Chapter 10
“Yes, they’re closed.” Ruben put all his weight on his cane as he stared up at the small, dark windows shrouded in curtains.
Signs advertising various types of physician lined this length of the street, and the one they now stood before bore the image of a large troll whose knee was being chiseled by a second, smaller troll with a red cross emblazoned on their arm.
“Well,” Katherine sighed, “I suppose we’d better find a place to sleep for the night. Try again in the morning.”
“Really, Katty?” Mrs. Chrysler thumped her yarn bag down on the sidewalk and massaged her shoulder.
“I know I told Pip we’d be gone a few days, but all this running around has been more tiring than I thought…
We don’t have to be nearly as cagey as we used to be in the old days, stayin’ away from home till the job is done.
Couldn’t we just nip back for the night?
I know I’d rather sleep in my own bed, if it’s all the same to you. ”
“And what would we do with him?” Katherine indicated Ruben, who was still scrutinizing the sign.
“Um, cilantro?” But Mrs. Chrysler sounded uncertain.
Katherine drew her friend into a two-person huddle. “Poppy seeds, more like. Something that sticks in your teeth long after you thought it would. In the old days, we didn’t blithely bring a man back home with us, Imogene. You know that.”
Mrs. Chrysler’s brow stitched as she looked past Katherine at Ruben’s back. “I’m not sure he counts.”
Katherine shot her a meaningful look.
“All right, fair enough.” Mrs. Chrysler shrugged her eyebrows in concession.
“Let’s go back to the Midden,” Katherine suggested wearily. “They used to have rooms above the bar, didn’t they?”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Chrysler sighed fondly. “For the night, or the hour even. Very soft straw beds. Hardly any mice. No questions asked.”
“Or, maybe the Midden’s barman can recommend something,” Katherine said. “My days of by-the-hour establishments are far behind me, Imogene.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“Do I get a say in where we hide out tonight?” Ruben asked, shambling over. Mouser, draped across his shoulders, was licking his ear.
Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler regarded him and answered as one: “No.”
The Gilded Midden was quite busier than it had been that morning, its whispered meetings replaced now by raucous revelers gathering for happy hour.
Mrs. Chrysler seemed perfectly delighted to have her hearing blasted by yells and laughter as they opened the front door and waded through a press of loud and teetering bodies to reach the bar.
Katherine was less enthralled. It was a fair bet, she thought, that the floors would be a whole lot stickier by the next morning.
Nevertheless, she persevered in her inquiries of the bartender above the din and didn’t relent until she’d gotten the information she’d been hoping for.
Accordingly, a short walk later they ended up (at the barman’s stone-faced suggestion) at one of the newest, most highly rated hotels in Burnt Umberland.
The well-groomed and soft-spoken face at the front desk agreed to furnish them with two adjoining rooms, a private bath, and a hot breakfast in the morning…
if they “lost the three cats and the dragon.”
And so, another short walk later, they found themselves back at the Gilded Midden and checked in for the night.
Or, perhaps not “checked in” as much as were given a roll of tissue for the communal bathroom and a large brick to block their door when they were settled.
It was their lucky day, the barman informed them, that he still had one room left.
Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler covered Ruben’s share of the charge.
“All that for one room?” Mrs. Chrysler said, scandalized.
“Plus room service,” said Katherine. “I’ve ordered us some of the bar fare and whatever they might be able to manage in the way of tea. It’ll be sent up shortly.”
Mrs. Chrysler nodded sullenly, and the group ambled their way toward the staircase through the carousing crowd, a faction of which had struck up a game of darts along the far wall.
As often happened at the Midden, most of the darts had been quickly lost and the game had morphed into “arrows” instead.
(The dartboard at the Midden, it has to be said, sported far fewer holes than the walls around it.) Katherine rolled her eyes and shielded her head with her arms as she ascended the steps to the second floor, while a hail of projectiles coursed through the air behind her to the tune of hearty laughter.
“Ten points for the chandelier!” a deep voice resounded.
“Fifteen for the ugly painting!”
“Har, har, which one?”
“Twenty for the geezer!” An arrow collided with the back of Ruben’s poncho and sent him teetering forward off balance, but the poncho’s thick and creaky leather meant the arrow otherwise bounced harmlessly away.
Mrs. Chrysler immediately spun on her heel to look for the arrow’s origin and, seeing another being drawn and released, stepped in its path.
Mid-trajectory, it dropped like a stone at the foot of the stairs.
Katherine helped Ruben back to standing, and Mrs. Chrysler turned to face the rabble below.
“Any more of that,” she boomed over a spreading hush, “and I’m coming back down there.” A flash of her eyes indicated that no one would enjoy that experience very much. A few muttered apologies began to filter up from below.
Tilly, who had been marching up the banister next to her mistress, bridled and hissed down at the masses to underscore Mrs. Chrysler’s point.
“Sorry,” murmured a few more chastened voices, a little louder this time.
“My reaction speed’s not what it used to be,” Mrs. Chrysler lamented quietly as they turned and continued their ascent. “When I was in my prime, arrows pointed in my direction never even left the bow before reconsidering.”
“Well,” Katherine said, voicing aloud a thought she’d had more than once, “time makes fools of us all.” She hoisted her bag a bit higher on her shoulder and continued onward until they reached the landing.
“How… how did you even do that?” Ruben marveled at Mrs. Chrysler.
“Oh, it’s just plot armor, dear,” she said.
When he still looked confused, she explained, “I bought the potion off a mage ages ago. Runs on confidence. Came in handy more than once, I can tell you.” She laughed lightly.
“He told me it didn’t have an expiration date, but it seems to be wearing off a bit now, doesn’t it? ”
“I didn’t know magic worked like that,” Ruben said.
“Oh, sure. It’s a tricky thing, magic. Some charms take years to take full effect. Others work right away. Some potions wear off over time, and some wear off more quickly than others. It varies.”
“Does Katherine have plot armor too?”
“Oh, Katty doesn’t hold with potions,” Mrs. Chrysler teased.
“I don’t trust putting things in my body that I don’t understand,” Katherine said. “If I can’t hold a magic object in my hands, and see what it does, I don’t want anything to do with it.”
“What about all your moisturizers, Katty?” her friend chuckled.
“I can see what they do, Imogene. And I put them on the outside.”
Upon arriving at the heavy wooden door emblazoned with a backward “4,” which matched the symbol on the brick in her hands, Katherine pushed the door wide.
It swung easily, though creakily, on brass hinges.
Inside, she beheld a sparsely furnished but comfortable-enough-looking room.
There were a couple of lanterns hanging from hooks on the wall, a modest dressing table with a chair beside it, a sideboard laid with a washbasin and jug, with blankets tucked below, and a singular, large, straw-stuffed mattress on a battered wooden bedframe in the middle of the floor.
“Well, today has been a real up-and-down emotional journey, ladies,” Ruben said when they were well inside and the brick had been kicked against the closed door. “But I think this is shaping up to be the best night of my life.”
Katherine gave him an uncomprehending look.
“A sleepover with my heroes?” he laughed triumphantly.
“We can stay up all night telling stories. Get to know each other.” His eyes glinted as he spoke, and he began attempting to remove his cumbersome poncho.
Mrs. Chrysler deposited her yarn bag next to the bed and stumped over to assist him as she’d done before out in the street, with slightly more patience this time.
“Wash up,” she said, “kick off your sandals, and have a seat. There’s no way I’m staying up all night, Ruben, but, yes, we can talk a bit after we’ve had something to eat.”
They didn’t have long to wait for a light knock to sound on their door.
A beleaguered-looking kitchen maid deposited into the answering arms of Mrs. Chrysler a tray laden with an array of aromatic fried things.
Katherine helped her friend to set the greasy, grimace-inducing bounty down on the room’s dressing table, then left her to sort it out while she bent down near the window and doled out small piles of kibbles from the sack in her bag.
Mouser eased himself uncertainly down from Ruben’s shoulders, tempted by the smell of dried fish, and insinuated himself over to a pile next to the others. Ember gathered him closer to her as they dined.
Not as good as mouse, mind, Mr. Scruffles said with his mouth full. Crumbs fell out and skittered across the floor. But it’s something, isn’t it?
Better’n I’m used to, Mouser said quietly. He scarfed up Mr. Scruffles’ crumbs without a shred of shame.
Tilly munched solemnly, watching him. After a few more bites, she pushed the rest of her share into the space where Mouser’s pile had been and sauntered away, alighting on Katherine’s lap at the foot of the bed.
“Hello, Tilly dear,” Katherine said, stroking her tail. “It’s a silly business, isn’t it, being back out on the road again?”
Yes, it is, Tilly said and settled down in a curled loaf shape on Katherine’s skirts.
“Tea, Katty?”