Chapter 14
They returned to the tavern after purchasing a midday meal—paid for in part by the office worker’s coupon—and re-entered the relative silence, darkness, and emptiness of the Gilded Midden during its slow afternoon hours.
A sullen fire was once again crackling quietly in the hearth, and the short, stout barman they’d first encountered the day before was back at his post. Reliably reticent up until now, he actually rose from his stool as they entered.
“No outside food,” he said gruffly, waving his polishing cloth toward the door. Ruben began to turn resignedly back, sandwich in hand, and Mrs. Chrysler stopped him.
“It’s starting to rain outside,” she told the barman.
“And I have dietary restrictions,” Katherine said. “I can’t eat what you serve.”
“Would you really cast three old people out in the rain?” Mrs. Chrysler demanded. “Just because they have sandwiches with them? What kind of manners are those?”
Nearby, pairs and trios of dark figures were scattered about at tables, and some of them were lifting their heads in interest. The barman pursed his lips and returned to his seat.
“What can I get you?” he asked stiffly, eyes glued to the bar top, then provided the requested meads and cider with hardly another word. Katherine’s party collected their drinks and slid past the other patrons to the booth they’d occupied yesterday.
“Getting to be real regulars here, aren’t we?” Ruben asked in obvious delight.
“Yes, well, don’t get too excited,” Mrs. Chrysler said.
As they ate, Ruben passed bits of meat from his sandwich to Mouser on his shoulder, and the other cats begged unashamedly until Katherine supplied them with some tidbits of their own.
What do you think? Ember asked between mouthfuls. Think they stole anything from the tall man while we waited outside?
Undoubtedly, Mr. Scruffles said.
We’ll find out soon enough, said Tilly. They’re going to have to explain it all to this one. She flicked her tail in Ruben’s direction. What was that song he was singing to us while we waited? I’ve never heard anyone rhyme “jerkin” with “gherkin” before…
I think it’s called a limerick, Ember said, licking a paw to wash her face.
I don’t know, Mr. Scruffles said, gnawing on the rubber toy Ruben had given back to him while his mistress was in the office. But I thought it was funny.
After she’d finished her lunch, Katherine balled up the paper her sandwich had come in and took a sip of her cider. “Show him what we found, Imogene,” she finally said. “And”—she aimed this at Ruben—“please keep your voice down.”
Mrs. Chrysler nodded solemnly, swallowed the last of her own meal, licked her fingers, wiped the crumbs from the table, and pulled her yarn bag up alongside her on the leather cushion. Carefully, she began to lay out in front of them the liberated items from Merchants Lane.
Ruben gasped. “That’s not…”
“Oh, but it is.”
“And those aren’t… Actually, what are those?” Ruben reached forward for the ledger and accompanying loose page. “Oh.”
“Near as I can figure it,” Mrs. Chrysler said, setting the messenger pigeon papers in front of them now and squaring them neatly, “the Splint siblings use pigeons to communicate the daily hauls of plop and the payouts. Look here.” She directed Ruben’s attention to the scrawled note of numbers on the tiny bit of paper and explained how she and Katherine had matched it to the final entry in the latest ledger.
“I’d bet that pigeon we saw him releasing today was updating her on the income.”
The table fell silent a moment, and Ruben took a contemplative sip of his drink. “So what do we do now?”
“Well, we have proof of what they’re doing.” Mrs. Chrysler swung an arm to take in the paper-laden table. “We’ve got the plop, we’ve got the records. I think it’s way past time the Splints were exposed for what they’ve been doing, don’t you?”
Katherine nodded. “Blackmail.”
“Black—” Ruben burst, then continued in a more hushed tone: “Blackmail? You’re going to blackmail Ms. Angela?”
“Why not?” Mrs. Chrysler carelessly fiddled with her dress. “Sister Agatha wants the land and the people back. Ms. Angela and Mr. Angelo don’t want the mountain trolls knowing what we know. And Ms. Angela seems the tougher nut to crack, doesn’t she, Katty?”
Katherine nodded. From their brief encounter, she thought Angelo Splint seemed less nut than mushy banana. If there were someone who needed to be broken to get their way, someone who was really in charge of the business, it was probably Angela.
“Why don’t we just go to the authorities about this?” Ruben asked. “Report what they’re doing?”
“They own the land, Ruben,” Katherine said. “They can do whatever they want with it.”
“But the land’s not theirs! Not really.”
“As far as the Pim bureaucrats are concerned, it is,” Mrs. Chrysler said.
“We don’t have the original contract anymore, or your practice signatures, Ruben.
Your testimony’s worth nil. You heard Sister Agatha.
That notary stamp is sacred and has been recorded as legitimate in their system for decades. The clerks aren’t budging on it.”
“But, blackmail?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Chrysler. “And not a word to Sister Agatha about it. She’s a nun. She has scruples.”
“So, what’s your plan?” Ruben asked.
“Well, we’re going to have to talk to Ms. Angela,” Katherine said. Ruben went rigid. “And soon. But it should be somewhere we feel in control. Somewhere public.” At this, Ruben eased back in his seat.
“As long as we don’t have to go back… there,” he said, sipping his drink.
“No, it should be on our terms. Somewhere she can’t pin us down. Somewhere she can’t make a scene…”
“You think we could catch her out anywhere?”
“Mmmm… Know anything about her habits, Ruben?”
Ruben shook his head uncertainly. “Whenever I got caught outside of the main rooms, she always seemed to be around, but, like I said, it’s been a while since I tried escaping. The orderlies had said she hardly goes home, but that was years ago. I don’t know when she leaves.”
“Then we’ll have to lure her out…”
“How?”
“We’ll send her a message. Arranging a meeting.”
“You can’t mail her a threat, you know. That’s a crime!”
As one, Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler turned to look at Ruben, who appeared genuinely scandalized.
“That’s where your line is?” Katherine asked. “Misuse of the postal service?”
Ruben shrugged, grumbled something inaudible, and sat back in his seat.
“What about those crates?” Mrs. Chrysler asked.
“What about them, Imogene?”
“Well, I do agree that mailing her a message isn’t the best way to go.
” Ruben nodded triumphantly. “But only because it’s slow, and we don’t have that kind of time.
And it could conceivably be traced back to us.
” Ruben deflated. “So, what if we left her a message on a crate? Made her feel insecure, violated, even?”
“What are you proposing, Imogene?”
“I guess I’m proposing another night visit to the old folks’ home.”
Ruben squirmed. “Really?” he said. “That’ll be twice in two nights. I just can’t stomach it, ladies. I take back what I said about the mail, all right?”
“No, Ruben. You were right to question it. We’ve got three days, including today.
It’s time to send Ms. Angela a strong message and put it in a place that means something to her.
Make it something she has to take seriously.
” She turned now to Katherine. “That crate we saw inside the main building, and near the entrance to the mine—it couldn’t possibly have been brought inside through that set of doors you picked open in the foyer. ”
“No,” Katherine answered slowly. “I suppose not. I hadn’t really thought about it. But it was really large, wasn’t it? That means—”
“There’s got to be another entrance where the crates come and go.”
“A freight entrance.”
Mrs. Chrysler snapped her fingers. “Precisely.”
“So, you’re suggesting…”
“We leave a message in there. Maybe vandalize a crate, even,” she added. “Really give her something to think about.”
“That could be good,” Katherine said.
“That could be fun,” said Mrs. Chrysler. “I haven’t put together a ransom note in ages, Katty.” She sighed fondly.
Ruben looked uncertain, but he apparently took some comfort in swishing his drink around in its mug and absently stroking Mouser’s paws on his shoulder.
“It’s still several hours till sundown,” Mrs. Chrysler said. “Plenty of time to do this right.” She began gathering up all the documents on the table and packing them securely away. “I need a newspaper and some paste.”
The best source of both of these things turned out to be another of their previous destinations from the previous day: the public library.
Katherine deftly plucked a glue pot from the front desk while the librarian wasn’t looking, and Mrs. Chrysler slipped out the center pages from the public copy of Burnt Umberland’s newspaper—the Daily Trumpet—which dangled on a rack near the entrance.
“Who needs an invisibility cloak when you’re a woman in your seventies?” Mrs. Chrysler said as they scurried away with their prizes. Nevertheless, they ensconced themselves in one of the library’s deepest corners, at a squat window table under a staircase.
“Oh, this is such fun!” Mrs. Chrysler squealed. “Must explain my love of scrapbooking.” She pulled the duckie scissors from down her front and began scanning the news pages for her first victims. Then she paused. “Huh.”
“You seem to have grabbed the adverts,” Katherine said, peering over her shoulder.
“Yes. Well, we can make it work.”
“What do you want the message to say?” Ruben asked, rubbing the rough white whiskers on his chin.
“Well,” Mrs. Chrysler began, flipping the pages back and forth to take in all the options, “you’ve got to be creative when you’re limited to the letters and words available. But, I think we could use this big picture as a base, and layer the message on top of it…”
The picture in question was a woodcut of an older-looking gentleman, smiling an oversized grin of glinting, straight teeth, and evidently promoting “Doc Oscar’s Steadfast Denture Adhesive — Works Like a Charm!”
“Seems fitting, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Imogene.”
Mrs. Chrysler nodded in satisfaction and cut out the picture, then divided the rest of the oversized pages among them to search for possibilities.
I love seeing them so happy, Ember cooed as the trio of humans worked steadily, comparing sections and trading ideas.
Mmph, Tilly grunted sleepily.
Mr. Scruffles’ toy had again been confiscated, so he stuck his face into the fray—despite Katherine’s best efforts to gently shoo him—and was now occupied with trying to get a sticky clipping off his nose. Ember finally noticed and wandered over to help.
Ultimately, after much deliberation, Katherine and her companions found that the newspaper managed to supply all that they needed, via several of the personals, a stain remover ad, classifieds announcing an estate sale, and a pitch for a new card-playing club in town.
They formed an assembly line to create the finished product—Mrs. Chrysler trimming the clippings, Ruben applying the glue, and Katherine aligning the text in an aesthetically pleasing fashion over the grinning denture ad.
She even found she had enough room to leave much of the slogan visible.
Finally, Ruben peeled the dry glue off of his fingers with relish as Katherine reviewed their handiwork aloud:
we know WHAT YOU’RE up To
& Will spill
Olde Stone Bridge AT NOON alone Or else
“It’s too bad the ‘else’ is so small,” she said, “but otherwise I’m satisfied.”
Mrs. Chrysler nodded approvingly as she swept up the mess of the eviscerated paper. “And that bridge on the edge of town should work fine, I think. Even if it’s barely close to how I remember it. We’ll swing by to scout it out on the way over to Eagle Heights this evening.”
“You think the note’ll work?” Ruben asked.
Katherine shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”
“C’mon, then,” Mrs. Chrysler said. “If that bridge isn’t there anymore, we’ll need another note.”
Katherine and her party soon discovered that the bridge was indeed not so close to Mrs. Chrysler’s memory as she’d hoped, but it nevertheless, Katherine agreed, would suit.
“All right,” she said when she had finished adding more detail to the tissue paper sketch she’d layered over her knitted map. “The sun’s setting fast. Shall we go?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Chrysler. “To Eagle Heights! Let’s plant this friendly invitation.”