The Royal Perfects

by Jeremy Neeley

  Chapter 15: The Book of Love

  The Fine Fellows Club was packed to the hilt with dozens of gentlemen of high esteem. Lawyers, doctors, parliamentary officers and staffers, successful businessmen, and the rich male heirs of their bloodline all gathered in the club’s grand auditorium. Sir Snoots had made expert arrangements and the club president, Baron Clearwater Chesternut, had taken up the role of moderator, per his own request.

  Bugs was chosen to accompany and advise Mr. Goldhand. The pair ran through some last-minute points in a backstage room. Gabriel was nervous, but confident. He believed in what he felt and knew he had the best interests of the good people of Upper Southrump always in mind.

  A representative of the club popped his head into their room and informed Mr. Goldhand that the debate was about to get under way.

  “You’ll do fine, Mr. Goldhand,” assured Bugs. “Just say what you feel. You’re a good man with good ideas, and the people will see that.”

  Bugs ushered Gabriel toward the stage and directed him to his mark. On the opposite side of the platform, Leland and Thomas Tinderbox were doing the same with John Smith. The moderator, Baron Chesternut, stood to address the audience and formally introduce the candidates.

  Meanwhile, Timmy had proposed that he be stationed at the rear of the assembly hall. He said that he wanted to keep a watchful eye out in case Smith had any devious schemes in the works. But that logic was just a cover. Instead, he planned to duck out after things got going and seek out Genny.

  When the time was right, he did just that. The Fine Fellows Club was located in Central district and Smith’s flat was in Shillings. Timmy reasoned that Genny would still be there, having not been allowed admission to the club. He broke into full stride, running at a frantic pace toward her most probable location.

  With heavy breath, Timmy reached Smith’s apartment building. The structure was small, but it housed more than a few dwellings. From past conversations, Timmy knew Smith’s place was on the third floor and overlooked the Halfwit, so he entered through the main door and headed up the stairwell.

  There was only one flat that matched the description, so Timmy knocked on the door. The rapping was answered with silence. Timmy jiggled the latch. It was locked tight. He inched closer to the door, cupped his hands, and shouted Genny’s name. Still nothing. Perhaps she was not there. Maybe she was at the theater, he thought to himself.

  Timmy ran down the stairs and into the street. Suddenly, he felt the thud of a shoe strike him with great force upon the back. He turned to see a woman’s high heel lying in the lane. There was not a soul in sight, other than the one in question, that is. It was as if the article had materialized out of thin air. Timmy looked left and right but saw no one. He gazed skyward just as a second matching pump came sailing out of a third story window.

  Timmy caught the second shoe before it landed and hurriedly made his way toward a downspout bolted into the brick exterior of the building. He gripped the pair of heels with his teeth while simultaneously grabbing hold of the thick, sturdy metal waterway.

  He carefully ascended the pipe, using brick ledges as footholds, and eventually found himself many feet off the ground, level with the third-story window. Without looking down, Timmy leapt from the pipe to the window ledge. His momentum sent him rolling through the portal and onto the interior wood floor of the flat. He tumbled like a thrown sack of potatoes.

  Looking up, he was met by the smiling gaze of Genny.

  “Your shoes, my lady,” Timmy said with a grin, while handing Genny back her blue suede footwear.

  Genny reached forward with her free hand, gratefully taking the shoes from Timmy and placing them upon a nearby end table. That’s when he noticed her other hand had been bound in chains and tethered to a large, solid oak armoire.

  “John didn’t want me to go anywhere,” Genny said with embarrassment. “He also threatened me if I revealed to any happenchance visitors that I was inside. But when I heard it was you, I just had to let you know I was here. That’s why I threw my shoes out that window. I was hoping you’d find them lying there and see the opening above.”

  “Oh, I saw your shoes no doubt. The first one even had the extra forethought to strike me soundly upon the back just in case my eyes missed it,” Timmy joked.

  Genny laughed.

  Timmy knew time was of the essence, so he cut to the chase.

  “Genny, I met your father.”

  Genny’s eyes filled with tears. “How? Is he doing well? How does he look?” Her concern was expected and endearing.

  “I spent a week in the Grinder for violating one of Snodgrass’ insane decrees. I met your father there. He’s doing well and always thinking of you. Genny, he told me about something, something that may be able to set the whole twisted record straight. He said Smith kept a ledger. Your father saw it once. It contained all the details of Smith’s black market dealings, his contacts and his records. Both of us have confidence that if this manuscript were to be presented to the proper authorities, Smith would be jailed in a heartbeat. Then both your father, and by extension you, would be freed from your shared nightmare. Genny, have you seen such a book?”

  Genny looked into the distance, searching her mind for any memory of such a document. Her face glistened with a keen recollection.

  “Yes, I believe I have seen the ledger. It is a small, black, leather-bound book. It was sitting on a table in John’s dressing room at the Halfwit. Before I could examine it in depth, John entered and snatched it up. He did his best to play it off as a collection of stage ideas, but you and I both know John’s improvisational acting skills are as poor as a pauper. He unlocked a wall safe hidden behind a painting of Lady Macbeth and stowed away the manual. I saw it one other time, more recently. The other day, he and Percival Snodgrass were discussing a rather unfortunate situation concerning Mr. Goldhand.”

  “Percival Snodgrass? He’s still around. I thought he left the county shortly after his resignation.”

  “Oh no, he’s still in town. He’s kept an intentionally low profile, acting as a secret advisor to John’s campaign. When I walked in on their meeting, they were leafing through the ledger and discussing many of the contacts and deals they had made in the past, and some they continued to make even now.

  "Many of the truly valuable items and detailed forgeries that they illegally exchanged and smuggled passed through, or eventually landed in, the hands of quite a few of Upper Southrump’s most heralded members of high society. They were going to use this knowledge for blackmail, extorting campaign donations and influence that would virtually buy votes and fix the election. I’m sorry to say that no matter how well Mr. Goldhand performs at today’s debate, the outcome is all but assured. John Smith will be elected the next mayor of Upper Southrump.”

  Timmy could feel the rage boiling inside him. Every sapling of hope had met its end underneath the crushing boot heel of John Smith and his dastardly designs.

  Genny saw the anger in Timmy’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said laying her soft hand upon his cheek.

  In his mind, Timmy laid out the situation before him. Voting was set to begin tomorrow at daybreak. By day’s end, the dubious decision would be decreed, and the official winner would be announced. The new mayor would take the ordination oath, and the whole deal would be done by late evening. That meant that within the next twenty-four hours, John Smith would rule all of Upper Southrump, and the fragile, sliver of hope held by the good people of this town would set with the evening sun. Only the ledger could change that.

  “Genny, where is the key to the wall safe?” Timmy asked with renewed focus.

  The milky-skinned lass’ face grew distraught. “John keeps it on his person at all times. He wears it on a chain around his neck. I have never seen him take it off.”

  The revelation was heartbreaking. How was Timmy going to literally steal the key off Smith’s neck? It was a perplexing issue, but Genny had an answer.

  “Timmy,” she offered in a timi
d tone, “I can get the key.”

  Wicketts could tell by the look on her face, it was not going to be by a favorable method.

  “Long have I been forced to share a bed with John Smith. He has always made advances, and I have rightfully and repeatedly refused. Despite his otherwise vile character, it was one matter he would never force, choosing instead to wear down my constitution. Up until this point, I have been steadfast in my resolve, but now, I have no choice. I can get you the key.”

  The thought was horror to Timmy, something so vulgar he did not want the idea to even be considered, let alone uttered. But Genny knew what was at stake.

  “Timmy, I will do this for my father…and you.” The beautiful woman placed a kiss upon Timmy’s lips. It was kind and loving, warm and welcoming. A sensation of bliss rained over them both, and when their lips pulled apart once more, they drew forth a shared breath.

  “Genny, you can’t,” Timmy stated emphatically.

  “No, there is too much at stake, too little time. There is no other way. Tonight, I will obtain the key.”

  Suddenly, they heard voices approaching from the hall outside the flat.

  “Timmy, it’s John’s men, Portly and Leopold! They are coming to check on me! Quick, you have to go!”

  Timmy turned toward the open window but felt a tug on his arm. The lovely lady Jenkins yanked him back, delivering one more invigorating kiss. They embraced as the door latch clicked. Moments later, Portly and Leopold stomped into the room. There Genny sat, still chained in place, reading a book. She was alone. Timmy was sliding fast down the exterior drainpipe. Portly and Leopold were none the wiser.

  The morning sun had given way to increasing gray clouds and a colder breeze. Rain was on the horizon and the first drops were sprinkling down upon Timmy as he arrived back to the auditorium. He entered the building to the voice of the moderator thanking each candidate for their time and willingness to speak on matters of great importance. The audience was also gracious in their applause, and slowly, the crowd began to file out.

  Timmy waited as Bugs and Gabriel made their way toward the exit.

  “That was a fine show, Mr. Goldhand,” Bugs said.

  “I hope so,” stated the novice politician. “I will say this, that Smith is slick. He answered a whole slew of questions without really saying a thing. It’s almost an art form the way he can charm the crowd but reveal almost nothing of substance.”

  “Yeah, but you nailed him with more than a few hard points. When you talked about the blight of the noodle hangers and the need for new schools of training, Smith’s face was blank as a sheet. I don’t think he had the foggiest idea of what you were talking about. What’d you think, Timmy?”

  Of course, Timmy had not seen even a minute of the debate, but he couldn’t let on. “Yes, I agree Mr. Goldhand, you did a marvelous job. You should be pleased.”

  “You really think I have a chance?” the man asked with hope and earnestness.

  “For sure,” Timmy replied. He swallowed hard, struggling to digest the lie he had just uttered. Genny had revealed the sad truth to come, only moments ago.

  Timmy ushered Bugs and Gabriel aboard a carriage. He, of course, refused to ride. Later that evening, they would hold one last rally for Gabriel’s cause at the shuttered Rat’s Tail Tavern in Sooty Stoops. Timmy instructed Gabriel to rest up and promised he would meet him again in a few hours. The coach then rumbled off as Wicketts took to walking.

  It was a worry-filled stroll back to the Stoops. His mind was tormented by thoughts of Genny and the act she intended to perform. Timmy wanted to find another way, some means of lessening her burden. A solution was as hard to grasp as the sporadically falling raindrops.

  Soon, he set foot upon the stone street of Shuttlecock Lane. A finch’s tweet welcomed him and Twitch appeared, perched upon a signpost. The crazy little bird chirped again and then fluttered down to his favorite resting spot upon Timmy. A few blocks away, Timmy could see through the windows of Lester’s. His friends were talking and joking as Bugs informed them of Gabriel’s excellent performance at the debate. Bugs was confident Gabriel would be the victor and had the rest of the men in similar spirits. They celebrated and drank, and Timmy could feel the pressures of vast, varied worry crashing down upon him. This all had to be set right, without sacrificing Genny. Yes, she was willing, but it just didn’t have to happen like this. The Bastard Babyface refused to accept it.

  Timmy took one last step toward home, then halted. He dropped his head, weighing his choices, turned, and ran once more toward Shillings.

  Timmy could hear the chants of “Smith” echoing from blocks away, and as he rounded the corner, he met the mob of supporters cheering on their candidate. Smith was also holding a final rally. With voting to begin tomorrow, he too thought it wise to invigorate his base, no matter how delusional they already were.

  Smith stood atop the steps of the Shillings District Coin Hold of Southrump. In his final speech before voting, he wanted to play off the pun that the people of Southrump could bank on a victory. For Timmy, it was pure symbolic irony, seeing Smith’s momentum being backdropped by wealth. His So-So kin stood stoically behind their leader, as did a forlorn Genny. Her withdrawn posture, like that of a wilted rose, revealed her distaste for what seemed inevitable. Timmy knew she was distracted by the awful thoughts of an unsavory evening to come.

  From the edge of the throng, Wicketts listened to the hollow words of Smith, who spoke of the dawn of a new day and how he was the right man to lead the town into the future. Smith also made sure to get in a few, final rough words on Gabriel Goldhand. As the rascal spoke, Timmy could see the glint of a gold chain just above his collar. He knew upon that necklace was the key to the vault, the key to the election, and the key to Genny’s salvation.

  “My friends,” Smith continued to croon, “tomorrow you will head out to the polls. Tomorrow, you, the people, will make your choice. I believe with all of my heart that that choice is clear. Vote with confidence and trust, and by day’s end, I will meet you all on the steps of the mayor’s mansion. I love each and every one of you!”

  Smith lifted his arms high into the air as if conducting a large orchestra. The blind bit players responded with ear-rattling applause. Grinning and nodding, the wily politician walked the edge of the staircase as his fans reached out to grasp his coat. He knelt down to shake the hand of a young woman near the front. The act caused his key-bearing necklace to fall from his shirt. It dangled there, in front of Timmy, like a golden worm on a hook. Then suddenly, it disappeared in a flying flash of feathers!

  Smith recoiled, clutching his chest and feeling for an item that was no longer present. His visage contorted in a most grotesque manner, immediately revealing dread and painful fear. Wide and worried eyes darted about the audience, searching for the lost chain and key.

  Those same orbs grew narrow and vicious only seconds later, for Smith spotted his property. It was traveling feet above the crowd, held firm in the talons of the finch Twitch! The crazy little bird swooped and fluttered. It paused for a moment, hovering above Timmy, then dropped the key right into its master’s waiting hand.

  Smith hollered in horror as Timmy cast a wink and a grin in his direction. The cunning Perfect turned and broke into a mighty stride, heading toward the Halfwit Theater. Smith immediately conveyed the urgency of the situation to his henchmen, and the chase was on.

  The thick gathering of people positioned in the street became an unwelcome morass, slowing down the So-Sos’ pursuit. As they waded through the swamp of supporters, Timmy increased his lead, and by the time the So-Sos broke free from the crowd, the sprinting Wicketts was blocks away, entering the Halfwit front door.

  Eventually, Smith and his men reached the theater and rushed into the main performance room. There, standing at center stage, was Timmy. He had already found the vault and was fleeing the scene with the black, leather ledger held tightly in his grasp.

  “Oh, Mr. Wicketts,” Smith uttered with
pure disdain, “You are quite the sly fox, aren’t you?”

  The devilish fellow ordered for his cronies to fan out and surround the stage.

  “Apparently, you have learned quite a few things about my past. It’s all for naught though, for that book you hold is no longer of consequence. The wheel of inevitability has already been set into motion. Come tomorrow, I will be mayor, and the past life of John Smith will matter not, for my own hand will be writing a new reality.”

  Timmy slowly backed away from the stage edge as Leland, Leopold and Thomas Tinderbox crept onto the surface like bloodthirsty hyenas. They slid and snuck, slowly encompassing Timmy and awaiting Smith’s word to unleashed violent fury.

  Smith moved closer and appealed to Timmy once more. “So, Wicketts, why don’t you just set down that ledger? Place it softly upon the stage floor and walk away, for it is only serving one purpose now, and that is to enrage me. Give back the book, and I promise you will be granted safe passage out of this theater.”

  Timmy trusted Smith as much as a dog at the dinner table. He knew there was no way Smith would let him walk away now, especially since Timmy had in-depth knowledge of his past. The two men simply stared at one another in defiance.

  “Fine,” Smith conceded, “we shall do this the hard way!”

  Those words sent Leland and the others lunging toward their target. Timmy cringed, preparing for impact. Instead, he heard the loud ripping sound of rope speeding through pulleys. It shrieked through the cavernous hall as the heavy, blue curtain fell from its position high above the stage. The hefty drape dropped fast and hard upon the heads and bodies of the ravenous So-Sos, momentarily trapping them within its many folds.

  Timmy looked heavenward, thanking God for his divine intervention. Instead, he spotted Bugs hanging in the rafters.

  “Timmy, let’s go!” Bugs shouted as he rappelled to the stage below. The duo dashed down a back staircase and out a side door leading into an alley next to the building. Much to their surprise, Portly Slimtwist was waiting for them. Smith had ordered Portly to man the post in the event Timmy tried to exit that way.

  Portly saw the two Perfects and began to pound his fists together. He chuckled as his gargantuan frame moved menacingly forward.

  “Bugs, what’s next?” asked an anxious Wicketts.

  Bugs was without comment, that is until a rotten grapefruit came hurtling toward Portly, striking him soundly in the chest. “I was just waiting on the cavalry,” Harrington said with a grin.

  From an adjacent roof, another grapefruit came raining down, this time accompanied by the mocking laughs of Lancelot and Benedict. Portly caught one square in the mush, promptly dropping him to his knees. He cried with pain while rubbing his eyes. The acidic juice was blinding.

  Bugs and Timmy took the opportunity to rush past the incapacitated giant, but by the time they made it out into the public square once more, Smith and the others had freed themselves from the net-like curtain and were again hot on their trail.

  The Perfects cut this way and that, hoping to elude the So-So pack, a zig and a zag, but to no avail, for their pursuers stayed in step. After shooting through another alley, Bugs and Timmy took to a ladder affixed to the side of a tenement. They scurried up the rungs and onto the roof, hoping the maneuver would shake Smith and his men. It was not to be. As the pair crossed over the tar-covered surface, Bugs looked back. He could see Smith cresting the ledge and pulling himself up to their level.

  Rooftop real estate was running out fast, and Timmy and Bugs soon found themselves at the opposite edge. There was little time to debate their next action, so without hesitation, they leapt over the chasm between the tenement and an adjacent building, landing with a thud upon the roof of the Shillings Library. There they spotted a summit-top door, ducked inside, and raced down a stairwell to the library’s main floor, pausing only to catch their breath.

  The respite was brief because Smith had seen their path and was quick to enter the athenaeum. The chase became a labyrinthine affair as the men ran among the rows and rows of books and manuscripts. Eventually, Timmy spotted an open window along a back wall and signaled to Bugs. The two vaulted through the frame and onto the street once more.

  This time, it was Leland who had seen the escape act and was next through the hole. Smith, Thomas, and Leopold followed. Eventually the hunt had spanned a great distance, all the way to Sooty Stoops. Again, the Perfects attempted to shake off the hounds, this time choosing a large industrial laundry for their cover. Entering the building, they quickly ascended a staircase and traversed a catwalk, hoping to hide behind a stack of crates on the upper balcony. Unfortunately, they had again been a step too slow. The So-Sos kept pace, and saw the two men running toward their intended concealment.

  The catwalk was narrow, and Smith led the way. Bugs and Timmy could hear him approaching.

  Shouting over the loud rhythmic hum of automated machines below, Smith called out. “Gentlemen, the game is at an end, and while you have certainly made this an exciting day, I must insist you hand over the ledger right now!”

  Timmy and Bugs stood up from behind the crates. There was nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide. They prepared themselves for a fight.

  “You are such fools,” continued the egomaniacal actor. “Did you really think you two bums, and your merry crew of misfits, could change anything? You were, and always will be, the dregs of our society. The sooner men like you realize your place is at the bottom of the barrel, the better off you will be. Hell, Leland, take a note, my first act as mayor will be to demolish Sooty Stoops and raze the Moor slums. We’ll sell the land to businessmen wanting to expand, or use it to raise pigs.”

  Smith extended his hand. “Now, the ledger, if you please.”

  Bugs looked at Timmy with concern as his friend pulled the book from beneath his coat. Wicketts stepped forward and handed it to Smith. Bugs’ heart froze.

  “Now that’s the act of a reasonable man,” Smith laughed. He held the ledger over the catwalk rail and dropped it into a large steam stove burning below. The book was burned to cinders. Timmy could barely look. He exhaled a breath of defeat and fell to one knee.

  “Oh, don’t cry, Mr. Wicketts. As I said, that ledger was no longer of any use. It had done its part and ensured my election. Grand show, though. I commend your effort, but as always, in the end, I cannot be bested.” Smith took a step back as Leland, Leopold and Thomas moved forward.

  “Even though your precious evidence is no longer an issue, your punishment is,” said the callous Smith. “As mayor-elect, I have to set an early example, show my future serfs that acts of thievery and criminal mischief will not be tolerated. For your sakes, I hope you blackout before your bones break.”

  Leopold swung a heavy hand, but Bugs evaded the blow. Timmy was targeted next, and managed to dodge Thomas’ boot. Just then, a hidden escape route became evident, a laundry shoot just beyond the crate stack. Bugs saw it first, and snatching Timmy by the collar, pulled his friend up and over one of the wooden palettes. He tugged open the large tin door and both men dove headfirst into the pitch-black chute.

  Dark quickly became light, and the pair found themselves deposited, rather softly, onto a stack of clean cottons in a large wooden wagon located outside of the building. After quickly rolling out of the cart, they took flight once more, but the breakout was brief.

  Emerging from the alley they again found themselves confronted by the Ill So-Sos. Bugs and Timmy had been backed against a wall, literally, and the end was indeed inevitable this time. The savage eyes of their enemies expressed a deep-rooted desire to do them immense harm. Bugs looked at Timmy, Timmy at Bugs.

  “Mr. Wicketts, it was a pleasure,” stated Bugs.

  “Likewise, Mr. Harrington. You are the best of good fellows,” replied Timmy with affection.

  They both raised their dukes and prepared for war, but a sudden shout of challenge altered the moment.

  “Hold it right there!” Brock shouted.

&n
bsp; Smith and his subordinates swung around to see a large force had flanked their position. It was the other nine Perfects in their unified entirety.

  “I wouldn’t do it, Smith. I really wouldn’t,” Brock suggested.

  With numbers clearly no longer in their favor, Smith motioned for his men to pull back. He, however, could not resist shouting a curse of retribution.

  “You scum sacks! You filthy bathers! I bear witness to your crime, as do the rest of my men! How dare you, all of you, show your faces together in public! That is a clear violation of past decrees, and I will see to it that you are all prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law! Hell, after tomorrow, I am the law! I’ll see to it that each of you, to a man, is put away for years, if not decades! You’ll all rot in jail!”

  Smith was fuming, and as Leland pulled him away from the situation, the Perfects could still hear him screaming as he was reluctantly dragged off into the distance.

  Timmy and Bugs joined Brock and the others as an exchange of thanks and concern was passed among the clan. The good tidings were short-lived, however. Bugs explained to everyone how the ledger had been destroyed. Their only hope now was Gabriel winning the election. That’s when Timmy revealed even sadder news. He told them what Genny had said, how Smith and Percival had extorted votes and were pretty much ensured the win. The resulting mood was one of ample gloom.

  Bugs was even more agitated.

  “Timmy, you promised you’d stay away from that woman.”

  Timmy contested. “I had good reason. Genny knew about the ledger. She told me where it was and about the key. It was a risk worth taking.”

  “But it was all for nothing. Her leads almost landed you right back in the hospital, and this time, with me right alongside.”

  “It was our only chance, Bugs,” Timmy pleaded.

  “You broke your word.” Harrington replied with disappointment.

  Francis could sense the rising shindy and stepped in. “Look, it’s all over. Let’s move on. Mr. Goldhand’s final rally is set to kickoff and we need to ensure it’s a great one. With Smith buying votes, we need all the good will we can get.”

  Francis was right. Now was not the time. More important things were on the horizon. The election was set to take place tomorrow, and with any luck, they may still be able to win back votes.

  =====