Chapter 20 #3
Katherine began fidgeting with the brooch on her vest. Perhaps if she was quick enough, and able to grab ahold of Mrs. Chrysler’s arm, they could escape by one of the maps in her pack?
She surreptitiously slipped the strap from her shoulder, and once it had reached her elbow, extended a hand into its main compartment to feel around for a familiar texture.
“What are you doing?” one of Mr. Gneiss’s companions snapped. Katherine jumped. Her fingers clamped down on the chunk of plop and she withdrew it.
“What’s that?”
“Oh, er, it’s plop.” Nervously Katherine unwrapped the petrified dragon doings, and its pungent scent crinkled her nose.
“Katty!” Mrs. Chrysler exclaimed. “Brilliant idea!” She turned to Mr. Gneiss with renewed vigor. “Your plop supply is drying up, isn’t it?” she asked. “That’s why you’re in business with Ms. Angela.”
The troll’s eyes narrowed.
“So, what if we make you a counteroffer?” Mrs. Chrysler said. “Low risk, high reward. And all completely legal.”
“That’s right,” Katherine said, gripping the plop even tighter.
Her heart leapt. “Go see Ms. Angela as you planned. But there’s another stop you should make first. A brilliant inventor has developed”—she reached into her memory of previous jobs for the right jargon—“a revolutionary new technique that will disrupt the entire plop supply chain.”
“Troll doctor on Low Street. Ask for Storage,” Mrs. Chrysler chimed in with an admiring sidelong gaze at Katherine.
A younger troll eyed Mr. Gneiss quizzically and muttered something in Trollish, but the old troll stayed him with a raised hand.
“Melinda Storage,” Mrs. Chrysler corrected herself. “Ask her for a demonstration of her plop press. Believe me, it’s well worth your while.”
The business troll rubbed his head where it was bare of moss and inscrutably regarded each of his entourage in turn.
He addressed them in the grinding Trollish tongue.
The four other trolls variously shrugged shoulders or raised their eyebrows and gave their rumbling replies.
Apparently satisfied, Mr. Gneiss turned to Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler.
“Like I said, I’m a troll of business. The best offer is the one that’s right for me. But if you send me on some fool’s errand,” he warned, pointing a gigantic finger in their faces, “I’ll be seeing the wisdom of my colleagues, and their fondness for revenge.”
“You won’t regret it,” Katherine assured him. “You don’t need Ms. Angela or her mine. And you will have a lot fewer problems. Including us.”
“We shall see.” Mr. Gneiss gestured to his companions, and they immediately fell into step behind him. As he lumbered up the lane toward town, he briefly looked back over his shoulder. “Seems your friends have gotten that wagon turned around. I’ll see you again real soon.”
After a frenzied climb into the wagon, a harried half-explanation, and a feverish “Let’s go! Let’s go! While they’re still in town!” Katherine and her friends arrived at the front entrance to the convent, its sagging sand bags still blocking the door.
“What a brilliant idea,” Mrs. Chrysler said as Katherine stowed the plop back in her bag. “Who knows if it will even work, but it’ll take some time for Melinda to show them that thing. You saw how she liked to talk. We’ll be away from Eagle Heights before they even get there—Oh, no.”
Katherine looked up sharply at her friend’s sudden shift in tone.
Waiting by the door/window threshold of the abbey was a young woman, seated on the stairs, her chin in her hands. Upon spotting them, she lifted her head and grinned, sending unruly braids and stone bangles flying over her shoulder.
“Melinda Storage!” Katherine cried, her heart plummeting into her Elvish boots. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, there you are,” the rockist said brightly. She rose from her seat and approached the wagon.
“Who is this person?” Sister Agatha asked, scrutinizing the newcomer severely.
“She works at the troll doctor’s on Low Street,” said Katherine. “She identified the plop for us.”
“We’ve just sent some trolls to find you, Melinda,” Mrs. Chrysler said, climbing down to the ground and giving Katherine a sickened look.
“There were some angry trolls just here,” Melinda said, gesturing down the lane. “Were they the ones eating the PDG?” She pulled a face.
Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler exchanged glances.
“Could we still catch them?” Ruben asked Katherine, looking uncertain.
“There’s no time,” said Sister Agatha. Katherine followed her gaze to the sky, where, below tattered clouds, the sun was broodily sinking ever closer toward the horizon.
“Melinda, you should go back to Low Street,” Katherine said. “And hurry.”
“Back? But I’ve been trying to find you for three days. It’s about the plop,” the rockist said, wringing her hands. “You see—I realize I’m not a doctor, or, at any rate, not a medical doctor. Well, I do have some training, but, not at that… Anyway, I still have a duty to—”
Katherine groaned. “Walk and talk, Melinda,” she said, taking Mrs. Chrysler by the arm. “We’re in a bit of a rush.” She led the way around the back of the convent toward the stables.
“Oh.” The young woman picked up her pace.
“What I mean to say is, I was troubled by what you said the other day, about the trolls who were eating PDG, er, plop? I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
They really shouldn’t be doing that. Ooh, look at all the dragons!
” They had rounded the convent now, and Melinda’s face broke a delighted smile at the sight of Saint Percival’s resident flock lounging on the flagstones.
Several looked up idly, then yawned and set their heads back down.
“I’ve never seen more than two together at a time. How many would you—?”
“Never mind that, Melinda. You were saying?”
“Oh.” The rockist refocused and gestured to Ruben, who was stumping alongside with his cane.
“I recognized your habit, Brother Hoode. So I contacted the Brothers of Saint Caracatus to find out more, but they said they hadn’t heard of you, or your ministry in the mountains.
” Mrs. Chrysler shot Katherine a look. “So, I thought I’d try the Sisters of Saint Percival’s.
A nun inside told me the abbess was away on an errand this afternoon, and that you were with her.
So I said I’d wait outside. And here you are. ”
“Aha, well… well done,” Ruben said weakly, absently stroking Mouser on his shoulders. Sister Agatha was striding ahead of them, and Katherine wondered if she was listening.
“So, could you tell me more?” Melinda asked. “I mean, eating plop could be a sign of some mineral deficiency unknown to Trollish medicine. I’d really like to—”
Katherine let go of Mrs. Chrysler’s arm and held up a hand. “Rest assured,” she said, “no trolls are in danger at Brother Hoode’s ministry. It was all a misunderstanding.”
“Oh—Well. Are you sure?” The young woman looked between Katherine and Ruben, her bangles clinking. “You seemed pretty certain they were eating it.”
“There is something we need your help with now, though.” Katherine turned to Mrs. Chrysler, who nodded.
“Melinda, you don’t happen to have your plop press in that bag, do you?” Mrs. Chrysler asked.
Melinda Storage adjusted the rucksack on her shoulders.
“No. I destroyed that prototype actually, after our conversation. All that talk about a cartel… Seemed a bit risky to experiment. I do have some sampling equipment, of course.” She turned back to Ruben.
“You never know when you might come across some plant or fungus or rock or something that could be tested for a new tincture. I once found some lovely pumice for polishing blemishes, and it was—”
“Melinda,” Katherine said. “If Todd—that’s Todd”—Katherine waved to get the attention of the tree nymph, who was walking ahead with Sister Agatha, and Melinda followed the wave—“if Todd showed you his toolshed, how long would it take you to make another plop press?”
“Why would I make another one?”
“Those angry trolls,” Mrs. Chrysler said. “The ones who were just here. They want to see it.”
Melinda Storage looked uncertain.
“Seeing it will make them less angry,” said Katherine.
“Oh. What about the cartel, though?”
“They are the cartel.”
“Oh, uh. Well, it depends on what tools you have… And what materials there are on hand… Besides what I have in my bag. They want to see it being tested?”
“Yes. Basically right now.”
“Oh. Um, sure.” Melinda looked around the stable yard. “It would be amazing to finally test my hypothesis. There’s certainly a lot of guano around here to work with… Sure, I can make another prototype. Give me thirty minutes?”
Katherine surveyed the sky. “How about twenty?”
A moment later, Melinda was jogging away in deep conversation with Todd, and the rest of Katherine’s party stood on the flagstones by the convent stables making swift preparations.
“I want to come too,” Ruben said, jutting out his chin. “Give me my poncho. I can do it; I know I can.”
“Ruben,” Katherine said, “I think it’s best if you stay here. This isn’t exactly in your wheelhouse.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Ruben let the fidgety Mouser down from his shoulders. “This whole thing started with me, didn’t it? And the only reason Gary and all them are in this bind—I think it’s only fair I get to see it through to the end.”
“If that’s what you want, Ruben,” Mrs. Chrysler said with a sigh, drawing Katherine away to organize the dragons being led out of a nearby paddock by the nuns.
Ruben looked after them with a resolute nod. “Well. Well, then, I’ll help get ready.”
Ember and the cats milled around the stable yard as the humans talked.
We’ve seen the mistress do some wild things, Tilly said, but this… These animals are old! She was watching a few of the dragons, who had holes in their wings.
Mr. Scruffles flopped carelessly to the ground, warming himself in a spot of sunshine. The sky was clouding over, and the sun struck the earth in long, irregular patches. So’s the mistress, he said. So are we.
Tilly stalked away to sit amid Katherine’s skirts, muttering softly.
You needn’t come along, dear, Ember kindly told Mouser, who was wistfully watching Tilly nestle into a crouch at her mistress’s feet.
Well, if everyone else is going… he said uncertainly.
By now, most of the dragons were getting quite fidgety and excited.
Can you believe it? August said as he bounded up to the cats and nearly trampled Mr. Scruffles. We’re going on a field trip outside the grounds!
Yes, yes, said Mr. Scruffles, rearranging his fur and smoothing out his bristled tail. Some of us go adventuring all the time.
Oooh, it’ll be just like the old days, the little dragon gushed.
A larger dragon, teal-scaled and the size of the toolshed, ambled over. And just like the old days, someone’s got to carry you.
August withdrew sheepishly, drawing his tail between his legs. I’m not very heavy, he said quietly.
Nevertheless. Maybe it would be better if you stayed behind.
August’s eyes began to mist, and the teal dragon relented, tossing his heavy head. I’ll carry you, he said, then pointed a massive claw in August’s direction. But make sure you stay out of trouble.
The small dragon nodded eagerly, his miniature wings aflutter, and he thumped his tail against the ground.
Melinda Storage came running over. “Can I borrow that?” she said, gesturing at the crowbar end of Ruben’s cane.
He raised his eyebrows and wordlessly handed it over to her.
“This is going to be even better than my other prototype!” she cried, turning to Katherine and Mrs. Chrysler.
“These flagstones you have here are far superior for the heat-to-pressure ratio I need—”
Tilly clamped her paws down over her ears.