“Miss Baxter!” he muttered to himself, turning on his heel to fiddle with the doorway. From the opposite side it was quite easy to open, though he knew the lock would pop back into place as soon as it was shut again. Despite that, Mr. Todd sighed a breath of relief when he saw the smooth curve of her back once again from the other side.
“Alright, all open!” he said with a rather shaky laugh, glad his motor skills had promptly set back into place.
Miss Baxter turned around, her crook held in her hands. “Are you sure it’s alright for me to come in?” she asked, taking a few steps forward.
“Oh. Yes of course,” Simon replied, standing in the doorway as he ushered her through.
“The key is still in the lock,” she said as she began to pass through.
Simon bit his lip, terrified that for some reason he would go through the door again unintentionally. “Ah yes, but, as you see there is only one. I’ve the other four.” They were actually on the floor where he had placed them next to his case. Simon worried he would have to find a way to retrieve it, but as good luck would have it, Miss Baxter bent to retrieve it for him.
“Here,” she said, smiling.
Oh, Miss Baxter, Simon thought, taking the case from her. She was entirely too sweet for him.
“We just have to go into Mr. Hershal’s office. It’s back here. Will only take a moment or two.” Miss Baxter seemed intrigued by the design of the Hershal Bank. Teller stations and signing booths with quilled pens and brass letter openers made up the entirety of the four walls. Polished wood shined like melted chocolate, and velvet-backed, cushioned chairs with black buttons offered color to the room with a red splash.
“I’m surprised Piper’s Toss has a bank this rich,” she said, following after Mr. Todd and smiling every time he opened a door for her.
“Mr. Hershal demands quality. All his banks are the same no matter which territory they’re in.” Or so he was told. The fact was that Mr. Todd was always quite astonished by how immaculate the banks were. They looked more like manor rooms than business branches. Stepping into Mr. Hershal’s office was no different either. It was the only room with an outfacing window and even then, the ornate steel lattice frame adorning the glass, faced towards the sky and was tightly laced together. On the floor was the last of the menagerie of successfully hunted prey beasts. A handsomely splayed rug made from a bear’s hide and complete with head, roared its presence over the floor. It was prologue to the bank manager’s large desk, and sat between heavily stuffed bookshelves, fat with old ledgers and accounting books.
Simon knew exactly which book he wanted as he crossed the floor, offering the couch in the corner to Miss Baxter as he took a seat in Mr. Hershal’s chair. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, opening the book. He was at once pleased when he found that a section for the newly obtained brothel had been already added. It was going to make the task of updating the books much easier.
Miss Baxter in the meantime, roamed the office with a curious eye for the several portraits hung about the wall. The portly bank owner himself was tucked up on one side, a smile on his face, which was not entirely fashionable when it came to portraits, and a hand holding his pocket watch. Next to it, though relatively smaller, was another picture of Fae and her mother. Fae seemed to wander the world in trousers, Miss Baxter noticed, examining the painting with interest. Beside her, Fae’s mother Yul Hershal, looked sombre in a gown of pale emerald. Miss Baxter remembered the day when Yul had died. It was when she herself was just a girl, trailing after the skirts of her own mother. It had been the pox, and Miss Baxter remembered the kids in the school yard taunting Fae about her mother, and her horribly pus-filled face.
Death was terrible, the young girl thought, her grip tightening around the neck of her shepherd’s crook. There could be witches and wizard schools aplenty, but there was no cure for dying, death and human decay. Necromancy could preserve a collection of thoughts, a body, a spirit, but there was no cure for sickness. There was no magical healing at all in Freland.
“Excuse me?” The pair turned, the voice drawing Simon from his ledger and Miss Baxter from the portrait. Standing in the door was a small goblin about the height of a grown man’s leg. He was wearing a rather fancy suit with silver buttons and had a scraggly mop of gray hair that framed his cheeks and tapered down towards his pointed chin.
“Barmados!” Simon leapt up from his chair. “You’re here early, my good man.”
“Did you muss up the lock?” the small man named Barmados asked, stepping into the room with large heeled boots. “The door’s all gummed up.”
Simon blanched, his eyes darting to the young lady as he quickly narrowed the gap between him and the squat bank teller. “I think there must have been a malfunction with it. I got in, but one of the keys must have jammed in the process.”
Barmados looked rather ornery, sighing at the excuse as he wandered about the room, digging in the large crease that ran along the outside of one, long, pointed ear.
“Well I’m about to open for the day. I suppose you won’t be much longer in here?” The man looked up, his small beady eyes gleaming beneath thick, bushy eyebrows. “You shouldn’t be bringin’ young ladies into the boss’ office either,” he said.
“Miss Baxter?” Simon looked back over his shoulder. “Oh well Mr. Hershal wouldn’t mind. He knows her after all. And anyway I am almost caught up with things. Shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Good,” Barmados replied, sniffing as he gave Miss Baxter a once over. “I suspect everyone’s gonna be hearing about the dragon soon enough. They’ll want to be checking on their gold.” He huffed, turning around as he shoved large, hairy hands into his pockets. “Don’t know any better. Think a dragon could rob this bank? The idiocrasy of this town is stupendous—”
“A dragon?”
The man frowned, quirking an eyebrow in Mr. Todd’s direction. “You didn’t hear?” His voice was gnarly, like the branches on a brier. “Guess it’s still early.” He looked again at Miss Baxter, obviously wondering about her relationship to the young accountant. “A few vendors saw one this morning, flying over the town. A youngun’ I’m guessing, but a dragon just the same.”
Simon furrowed his brow, not quite certain as to whether or not he should be concerned. Barmados shrugged his shoulders as he began to leave, on his way out to open the bank. “Dragons are always a pain in the neck. They spawn treasure hunters, zealots… a load of bedlam for us regular folk. Always too proud I say. Not like us goblins, or even trolls… they’re too stupid to know what the word pride even means!”
Simon allowed the man to ramble on as he made his exit, shutting the office door behind him. When he was gone, Mr. Todd circled once again to Miss Baxter and apologized for the intrusion, promising to only be a few more moments with the ledgers.
“I don’t mind,” she replied, watching as the young gentleman crossed the room to the desk. She had actually been quite surprised to see a goblin here. There weren’t many that chose to live among humans. In fact, out of the three species of sentient creatures that could share a common ecosystem with humans, the three being goblins, trolls and centaurs, goblins usually preferred dark spaces that allowed them to commingle amongst each other.
“Has he always run the bank?” Miss Baxter asked as Simon began to reopen the books.
“For thirty years or so, I think.” Considering most goblins lived to be about four hundred years, it was a relatively short period of time. The young gentleman sighed as he looked up, eyes sneaking over the tight curve of her back. “I certainly hope there isn’t a whole lot of kerfuffle over this dragon business,” he said. “If so, I fear I may have reason to visit this horrid place again, sooner than I’d like.”
Miss Baxter grinned, moving back towards the couch off the far wall to sit. Dragons, she contemplated. She wondered what a dragon would be doing now?
Which was rather funny when you thought about it, considering Jane Darcy was just in the process of splashing warm w
ater over his face. He hadn’t gotten as much sleep as he would have preferred, but it had been liberating to transform back into this regular self for a few hours. Being a human was awfully stuffy. Their bodies and brains just seemed too compact to hold all the complexities of a dragon’s physical and mental attributes. Though he had only managed a few hours to fly around the plains lands, it had afforded him enough repose to get back in place and deal with the upcoming days ahead.
Their party would be travelling to Ebonguard next, the capital of Freland. It was where all the political factions kept hearth. It was also where the royal family made their home and Mr. Darcy was quite eager to steal a glimpse of those who were held in the highest esteem amongst everyday humans. Not to mention that it was the hub of technology.
In the meantime however, there were several townships on the way for them to refuel themselves and stock up on supplies, as well as the Wizard University of Grimguild. He wondered if Miss Baxter would want to visit, or if she had been spurned by the mob in the past. It didn’t really matter either way to Jane. He’d be happy to return his book to their library and gather another if he could. He’d be finished it soon enough.
Looking towards the unmade bed, Jane straightened as he fiddled with his cravat. He still had a plethora of tasks to complete before they all headed out. Horses had to be obtained, a new wardrobe, something much easier to slip in and out of if he felt the need to transform again, as well as a souvenir to take back to his hoard. He had a rather shiny thimble he had acquired from Darlington. It was a quaint thing, with a design of a nightingale at the base. Mr. Darcy knew just the spot to put it as well.
He wondered what marvelous thing he could gather from Piper’s Toss and if the other towns he was to visit would have other wonders. Though he had travelled before, Jane had never really went anywhere besides the Grimguild University. To say that he was a bit thrilled to collect souvenirs would be a bit of an understatement.
Nevertheless, he dressed himself carefully and left the Thirsty Bush just as the sun was coming up. Sneaking a glance into Mr. Dashing’s chambers before he left, Jane had intended to alert the gentleman as to his departure and whereabouts, but decided against it when he espied the moustachioed gunslinger coiled up amongst the limbs of a young woman.
Mating rituals among humans are odd indeed! Jane thought, meandering towards Simon’s room and opening the door. That the young Fae Hershal had replaced Mr. Todd overnight was curious. Jane had almost attempted to knock on Miss Baxter’s room as well, but remembered last minute that barging into a young lady’s private quarters was woefully inappropriate.
So instead he left in a rush, eager to complete his tasks for the day and consume a bit of breakfast in the meantime. Therefore, Mr. Darcy did not notice the darkened shadow of some sorry individual with eight legs crouching in a nearby alleyway, nor the way it skittered backwards and away from the brothel’s entrance when he had made his way to the exit. It had however, noticed him and murmured something before losing itself in the jumble of rickety proletariat apartments.
Chapter 7
Between The Cup And The Lip
“Again, I’m terribly sorry. I can’t imagine it was the most exciting venture.” Simon scratched his head as the pair made their way through the slowly populating streets. It was still early morning, but the stars had since faded and the sun was struggling its way over the blue canvas sky.
“Oh do stop apologizing, Simon. If I didn’t wish to come, I wouldn’t have.”
Every time she said his first name the young gentleman felt like he was floating. The couple were arm in arm again to Simon’s delight and staving off breakfast with a rather circuitous route through the lazy alleyways that claimed the territory just outside the main roads. Neither one of them thought Mr. Dashing would be up until ten, and so they had decided unceremoniously to take a stroll around Piper’s Toss while the majority of its people were still slumbering away in their beds.
Rounding another corner then stepping over a clogged drain, the pair looked up as they approached the city’s garishly decorated clock tower. Though Simon couldn’t recall hearing it chuckle the night before, the face was perpetually drawn up in a smile in any case.
“I heard that instead of donging like normal, it laughs at noon,” Miss Baxter said, craning her neck upwards in an effort to take in the strange visage.
Simon chuckled, looking up right into the large nostrils that burrowed into the bottom of the ghastly thing’s nose. “Midnight,” he explained. “The witching hour, right?” She looked back towards him. Simon noticed her gaze settle on something behind them.
“Actually, most fella’s will tell ya the witching hour’s between three and four. Isn’t that right, toots?” The young couple turned around, eyes curious and wide as a young man with a rather strong foreign accent began to approach them. He was wearing a bland, black suit with fedora, his mane of red hair slipping out from under its brim like wild fire beneath a hooded lantern. Beside him, in the middle of the road, was another man, larger and much his elder, with a neatly trimmed beard and obsidian mantel.
“Oh,” Simon paused, looking the young man up and down. “Well, I must have been mistaken.” The degree that this man was eyeing up Miss Baxter seemed entirely unwholesome. Simon cocked an eyebrow, feeling his nerves beginning to act up.
“Can we help you?” he continued, placing his hand on Miss Baxter’s arm to reassure her. Whether there were two or twenty, Mr. Todd wouldn’t let any vagabonds touch her.
“Actually chum, you can. Ya see, Benedict and I were lookin’ for a gal like this one.” Simon took a step back as they continued forward. “We’ve been lookin’ real hard.”
“Pardon me, sir, but we’re just on our way back to our inn.” The young man’s tone was making Simon rather ornery. “And I’m certain the young lady isn’t interested.”
“You’re staying at the Thirsty Bush, huh? Wouldn’t call that place an inn.”
The larger man, Benedict, nodded in agreement. He had a solemn disposition about him, much like a gargoyle or one of those stone effigies that guarded monasteries.
“It’s a cesspool, more like,” he said finally.
To that, Simon had to agree, but he wasn’t about to form any sort of comradery with these scoundrels.
“Just who are you?” Mr. Todd asked, stepping to the side and in front to juxtapose himself between them and the young lady.
The big man was silent as the other explained. The smaller, black clothed brigand had a grin much like a fox. It seemed to split his face from ear to ear.
“Well that’s the question now, ain’t it?” He opened his arms, swinging his legs forward as he’d begun to circle around them. “Who are we that’d be so interested in your dame?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “At least, I’m assuming she’s yours?”
Simon was taken aback, trying to stumble out a reply that wasn’t too presumptuous. The man laughed.
“You haven’t told him much have ya, Miss B?” the red haired youth said, whirling on his heel and looking back over his shoulder. He had both hands in his pockets like he were about to draw something out. “The name’s Chip.” Again he swept his arms to either side in a flourish.
It startled Simon, who leant back protectively with a grimace, making sure his feet were securely flat upon the cobbles as to not stumble.
“Behind me’s Benedict Uovo, Arch Mage of Grimguild and friend to a very pissed off Heironymous.” Again Chip settled, scratching at the bridge of his nose with eyes closed.
Simon was convinced by his erratic gestures alone that he must have been a man half crazed.
“There’s some people who’d like to have a sharp word with your little lady, Mr. Todd.”
“How do you know…?”
“And we’ve been humbly waitin’ for a long time to hear what she has to say.”
Finally, Mr. Todd, at odds with himself, glanced to Miss Baxter. Her face was stoic, displaying a countenance he had never before seen on
her. She was regarding Chip and Mr. Uovo with a large degree of nonchalance before a polite smile swept over her features like a breeze.
“I know you’ve been wanting to speak with me, Chip,” she said sweetly, “but I’m not ready to address the crowd yet.” She kept her arm around Simon’s, placing her hand atop his in what he thought may have been a signal of trepidation.
“Miss B, you must understand my situation here. The University has been patient, but things are tense. People gotta know where loyalties lie.”
“I understand, Chip.”
She did? Mr. Todd was utterly confused. And he didn’t at all like how this Chip character was addressing her.
“And right now, without any direction, we ain’t got any right to refuse orders.” He smiled a crocodilian grin. “You understand, right?”
“I do. But I can’t accompany you, I’m afraid.”
Chip huffed, amused by her reply as he pivoted to the side to glance at his companion. “Hear that Benny?”
The old man made a sound, slate gray eyes staring ahead. The lines on his face were so still it was as though they had been drawn on.
“I’m sorry, doll face.” Chip bent forward, giving her a very suggestive up and down that prompted Simon to step in front. “But that’s just not how it works.”
“You will leave us alone at once, you rapscallion!”
Chip raised an eyebrow. “Rap what?”
“I’ll have you know I am trained in fisticuffs. If you dare lay one hand on Miss Baxter I will have no choice but to wallop you firmly on the noggin!”
Chip was silent. Simon was afraid.
What in the seven hells was happening here? What had been a boring trip to the bank and turned into a delightful morning away with Miss Baxter had transformed into a potential fight in the road with two wizard mobsters! Mr. Todd could feel the old Piper’s clock laughing at his back as he stomped ahead, hoping his threat sounded much more intimidating to them than it certainly did to him.
The Curious Case of Simon Todd Page 8
