It was a full month since the incident with the leprechaun and things had gone back to what passed for normal in Tegan’s cottage. There had been no further sightings of the leprechaun; Cyril was (mercifully) nowhere to be seen, and winter had set in, bringing harsh winds and snow. The little cottage was warmed by coal brought down from the mountains and delivered by a helpful delivery gnome. Some logs that Ferdinand the Troll had chopped for her also also helped Tegan enormously. On one particularly stormy afternoon, Sooty had abandoned any fadoodling and was asleep on his favourite sheepskin rug, Mr. Incy Wincey was perfecting a new section of his web, and Tegan had made a healthy, warming soup. She decided to take some down to Ferdinand, as even trolls need something warming on the harshest of days.
*
Ferdinand was sitting under his bridge fishing, and he seemed happy enough despite the weather.
“Hello, Ferdinand, some homemade leek and potato for you, it will help warm you. I haven’t been down for a few days, but I see you’re okay. Any news?”
The troll took the earthenware pot containing the soup and nodded.
“I took a traveller tale as bridge crossing toll yesterday. A dwarf has been seen in Pity Me.”
“A dwarf…” Tegan paused. “I’ve never seen a dwarf.”
“You don’t want to, either. Hard bastards, miners, drinkers and fighters to a man; but utterly loyal to the Red Queen.”
“I’ve never got that bit. I only have bits and pieces. Why do they serve her, Ferdinand?”
The troll sighed and put his rod down. He was a troll of few words, and even with a friend—Tegan was his only friend—the desire for conversation never lasted long.
“It goes back a long time to the time of Harald Fleet-of-Foot. He granted the dwarves all the mountains to the west of Pity Me, including all the mines, in perpetuity. But in their honour afterward they are bound to the crown. They are a fierce people, a warrior race. I came across one or two when I lived in the mountain cave. But I avoided them. No good will come of one being in the locality I am telling you.”
“I think I may have a book on Harald Fleet-of-Foot, I will see if there is something in about it. Nothing much else to do in this weather.”
Ferdinand nodded and picked up his fishing rod again, he had two fish ready for his evening meal.
“Next time you’re over, a little tarragon would be appreciated, makes a nice seasoning.”
“Of course,” she smiled, and headed back through the winds.
One week earlier
The dark gothic architectural masterpiece that was the palace of the Red Queen allowed Alice (the Red Queen) to see all the way to Much Hattery. In a world lit only by fire the winter picture was punctuated by little braziers of fire as a variety of her citizens warmed themselves.
Alice herself was sprawled out on a large chair in her audience chamber. A young boy with a beautiful voice was singing,
“The North Winds Doth Blow, and We Shall Have Snow, and What Will the Robin Do Then Poor Thing?”
Alice was feeling grumpy, she had a cup of hot lemon that her doctor insisted she have and she had a horrible cold. She was looking forward to her 19th birthday in a month’s time, but the cold was getting her down. The draughts down the palace corridors didn’t help and her hands were in fingerless gloves so that she could still play her guitar. The long corridor was guarded by two dwarves, both built like brick privies and as hard as nails. She didn’t really know what to do with them, but they looked very good for intimidating any visitors (they were part of her wider palace Dwarven guard, and they had a captain who seemed to organize them for her).
Aside from them there were a couple of villagers wanting petitions listened to, a grinning cat who was enjoying a large bowl of cream and a couple of gnomes listening and passing on news from the provinces. There were also a couple of serving girls and ladies-in-waiting who were waiting. One of the Royal Tax collectors had passed over his report from the provinces and was leaving for his winter break.
Lastly, there was also a large man with a warm sheepskin coat and a badge indicating he was local Watch, Tegan vaguely connected him to Much Sleeping. His dogs were in kennels outside howling into the wind. He bowed to her and asked permission to report. He looked very tired now she bothered to look carefully, and he had clearly travelled some distance.
“My lady, I have come hotfoot from Much Sleeping. I have the misfortune of reporting an attempted murder.”
That was enough to shake her out of her reverie.
“Attempted murder? There hasn’t been an attempted murder in the land since the days of the Queen of Hearts, and she was mostly responsible for them. An attempted murder… that is against my law.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He looked sad. These local Watch members were useful enough for checking out a stolen chicken or calming down drunken behaviour, but largely ineffectual for anything of substance. One of the reasons why that leprechaun was still on the run, and he had been in this man’s locality. Hmm… never mind for now.
“Who? Anyone who matters?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. H. Dumpty.”
“That irritating wordsmith?”
“Yes, but an egg of substance. His dictionary of common language has become a best seller; he is the wealthiest inhabitant in Much Sleeping.”
“The details?”
“Well…Mr. Dumpty was sitting on his garden wall holding discourse with passersby as is his want. He had tomato soup in an earthenware jar from Mrs. Perpetua’s Soup Emporium; as he opened the jar he felt himself pushed. The fall would have killed him except by fortunate circumstance a snow gnome had been built directly under his wall. He landed directly on the snow gnome, which broke his fall.”
“Fortuitous indeed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you have apprehended someone?”
“I haven’t, ma’am. I’m clueless.”
“You don’t say…”
She sighed. This was not good news. That village had a venal diarist who took great pleasure in the misery of others. It would make her government look bad… but these members of the watch were totally inadequate for this sort of thing.
Looking behind her at an elderly hawkish man who was in the window alcove she beckoned him over.
“Who do we have in the Much Sleeping area with some intelligence and ability?”
“Lord Spades’ daughter. The girl, Tegan.”
“Ah…” Alice pondered. “Yes, she’ll do.”
A little listening gnome nearby coughed, but Alice frowned at him.
“I’ve got your report but I’m ignoring it. Anyone who is Lord Spades daughter deserves a pot of gold (she laughed), that old dog may be a good diplomat for me in Wales, but he has never been able to keep his trousers on. All the same, if she doesn’t help then persuasion may be needed. I will write her a letter…and as for you (she glowered at the gnome) don’t you dare cough at me like that again. You would never have done so with my predecessor, or it would have been off with your head!”
The gnome shrank into the background, a talent many gnomes had perfected over time.
The elderly gentleman sniffed, “She will need some backup.”
“I’ll send her one of my dwarves. That will shake up the locals. Send…send Brokk Stoutguzzler. He can carry my letter with him. And you…” she turned to the member of the Watch. You are to cooperate if needed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now for God’s sake get me something spicy to eat, and something spicier to read!”
*
Present Day
Winter was biting. The frost had fallen hard, and much of the river was covered in ice. Ferdinand was up early breaking the surface ice off in places so he could fish. The air was fresh and there was some morning mist hanging over the meadow. Soon it would be the Winter Festival of Fire, and homes all over the four counties would have little braziers with ash logs inside to welcome the presence of the One God, symbolised by the gift of fire. Priests would come from the main Temple in Much Hattery and for a few coins would say a prayer for the household and look forward to spring coming once more. Ferdinand had no real affiliation with these human beliefs, but he was largely content, despite the cold. He had some homemade oat biscuits that Tegan had brought down for him, and he was looking forward to being able to plant his herbs and vegetables in his little plot. But the ground was too hard right now. And then he saw the dwarf.
*
Brokk Stoutguzzler appeared from the forest and made his way across the snow-covered meadow to Ferdinand’s bridge. Even at a distance, he was extremely imposing, just over 4.5” of sheer brawn and fighting (or mining) prowess. He had shoulder armor of the type now in fashion among dwarves and a half helmet, he carried a poleaxe and wore a heavy cleaving dagger at his side. On his fingers were heavy Welsh Gold rings brought by the dwarven traders, and he had hanging from his belt a massive iron-bound combat flagon while a wooden shield and backpack were slung across his back. The combat flagon was his favourite weapon; an oversized drinking stein made of heavy pewter. It had a reinforced handle and a spiked base, making it a devastating bludgeoning weapon for late night dwarf drinking in the tavern deep in the mines. Brokk Stoutguzzler approached the bridge and felt the badge of honour and service, loyalty to the crown. It had taken days to get here through the fierce weather, but he could see the little cottage now ahead of him, and the bridge and then, appearing from underneath it was a moderately sized young mountain troll.
*
Ferdinand was ready to stand his ground. Trolls and dwarves were both mountain dwellers. Dwarves preferred the mines where they worked (apart from the two months every year when each dwarf served the Red Queen, in rotation) and trolls were to be found in the mountain caves much higher up in the mountains. They would only occasionally cross each other’s paths and both sides tended to be wary of the other. But Ferdinand had his bridge, and there were rules even a Queen’s dwarf had to follow.
“Stop. You are on a troll bridge. You must pay a toll to pass. A piece of gossip or local news will suffice.”
Brokk thought for a moment. He looked at Ferdinand’s goat traps and a notice stating “No Hooves” – “I have some news. You may be interested to hear that the notorious Three Billy Goats Gruff were exiled from the county for destruction of meadowland, not to mention the assault on a young mountain troll. They are serving exile in Wales in the domain of the White Queen and may not return on order of the Red Queen.”
Ferdinand was extremely pleased.
“You may pass, have a safe journey.”
“Thanks.” The dwarf nodded at the cottage. “Is that Miss Spades’ cottage?”
Ferdinand was confused.
“Who?”
“You may know her as Tegan.”
“Yes it is….but what do you want with her. Don’t you hurt her.”
“I’m not here to hurt her, troll. Why the concern? I’m here on Queen’s business, no need to concern you.”
Then he walked on.
Ferdinand was no longer pleased.
*
For a relatively small man, Brokk Stoutguzzler took up a surprisingly large section of Tegan’s living room. He was quite stocky, Tegan saw and his weaponry and travel bag had totally taken over the sofa. However, ever-hospitable, Tegan had given him a beer and some homemade oat biscuits and given him a chance to warm up. Never having seen a dwarf, having a crown servant in her living room was both interesting and extremely worrying at the same time. Sooty was irritating the dwarf by rubbing himself against his boot and Ferdinand seemed to have chosen one of the coldest days of the year to do some weeding in the cottage’s flower beds, currently covered with snow.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Stoutguzzler?”
“I have an important letter for you Miss Spades, business of the Red Queen.”
He handed over a rather scruffy letter from his pocket,
“Give me a moment; I’ll have a read. Do help yourself to another beer, I make them myself for visitors. And please call me Tegan, no one calls me Miss Spades round here. And Sooty, leave his boot alone, here have some cream and settle down.”
For a royal letter, it appeared very poorly written. She settled into her armchair and read:
“My Dear Brokk, I have sent you some woollen socks that I knitted in red to help you through the cold, I hope you like them. I was so proud seeing you head off to your two months service again, my wonderful son! Please remember when around the Red Queen, don’t wipe your nose on your sleeve, use a proper wipe. And please remember to write to your sister, she loves to hear news of your exploits. We had a Welsh trader in the village yesterday who said that we were serving a mere slip of a girl. I told him straight she may be a slip of a girl, but she has a full Dwarven army at her command, and a guitar. That shut him up and we refused to trade with him for his disrespect. Apart from the fact that my joints are playing up again, the winter winds cause me so much pain. My love as always, Mum xx”
Tegan smiled. “I have something that can help. You’ve had a long journey for this, poor man. I have a herbal oil made from rosemary, lavender and calendula with some sunflower oil from the pantry. It’s been infusing for a year and should really help your mother. No charge, you’ve come such a long way.”
Brokk was totally confused, then realised…
“Umm…wrong letter. Do you mind forgetting that one.” He passed the official letter over.
“Ah…” Tegan saw the royal seal and frowned. “Sure. Have this back, and please keep the oil anyway; it will help your mother.
“Now, Sooty, what does this one contain?”
“Meow.”
“Let’s hope not.”
She read it.
“For the attention of Tegan Spades, daughter of Lord Spades, Ambassador to the White Queen, and Belladonna the Witch.
I am appointing you as investigator of the attempted murder of the celebrity dictionary writer Mr. H. Dumpty of Much Sleeping by a person or persons unknown.
Please find out who is responsible and report to the Watch so that justice can be dispensed. I have sent Brokk Stoutguzzler to assist you in case there is any attempt to impede your investigation which must be speedy and complete before the winter fire festival.
I appreciate you may not be entirely happy with the task, but perhaps I was not entirely happy with a report from a listening gnome about the leprechaun and a certain pot of gold. That report can be discarded on the successful completion of your investigation.
Regards,
Alice, the Red Queen.”
P.S. I enclose my badge for you to wear. You will find it massively helps both for authority and opening doors.
“Shit,” said Tegan.
“Meow,” said Sooty.
Mr. Incy Wincey watched quietly.
Brokk was carefully putting the oil for his mother in his backpack.
Outside, a blizzard was whipping up the snow, and Ferdinand retreated to the security of his bridge.
*
Mr. Incy Wincey, secure in his corner high up in the room, looked down at the house meeting. It may have been minus ten degrees outside with snow falling, but Tegan had hurried down to collect Ferdinand, who was now squeezed into an even fuller living room. Ferdinand had not been designed by nature for cottages, and he was usually left to speak from outside the window, but the blizzard made it impossible. So he stood in the doorway, filling most of the space. Brokk filled the sofa and Sooty remained by the fire. Tegan took her armchair, her hair turning blue with frequency. Winnie the goat was tethered by the back porch eating hay.
“So that’s it. I oversee the investigation, and Mr. Brokk here is to assist. Somehow, we must get justice for Mr. Dumpty, odious egg that he is. We have very little time to do it and the weather looks set like this for days. Any ideas?”
“Meow.”
“What did the cat say?” Brokk stared at Sooty unable to work him out.
“Oh… Sooty says that there is no such thing as justice. It all depends on which arbitrary power holds the wheel.”
“He said all that with one meow?”
“It’s in the inflection….but he’s showing off to you.”
Silence fell.
“How many people live in Much Sleeping?” Brokk asked.
“Maybe 120, and there are a further 7 at Little Bod. Sometimes we get travellers and traders passing through, but not at this time of year.”
“So, 120 suspects and five days to work it out?”
“Not exactly. Some of those are children or the very elderly, also take away Mr. Dumpty himself and you are probably looking at around 70.”
“All the same…”
Silence fell again as the room fell silent as everyone thought.
Tegan reached out for the dictionary. On the front was a large picture of Mr. H. Dumpty and the back read: The explosive new book – the dictionary. A must-have for every home in the four counties.
“I suppose I should really read it,” she mused.
Suddenly, Ferdinand put his hand up, knocking a small hole in the plastered ceiling as he did so.
“I know how we clear this up tomorrow” the troll said.
“Really, Ferdinand?”
“Yes. You go in tomorrow and arrest the diarist.”
“But Ferdinand, we have no evidence, no matter how much I may dislike her.”
“Meow.”
Brokk wanted to smoke his pipe, but Tegan glowered at him every time he tried to light it. “What did the cat say?”
““Sooty says that there is no need for evidence. It is only ever as good as what a group of people can make up around a table, as long as they can make it stick.””
“Are you sure he said all that from one meow?”
“Oh yes.”
Sooty went back to cleaning his ears.
“There we are, then,” said Ferdinand. “Sooty agrees with me, we arrest the diarist.”
Tegan sighed, “No, Ferdinand, on this occasion I can’t follow your advice even if I wanted to. I have decided, however. It’s too late to do anything today. Brokk, you can sleep on the sofa tonight, but no smoking that pipe indoors, it will upset me and give Mr. Incy Wincey a headache. Tomorrow, we go to Much Sleeping, we will have a difficult walk, but we must go. Brokk, book yourself in at the tavern for three nights, it will give you a chance to listen to all the gossip, especially when tongues get loose with drink. Ferdinand, you are in charge of the cottage when we are in town (the troll’s face fell), but (Tegan noticed this) you have an important job. Whenever you get a traveller in the next few days the toll must be a news item or piece of gossip about Mr. Dumpty.
“Or the diarist?”
“Okay, or the diarist.”
“Sooty, I’m taking you with me to sleep on my bed tonight and to Much Sleeping tomorrow.”
“Meow.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now, off to bed, all of you.”
Once Ferdinand had gone and the room seemed empty again, Brokk nodded slowly. “I see now why the Red Queen chose you, Miss. And I’ll go and smoke my pipe and talk to your goat while you get changed for bed. Good night, Miss,”
“Good night, Brokk.”
*
Tegan had fallen asleep reading the opus that was ‘The Dictionary’. Even though it was billed as the ‘read of the decade’, it had largely failed to live up to expectations, even though some of the words were new to her, and she secretly enjoyed some of the descriptions. One she raised an eyebrow at,
Diarist: A self-important chronicler who mistakes the tedious inventory of her own days for literature and inflicts it upon posterity.
‘Now that may really upset someone,’ mused Tegan. ‘Is there even a sniff of a motive to support Ferdinand’s nonsense?’
But the night was so cold, the blizzard howled outside and she fell asleep to the sounds of the darkness and the forest.
Her sleep was rudely disturbed. Tegan was woken by the noise of desperate bleating from Winnie and the howling and cries of wolves. She made for the door in a nightgown and boots, holding a candle in a glass protector. What she met with was a dreadful sight.
In the half light of the moon the whole scene looked as though it had come straight out of a nightmare. The blizzard raged, yet three massive wolves, driven through cold and hunger, had made their way into her little hen pen and were busy eating them. Poor Winnie was tethered at the back of the house and already the wolves were turning attention to her, their eyes glinting in the night and saliva dripping off them to the ground.
Ferdinand was there before her, waving a log and bashing it against the ground, making himself look as massive as possible in the darkness (not too difficult a task for a troll) and stamping his feet. But now the wolves were making their move, circling him and thinking of taking him down.
Suddenly, Sooty was there too, his eyes flashing in the moonlight, hackles up, claws out and spitting. He leapt at one of the wolves at the back of the group, claws fully out and raked a gash on the wolf’s back before he could turn properly, but he fell into the snow, and the wolf turned its attention toward him in anger.
Tegan felt absolutely helpless. Things were happening so fast that she couldn’t seem to do anything.
Then there was an awful noise: a Dwarvish battle cry. Brokk Stoutguzzler, with his cleaving dagger and shield, ran directly at the leading wolf, he was barely dressed but he made a terrifying noise, hitting the dagger on the shield,
“Come on then, come on then, make my day and take me on…”
Coming as he did out of the blizzard, the lead wolf hesitated for a second, then turned and ran. The others followed.
Ferdinand cheered,
“I did it! I scared them away.”
“Yes, Ferdinand.”
“Meow”
“Sooty, come here, you are my hero too,”
Sooty jumped up in her arms and disappeared into her night gown for warmth.
Ferdinand gave her a fist bump and walked back down to his bridge. That was enough for one night. But he was proud of himself.
*
“Thank you, Brokk.”
They were back inside, and Tegan had got Brokk another homemade beer.
“Meow.”
“Yes Sooty, extra cream for you.”
Brokk scratched his beard. “It was nothing… you need to get your goat better protected under the awning at the back, she’s too vulnerable. But I haven’t known wolves venture into a cottage space like this before. Very unusual, they avoid human habitation.”
“I’ve never known it either. My poor hens… I guess it’s a reflection of the weather. An awful chance happening.”
““Well… it was maybe chance.””
“Or?”
“Or perhaps it wasn’t. Good night again.”
“Good night Brokk, come on Sooty.”
“Purr.”
*
The next morning, muffled against the cold and wearing walking boots, Tegan, Sooty (who was carried by Tegan in a little carrier basket with a blanket inside), and Brokk set off to walk to Much Sleeping. There had been a change of plan after the incident with the wolves. Tegan was worried and so Brokk agreed to return with her for another night on the sofa. She would interview Mr. H. Dumpty, while Brokk would have lunch and drinks in the tavern. They would then debrief back at the cottage with Ferdinand.
It was a longer-than-usual walk to the village; all the footpaths were covered with snow, making the distance seem longer and a biting wind meant they did not speak. Entering Much Sleeping in the latter part of the morning, there were very few people on the streets. It was a village with one central spine and a couple of lanes that branched off from it. The sky was so dark and oppressive that even though it was morning the whole atmosphere was more like evening. The collection of village homes was largely small cottages, a few poor hovels and a couple of neat, brick-built detached properties. The tavern, with its sign reading ‘The Hungry Fox’, was central, Miss Lovett’s jeweller hovel was just off the main street in a lane. The main square, where the market traders usually set up, was empty today due to the weather, and it had a posted ‘Diary’ entry from the diarist about the shocking attack on Dumpty, with that full of sarcastic repartee – ‘After a customer vomited all over my carriage (you know who you are and I’m sending you the cleaning bill), due to a night’s carousing in the Fox – and I do seek your public humiliation – I returned home to hear of the attempt on Dumpty’s life. Given his misplaced definitions and excruciatingly boring conversations he insists upon inflicting us with, God’s provision of a snow gnome to break his fall appears divine cruelty.’
Tegan and Brokk read the entry, and both thought of Ferdinand’s suggestion. But time was not their friend today, wiser people were indoors with a fire. They passed the small, but popular, bakery of Billy Bob’s, which had an early-morning queue. Tegan noticed a proud sign on the window, ‘‘Croissant: a flaky, laminated manifestation of pastry perfection, and Billy Bob is its master.’ — H. Dumpty’ Interestingly, croissants were already sold out.
Tegan pointed towards the tavern and then made her way to a substantial brick property with a brass plate on the front wall. The home of Mr. H. Dumpty.
*
Mr. H. Dumpty was not in his usual position on his wall, talking to passers-by. But it was so cold and windy that there were no passers-by to talk to today. Tegan and Sooty went to the door, which had an imposing knocker in the shape of a large wooden hat and in a few moments Mr. Dumpty himself was there in the entrance, dressed in formal day attire. He was extremely smartly dressed, in a flamboyant blue jacket, cravat, braces and shorts, alongside a pair of bunny slippers.
“Mr. Dumpty, I am Tegan, this is Sooty and we are here under the request of the Red Queen (she displayed her official badge) to investigate who attempted to murder you. May we say hello and come inside out of the cold?”
“To say ‘hello’ is an unpardonable waste of breath. It tells me nothing of your trajectory or your destination. But for me to say ‘commence, entry forthwith!’ settles the matter perfectly. It informs you exactly to move your feet inside.”
Tegan and Sooty followed the egg inside his abode. Wide corridors, a few family pictures and many candles lined the home. Two servants were employed, both local girls who tidied and cooked for the celebrity, so his home was well-run and organised, to the extent that Tegan felt ashamed of her cottage.
His house was tidy; it reflected his prosperity and was the only house in the area with both a living room and a library. He beckoned Tegan and Sooty into the living room where he settled into a large armchair. His morning tea and toast were on a little table next to him. He offered Tegan and Sooty nothing. Tegan decided to get straight to the point and avoid any unnecessary chit-chat.
“Regarding the moments before your fall, you were sitting drinking tomato soup as the weather was getting cold, correct? A yes or no will suffice.”
“A soup,” said Humpty Dumpty in a tone of supreme condescension, “is merely an unnecessarily ostentatious and entirely superfluous inundation of assorted organic matter, rendered inconveniently fluid by the aggressive application of caloric energy.”
He paused to adjust his cravat and gave his tea a stir.
“When I use a spoon, it means exactly what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less. And what is a spoon? A tiny, silver shovel for a tiny, wet non-event. Calling soup ‘sustenance’ is an insult to vocabulary. It is nothing more than a tedious, lukewarm puddle that has lost its ambition to be solid yet lacks the decency to become a respectable beverage. It is, in short, a culinary apology for an actual meal. And I was given the soup; a gnome arrived with it as a present. I never purchased it at all, I had only a small spoonful of it as I dislike soup, and set it aside. I was waiting for my friend to come and talk to me when I suddenly felt as if the world had gone strange; down I went and I heard the cries that I had been pushed. I staggered out of the snow dizzy and confused. The fall made me ill for two days afterward…I barely ate at all.”
“Am I right in thinking you live alone, apart from your cat? No other family members here? A simple yes or no will suffice (the last part of her sentence here was almost pleading).”
“You see,” Humpty Dumpty said, waving an arm contemptuously toward Sooty who was busy watching a female tabby who was gazing at him from her position on a hammock near the log fire, “the common populace suffers from a severe poverty of the imagination regarding zoological nomenclature.”
“A ‘cat’ is a highly dispensable, self-animating article of domestic furniture, enveloped in a superfluous layer of filamentous keratin, whose primary function is to occupy horizontal surfaces and generate a low-frequency mechanical vibration of absolutely zero economic value.
It is, fundamentally, a localised manifestation of localised arrogance, possessing four limbs for the sole purpose of moving from one spot of sunlight to another without ever contributing a single stroke of honest labor to the household.”
“Meow,” said Sooty.
Tegan smiled at him.
“Mr. Dumpty, the key question, are you aware of anyone who may wish you harm? Have you ever received a threat?”
At that point Mr. Dumpty did appear uncomfortable, and his words were more hesitant, and, for the first time, Tegan saw that he was shaken by what had happened. Rather than speak he passed her a little note that was on his side table.
‘Mr. Dumpty. You are a bad egg, and you have done me wrong. Revenge will see you fried.’
“Such bad grammar,” Dumpty muttered, ‘All I try to do is educate people, and this is what they write’, ‘And I’m not only an egg; I’m an ambivert, turning whichever way the situation calls for.’ Furthermore, ‘bad egg’ is a tired idiom for a rogue. If you mean to say I am evil, say so! If you mean to say I am spoiled, I assure you I am perfectly fresh.”
“When did this arrive?”
“The day before I was pushed.”
“May I keep it.”
“Yes…please get the person who did this. I am currently petrified to perambulate beyond my own door.”
He suddenly looked really shaken, his eyes downcast,
“I’m sorry, I have suddenly run out of words, I feel scared.”
“I will.” She meant it, too.
He was much softer spoken now. “I have been working on my new book ‘The return of the dictionary.’ It will be magnificent work. I hesitate to be pusillanimous, but this work will place each word in context and explanation. I am educating the population Miss. I am awaiting the proof copy from publishers in Much Hattery, but I have messaged them to tell them not to send it in this weather, too dangerous for the messenger to bring.”
“That’s sensible.” She smiled, “Come Sooty, we need to get home before darkness falls, and the blizzard returns in force.”
*
When Brokk Stoutguzzler opened the tavern door, he was met by the smell of ale and smoke in a dark but pleasantly warm little alehouse. He had been in many taverns in his time, and this one was owned by a married couple named Osric and Elspeth according to the sign over the door. He passed a security goose that was barely paying attention, then entered the main bar area. His presence silenced the entire tavern, which was set out in small alcoves. In one corner was Miss Lovett, the moneylender (he knew her instantly from Tegan’s description), in the next alcove was a Welsh trader stranded by the snow, then there were two gnomes enjoying an ale and a pipe and a couple who were workers at Miss Perpetua’s Soup Emporium who were on lunch break. Lastly, in the furthest recess, sat the diarist, barely seen behind a post, suddenly interested in what was happening, pen in hand.
“A Red Queen’s dwarf! I know what draws thee to this dark domain, and well I know the master thou dost serve. Her plots shall wither ere they bloom! By my troth, the world wore a fairer face when the Regent held the staff; the Queen of Hearts was a dread sovereign, whom no mortal dared defy.”
Brokk walked straight over to her.
“The Regent was not the true ruler, and we dwarves never served her; we waited for the Red Queen to come of age. And as for you, I know who you are, madam and be very careful before you open your foul mouth again.”
“Innkeeper, an ale for me please and a piece of your fish pie.”
Miss Lovett spat on the floor but kept her mouth shut, returning to her drink and buttered loaf.
The Innkeeper came over to collect his coins and made a gruff remark,
“We are all loyal to the Red Queen here Sir, and display her badge over the bar, but there’s no point asking in here for information as no one knows anything or has seen anything. We can’t help you, and we won’t be helping the witch you’re working with, either. I’ll send the girl over with your drink.”
Brokk curled his beard between his thumb and forefinger, an old habit. He looked at the stubborn faces, that was the problem with these outlying villages, they were a long way removed from the centre of the Red Queen’s power.
The serving girl came over. She was petite, with blonde hair, in her early twenties, and wore a country dress and smock. She had a little purple lipstick, which must have been hard to come by in these parts, and a smile. She brought his pie and ale.
“Hello, sir. Oh my…” She blushed. “You are very strong, sir; I’ve never met a Red Queen’s guard before. Tell me Sir, have you ever met her?”
“I have girl, yes.”
She jumped up and down with excitement.
“I love the Red Queen; I have always wanted to know about her dresses and what make-up she uses.”
Brokk smiled in spite of himself.
“Your name, girl?”
“It’s Gwendoline, sir.” She lowered her voice to a whisper.
“And it’s not true that no one knows anything Sir. I know something, I saw him fall. I was the first one there. But the Watch has never spoken to me.”
“Girl… stop your gossip and stop bothering the customers. Get back behind the bar or I’m docking your wages.”
Brokk turned towards the barman.
“I’ll pay you her days wage for half an hour of her company. I have the authority here of the Red Queen and you will mind your words innkeeper.”
The innkeeper shrugged.
“As you will Dwarf, no more loyal a servant than me.”
“Sit down, Gwendoline.” he cut his pie in two, “here, you look half starved. Enjoy!”
She took the pie in her hands. He looked at them in wonder: she had painted her nails purple, and her fingers were slim and smooth. She noticed him look,
“You like my hands, sir?”
“I love your hands and fingers, actually.”
She giggled, “I have to say, that is the first time any man has said that to me!”
Brokk stared as the diarist seemed about to move to the alcove next to his, but seeing his look she retreated back behind the pillar.
““It’s because…” He paused. “It’s because our women work in metalwork, they make the Queen’s badges and our armor. My mother and sister both have hands blistered and knotted, yours are beautiful. I’m sorry… I forget myself.”
“It’s okay, sir, I like it, I like that you like my hands.”
There was a silence, and then he remembered:
“I need help with the investigation, Gwyn. My name is Brokk and I have only a few days to find out who pushed Mr. Dumpty. Tell me what you know and why the Watch have not spoken to you.”
She smiled, lighting up her face and softening his heart.
“They don’t speak to me because I’m nobody important. But unlike most folks here I like Mr. Dumpty and he and I talk so much. I found out about the world from him, as I’m not educated, sir. He gave me a copy of his Dictionary, and he taught me to read it. I was walking over to speak to him when I saw him fall onto the snow gnome. I was so scared for him, I saw him take a spoonful of the soup, he gave a wave and down he went.”
Brokk saw her shiver at the memory and had to force himself not to reach out and take her hand.
“Did you see who did it?”
“No, sir, but I can tell you this. As he fell I heard a call of ‘Mr. Dumpty has been pushed. Help! Mr. Dumpty has been pushed,’ from a gnome who was on soup delivery business. Also, there had been snowfall that morning, and when I looked over the wall there were no footprints in the snow, only Mr. Dumpty’s, leading to the wall.”
“Anything else, Gwyn? That was really helpful.”
She creased her face in a very agreeable way, Brokk thought, as she considered his question.
“Yes, sir, there is. It may be nothing, but some people don’t like Mr. Dumpty. Two months ago, Miss Perpetua had to sack a worker because her soup-trading profits had fallen after the dictionary’s definition of soup. The worker who was sacked was the diarist’s daughter; she worked in packing, sir… but some say she was sacked for eating loads of the soup she was packing. And Mr. Dumpty… he does good, too. Look at the Bakers, they have taken more workers on after the Dictionary came out.”
“Thank you, Gwyn.”
“That’s okay, sir. Please tell me, though, before you go, as I may never get the chance again. Please tell me about the Red Queen’s dress.”
“Well, she has more than one, Gwyn. She’s nearly 19 and, like you, very pretty, but a little taller and a little fuller. Last time I saw her she had long black hair, maroon lipstick and black eyeliner. She had black boots, black tights and a deep-maroon-red dress with a stitch up black and maroon bodice, puffy sleeves. She has thin gloves, black, and she plays the guitar.”
Gwendoline’s eyes shone. “That’s wonderful Sir. I love art, I will go home tonight and when in my room, I’ll draw and colour the dress as you told me. Sir, I’d better go… but I’ve really loved meeting you.”
She gave his hand a squeeze and walked back to the bar, the innkeeper glowered at her and cuffed her over the head as she passed.
Brokk was not happy at all, but he held himself back for now, paid the man and left in search of Tegan and Sooty. He felt eyes upon him as he left, and none of them (bar one) friendly.
By Mark C. Chambers
JOIN ROCK THE JOINT MAGAZINE ON A JOURNEY FOR THE BEST IN INDEPENDENT MUSIC JOURNALISM – WE COVER ROCK, COUNTRY, JAZZ AND CHRISTIAN MUSIC. LEADING FEATURES, INTERVIEWS, REVIEWS AND EDITORIALS. SUPPORT US ON KO-FI.