr. Scruffles sighed as he stepped lightly along behind them. What drunken mice I used to catch here!
It almost wasn’t sporting, Ember said, leaving steaming paw prints behind her. This floor’s like molasses.
At last, Katherine and Ruben arrived at the booth and scooted across the well-worn leather cushions. Katherine settled herself across from him, her back to the fire, leaving the cats to settle where they pleased. The logs in the grate popped and hissed quietly, punctuating the murmuring hush.
Katherine regarded the old man closely and watched the light flicker on his face.
It sparked on the edges of wrinkles around his attentive blue eyes and a cleft in his square chin, and made waggling shadows of his stubble.
It had been a long time since his memory had haunted her dreams, but she mentally layered the face now gently watching her over the younger one that had smiled and winked at her all those years ago.
Yes, it was clearly him, the stranger in the rain, but youth had long evaporated, leaving his features furrowed and wan.
Well, time makes fools of us all, she thought.
Ruben seemed to read her mind. Regarding her warmly, he said, “Time hasn’t been cruel to you at all.”
“I moisturize,” she sniffed.
“Mm.” He searched the small tabletop with his bright blue eyes and rubbed his chin a bit before he spoke again. “I’ve still got all my hair. That’s something.”
“There’s a huge bald spot on the back of your head.” Mrs. Chrysler was standing behind him now, her arms laden with mugs and small bowls for the cats.
“You’re—you’re joking.”
“No.”
Mrs. Chrysler sat down beside Katherine and slid in along the bench. Ruben felt around his snowcapped dome with tentative fingers. His eyes opened wide. “Son of a—”
“Now,” Mrs. Chrysler interrupted, “I think it’s high time we sort out this nasty business. There are a lot of things I want to know.” She took a long pull from her mug and thumped it on the table. “So start talking.”
Ruben stared at the two women. “About what?” His fingers were still absently massaging the back of his head, as if trying to rub the bare patch out of existence.
“Well, to begin with, how you knew me,” Katherine said. “How you knew my name. My old name, that is.”
“Oh.” Ruben gave up on his hair and clapped his hands down on the polished wood of the table. “Well, who doesn’t know you? The greatest thief of all time.”
“Ahem,” Mrs. Chrysler’s voice broke in.
“And, and her partner, of course,” Ruben faltered. “Mrs.—?”
“Chrysler. But it was Miss Imogene Dodge then.”
“Yes, yes. Dodge, yes. Dodge and Hornsboggle. Hornsboggle and Dodge. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, Mrs. C., but I’ve always been more partial to brunettes.” He raised his shaggy white eyebrows and met Katherine’s eyes with a provocative glint.
Mrs. Chrysler narrowed her own eyes to slits. “She’s not a brunette anymore,” she said, a bit unkindly, but her friend overlooked it, given the circumstances.
“Yes, well. Anyway. I’d know you anywhere, Caterina—I mean, Katherine, er, Ms. Winterhaven.”
Katherine kept her gaze steady, having learned the dangers of flattery ages ago and determined not to bend to it now. “All right,” she said, “but how? Who are you?”
“That does hurt a bit, I’m not going to lie,” Ruben said. “Especially given the circumstances. I thought we all knew each other in the trade. Or of each other, at least. Would’ve expected you to follow my career a bit, out of curiosity.”
Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler exchanged glances.
“You were a… professional thief?” Katherine said. All the inquiries she’d made, all that time ago, when Caterina had still cared to find out who this stranger was… None of them had turned up any useful information.
“Didn’t seem to be, the one and only time we encountered you,” said Mrs. Chrysler. Inwardly, Katherine had to agree.
“We-ell, my specialty’s really forgery,” Ruben said.
“Behind-the-scenes stuff. Bank notes, deeds, contracts. Made a decent living that way. For a while at least, until…” He ran a thin hand through his thinning hair and cleared his throat.
“Well, that smash-and-grab was pretty much a one-off. Beginner’s luck, I suppose, looking back.
Probably one of the best days of my life, though, going head-to-head against you.
A dream come true, really.” He took a pause, then added quickly, “Although I realize this must be a bit of a sore spot for you ladies. I’d hope you wouldn’t hold it against me. Not after all this time.”
“A sore spot?” Katherine echoed incredulously.