Chapter 19 #3
“Yes,” Sister Agatha intoned, boring her eyes deeply into the two Splints. “And if you think I really sold that land all those years ago, you are sorely, sorely mistaken. Today, you are returning it. Are you not?”
Angelo Splint flinched, and then years of grievance came out in a torrent.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” the man blurted miserably.
He pointed frantically at his sister. “She’s always bullying me, getting me to do things I don’t want to do.
I don’t know anything about anything. I didn’t magic anybody! I don’t even want to be here!”
Katherine leaned in and whispered, not unkindly, “Then I suggest you find another line of work, dear. Maybe run away with that nice young woman outside.”
“That’s good advice. And, given that your sister has obviously already agreed to the transfer,” Mrs. Chrysler pointed out, looking meaningfully at Ms. Angela and gesturing at the forged signature, “I suggest you do what we are asking.”
“I didn’t—” Ms. Angela began, wisps of her plaited coif uncoiling like tentacles in her fury.
“Don’t make us tell everyone, dear,” Mrs. Chrysler said. “You know we will. You are getting off easy from where I’m standing.”
Angelo flashed his sister one more frightened look before gingerly taking the pen from Ruben and flicking it swiftly across the page under her clear, albeit forged, signature. “Take it, then. Take the whole thing back.”
Ms. Angela grunted in anguish. “Aargh, you nincompoop!” She swept a stray lock of hair out of her face and mashed it back into her loosening coif.
Mrs. Chrysler gathered up the paperwork with a flourish. “Thank you,” she trilled.
The enraged woman turned on her. “You think that’s it, do you? It’ll take ages”—Ms. Angela pointed to the contract in Mrs. Chrysler’s hands—“to get that through the Burnt Umberland queue and processed by the Pim clerks. Good luck with that.”
“Happily,” resounded the grave voice of Sister Agatha, wresting the Splints’ attention, “I have a case already open. And since it’s been open for over forty years, I believe that puts me to the front of the line.”
“Well,” Ms. Angela seethed, flexing and balling her fists, “our signatures aren’t even notarized, like Daddy’s was. Open case or not. They won’t accept it.” She sneezed explosively into an elbow, inadvertently releasing more coils.
“Don’t worry about that,” Mrs. Chrysler replied, turning up her nose.
“As far as we can see it, in the eyes of the Pim clerks, the property isn’t yours anymore.
And in the eyes of international law—if we tell anyone, mind—you’re a criminal.
So, we’ll just take possession of the property, snap everyone out of their stupor, and say no more about it, shall we? ”
Ms. Angela stewed. “Snap everyone out,” she said mockingly, shaking her head.
“Do you really think I would be so… incompetent as to install a charm that’s so easily reversed?
” Katherine’s jaw dropped in horror, and she noticed Angelo start to sidle away from his sister, but Ms. Angela grabbed him by the wrist. “Angelo, what day is it today?”
“Um, Friday?”
“No, the date, you nincompoop.”
“The fourteenth.”
“The fourteenth.” Ms. Angela turned her glare on Ruben.
“You were almost right, old man. The chandelier did go up three years ago… tomorrow. I paid top money for that thing, and it’s been slowly draining everyone’s minds away.
Maybe it was once reversible. But you’re too late.
After today”—Ms. Angela turned to Mrs. Chrysler—“there will be no ‘snapping’ anyone out of anything.”
Katherine’s stomach twisted. Those poor, poor people.
Ms. Angela smirked. “And, in case you’ve forgotten, the trolls will be here soon to sort you out too.”
“Well,” Mrs. Chrysler said, summoning up a sweet smile. Katherine could see the effort it cost her. “Thank you for explaining your crime so fully.” Ms. Angela’s smug expression vanished. “It helps clear up some things we were unsure of, doesn’t it, Margaret?”
Katherine nodded, as impressed as ever by her friend’s presence of mind. Forty years hadn’t dulled her bluffing skills. Mrs. Chrysler continued:
“You know already of course that we stole some plop records from this office,” she told Ms. Angela.
Angelo’s mouth dropped open and his sister’s eyes darted to the nearby closet.
“I wonder what else we might have taken as proof of your activities? Might be in your best interest to check.” With that, she turned on her heel and ushered everyone out of the office ahead of her, surging past the surprised Roberta.
Tilly, Mouser, and Ember once again made for the billows of Sister Agatha’s long cape, but Mr. Scruffles apparently opted for the scenic route and bounded onto Angelo’s chair and desk, upsetting the inkpot and sending sheets of paperwork flying, before scooting out into the foyer.
As the party exited the building, followed by the gaze of a dozen inquisitive clerks, they could hear Ms. Angela shrieking, “Aarghh! What is with all these cats?!”