Chapter 10 #3
Mrs. Chrysler eyed Katherine guiltily. “That’s a very sad story, Ruben,” she said, her mother-tone softened now. “Sounds like everyone just really had the fight knocked out of them.”
Ruben nodded glumly. “I suppose.”
“I say shame on them for holding a grudge against you, Ruben,” Katherine said, “if they were all as keen as you were to stir things up.”
“I suppose.”
“Doesn’t sound as if you’re to blame to me.”
Ruben nodded again. “Thanks, Caterina,” he said.
“And you’re out of there now,” Mrs. Chrysler said, leaning forward encouragingly in her chair.
“True.” Ruben set his plate down on the mattress and licked a finger to wipe up any lingering crumbs.
“Thank you again for that. You know, for getting me out.” He managed a smile and settled further back on the bed against the headboard to make himself more comfortable.
Tilly shifted on Katherine’s lap as she watched him.
“Even if it was, you know, not really on purpose…”
Katherine cleared her throat. “Well, what about before… everything… Ruben?” she asked, attempting to steer the conversation to a lighter topic. “You lived on your own till you moved in with your nephew?”
“Yes.” Ruben absently wiped his greasy fingers on his robe.
“I was married once, a long, long time ago, but it didn’t work out, and I never tried again.
I suppose I just never really found the right person.
” His eyes met Katherine’s a moment, and she found she couldn’t look away.
“I didn’t mind living on my own, though.
And I moved around a lot. So it’s probably all for the best. When I got older, though, I did want to be closer to family, and I got a place not far from my nephew…
the only family I had left, unfortunately.
It was fine, for a while.” He paused thoughtfully, likely reliving the day’s earlier reunion.
“You know, until…” He took an angry slurp from his mug and fell silent.
Katherine nodded with a slight frown as she listened.
Her gaze wandered to Mouser, and visions of what might have been surfaced, as she realized she’d never before met anyone with the same affinity for felines as herself.
Or, rather, it seemed she had once—but only the once.
In the rain. Over forty years ago. She shook her head.
“But, up till then,” she said, “before you moved in with your nephew and then he… relocated you. Had you retired? Or you were still plying your trade?”
“My counterfeiting? Yes, well.” Ruben poked at another piece of hot and lumpy something on his plate before tossing it in his mouth.
“I was talented at forgery and fabrication, I’m proud to say.
But, I guess I didn’t consider… getting old.
” His voice grew troubled. “Well, it’s these new papers and inks and watermarks and things.
If you don’t keep up with the times, the new kids just take over… And I guess I sort of…”
“Got left behind,” Mrs. Chrysler finished sympathetically.
“Yes,” he said.
“And burglary didn’t work out for you, as you said,” Katherine added.
“Why don’t you just pour lemon juice in his wounds, Katty?” Mrs. Chrysler said with her mouth full.
“No, it’s all right. I’d made a go of burglary in my younger days.
After… what I thought was our competition.
And I learned it wasn’t for me. So much more glamorous than forgery, I thought, having heard so many stories growing up—and following your careers too,” he added, blushing slightly.
“But the truth is that I really wanted to be an artist.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” the old man said wistfully. “I sketched as a kid, did calligraphy, painted a bit, things like that. Nothing worth anything, though, and the inks and paints were expensive. Couldn’t make a living at it, so I put my talents to more profitable use.”
“Counterfeiting.”
Ruben nodded as he licked his fingers. “Started by doing bank notes to buy the inks and paints, then started making copies of other people’s artwork besides mine.
Turns out there’s a market for that, you know.
I was discovered, you might say, by an art dealer who called my own art”—Ruben searched the ceiling again as he thought—“‘unoriginal and derivative’, but”—he held up a finger—“my copies ‘really damn close to the real thing.’ Close enough to make both of us quite a bit of money anyway.” Ruben shrugged.
“And to add to that, I did more bank notes, deeds, contracts. Er—” He seemed to choke on the recollection of what had gotten him into the nuns’ poor graces in the first place and pivoted.
“But enough about me. I mean, Hornsboggle and Dodge? Come on!” He spread his arms. “I really want to hear more about you two.”
Katherine pushed away her untouched plate absently. “We were something,” she admitted, taking a sip of her very weak tea.
“We were the best,” Mrs. Chrysler said.
“It is strange, though, to think we’ve been out of the game for longer than we were in it, Imogene. It’s been more than forty years, after all.”
“Just enough time for the tales to grow tall,” her friend said with a wink.
“They were pretty tall to begin with,” Ruben gushed. “I thought my Uncle Robin was something, but he wasn’t nearly as great a swordsman—er, woman—uh, person—as you two. And the things you stole, he never would have done. There wasn’t anyone like you.”
“We broke a few barriers, it’s true,” Katherine conceded.
“And heads,” Mrs. Chrysler added. “And hearts!”
“I’ve always wanted to know,” Ruben said, “how did you get started?”
“Well, we met when we were girls.” Mrs. Chrysler set down her plate and looked around for something to wipe her hands on. “Went to school together. I guess it all started there.”
“Really?”
Katherine laughed. “That’s right! Horace Whit. Do you remember him, Imogene?”
“Remember him! How could I forget him? He was such a bully,” she told Ruben. “Used to intimidate all the other kids and rob them outright—always taking their food and things.”
“What a mean little creep he was,” Katherine said.
“And he just got worse as he grew up. Finally, we’d had enough.
Our whole careers, we never robbed. Never.
We burgled. And did we burgle Horace something fierce!
” Mrs. Chrysler laughed heartily at the memory, and Katherine couldn’t help joining in too, remembering how that little monster had been so shocked every time one of his pilfered items went missing again.
“It became a game, after a while, didn’t it, Katty?
” Katherine nodded heartily. “Seeing how we could steal back the things he had taken.”
“We were stealthy, clever, and without mercy,” Katherine told Ruben.
“We drove Horace Whit to reformation, that’s for sure. And the other kids had even paid us to do it! Well, our destiny just seemed clear by the time we left school.”
“We got connected to the underground trades,” Katherine explained, “thieves and brigands and the like, and the magic trade too.”
“We learned from any mentors we could find, like how to battle foes guarding crypts and things like that. But we also taught ourselves, and just… went our own way, together.”
“Wow,” Ruben said. “And what about… the maps?”
“Well, of course I’d had other interests,” Katherine said, “knitting being chief among them.”
“And therein lies that special talent that put us over the top!” Mrs. Chrysler raised a fist triumphantly.
“Once you start acquiring enough gold to afford magic items… and learn where to get ’em…
And how to hold onto ’em… And you don’t cross the International Magical Accords, of course… Well, world’s your clam, as they say.”
“I think it’s ‘oyster’, Imogene.”
“Whatever.”
Ruben nodded, his rapt expression resting on greasy hands. “So, why did you stop? You were still young when you disappeared.”
“Yes, we were.” Mrs. Chrysler nodded, her face softened by a fond smile.
Ruben waited, eyebrows arched expectantly, but she didn’t go on.
“Maybe that’s a story for another time, Ruben,” Katherine said as she set down her empty mug, “when we haven’t had such a long day.” She gave Mrs. Chrysler a sympathetic pat on the knee as her friend dabbed a sleeve under her eyes.
“Well then, er, how”—Ruben gestured to Tilly and the two creatures still huddled in the corner with Mouser—“do the cats enter into things?”
Mrs. Chrysler cocked a brow and pointed at Katherine, directing this inquiry her way.
“Oh, well, I’ve always been very fond of cats.” Katherine smiled. “They can be very useful, you know. These three have been with me a very long time.” She stroked Tilly’s ears affectionately, and the little cat began to purr.
“How long?”
“Oh, forever,” she said.
Ruben thought a moment, then opened his mouth uncertainly. “Don’t cats only—well, what I mean is—isn’t that unusual?”
“These are unusual cats.”
Mr. Scruffles, presumably to underscore the point, chose that moment to pass smokily through the sideboard and the mattress before popping his head up in the center of the bed and leaping deftly into the air to settle on top.
He scratched his chin with a back leg, jangling his bell, then sat motionless, staring at Ruben’s behind, with his ears and whiskers cocked.
“And whatever happened to Horace Whit?”
Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler exchanged glances.
“You know, I don’t know?” Katherine said.
Mrs. Chrysler laughed. “Last I heard, he joined a seminary.”
“Well, I’m just glad—Ouch!” Ruben jumped, rubbing his bottom. The black cat was scrambling, crabwise, across the mattress now, in hot pursuit of a squeaky lump tunneling through the stuffing.
“Mr. Scruffles!” Katherine scolded.
I’ve—almost—got it! Mr. Scruffles said. He slit open the sheet with a forepaw and began to root around inside, plunging in up to his shoulders.
Katherine vainly attempted to shoo him away, but presently, he launched off the bed of his own accord, with a small gray parcel in his mouth. He returned to the corner, and crunched down.
You should thank me, he said as the parcel went limp. Would’ve been a real treat to have that moving about as you slept.
Katherine fetched a needle and thread to patch the mattress, leaving a disgruntled Tilly to reposition herself on the sheets, and Ruben massaged his rump absently, wiping more grease on his white robe.
“Maybe there are more mice in these rooms than there used to be, Katty,” Mrs. Chrysler said, tidying up the remains of their dinner.
“I wouldn’t hold it against him. Good kitty.
” She gave Mr. Scruffles a rare approving nod before shoving the tray outside their door.
“All right.” She clapped her hands authoritatively. “Sleeping arrangements.”
Ruben gulped. “Can I be in the middle?” he ventured hopefully.
“I don’t think so, Ruben. You get that side of the bed, since you’ve already gotten crumbs all over it.”
Ruben looked down guiltily at the mess he’d made and tried to brush the crumbs to the floor.
Ha-ha, bait for more mice, Mr. Scruffles said.
“I’ll take that side, because I’ll likely have to wee in the middle of the night. That puts you in the middle, Katty, I hope you don’t mind.”
Katherine surveyed the room for alternatives, but she wasn’t too keen to sit up in a chair.
“I don’t mind,” she said, “but the cats are sleeping next to me.”
Tilly opened an eye and fixed Ruben with a steely glare. If he rolls over on me, I’ll bite him.
“All right, it’s settled then. Now, time to start getting ready for bed.”
“Aw, no,” Ruben protested mid-yawn, trying to hide his mouth behind his hand. “We were just getting started with the stories.”
“I know,” Mrs. Chrysler said soothingly, “but tomorrow’s a big day.” She fetched a wool blanket from the sideboard and, after making sure he didn’t have to visit the loo first, tucked Ruben up into it like a sausage.
“Well, um, thank you, Mrs. C.,” he said, casting a self-conscious eye at Katherine before laying his head down on his pillow. Mouser crawled up on his chest and deposited himself there.
Mrs. Chrysler settled herself down in the chair with one more cup of tea.
Katherine remained perched on the foot of the bed, stroking Tilly, who had clambered back up on her lap.
Ember and Mr. Scruffles hopped up on the mattress, buttressed themselves against the dormant Ruben, and began to groom each other.
Ruben snored, and Katherine heaved a sigh.
“What are we going to do with him, when all is said and done?” she asked, feeling rather sorry for him by this point. Mouser, whose limbs had sprawled in slumber, was draped over the old man’s chest, his small furry head tucked against Ruben’s chin.
Mrs. Chrysler shrugged her eyebrows. “Perhaps the nuns will take him.”
Katherine shuddered slightly, but there were worse places to be, she admitted. “Do you remember him, Imogene, from that last job?”
Her friend shook her head solemnly. “Not as well as you do. You got a better look, as I recall.”
Katherine nodded. She had gotten the better look, and now her memory served it up for her again, so she could scrutinize it some more. “He didn’t seem much older than us, at the time.”
An agitated snore from Ruben rent the air.
“Seems older than us now.”
Katherine nodded thoughtfully. “I suppose we are pretty lucky, Imogene. We still each live on our own, get around on our own, still manage to support the lifestyles to which we’ve grown accustomed.”
Mrs. Chrysler nodded. “We get by, it’s true. Not as much gold in wool spinning and seamstressing as there was in pilfering, but it’s been enough. So far.”
More silence passed, flavored at intervals by the slurping of cats and snoring of Ruben.
“Glad we made this trip?” Mrs. Chrysler gave Katherine a gentle smile, rimmed at the edges by the cheekiness she’d always admired.
“I’m not not glad,” Katherine said. “For one thing, it’s showing me what we’re still capable of, in a way.” Then a thought struck her. “That young man at the Giddy Horseman, though, Imogene. Would you really have run him through? If Chauncey hadn’t gotten stuck in his scabbard?”
Her friend absently fiddled with her wedding ring. “Well,” Mrs. Chrysler said after a while. “Probably not, I guess. When it came to it. Might have maimed him a bit, but I suppose, in the end, everyone is somebody’s baby.”
Katherine nodded. “You’ve got to admit, Imogene, we’ve changed since the old days.”
“Maybe a little, Katty,” Mrs. Chrysler said, draining her cup. “But not necessarily for the worse. Tell me you’re not enjoying yourself.”
Katherine smiled. “Maybe a little, Imogene.”
Mrs. Chrysler grinned. “And we’ve gotten you out of the house,” she said cheerily. “Even if you did have to bring your cats.”