Chapter 31

Compost, compost,

shovel and hoe,

Dig that bed

and make it grow

Weed, I hate you -

don't you know

into the compost pile

you will go.

Dirt is calling

soft and low

come dig in me

and let things grow

So grab the shovel,

sharpen the hoe,

time to garden -

here I go!

“A Gardener’s Call” from Seasonal Songs by Maira Methelwick

Far away from deserts and police actions, the sun rose over the green land of Allynswood and Pixie Hollow. Gan Thistleberry walked into her kitchen, still in her dressing gown, her hair covered by a white cap. Most of the Pixies were still asleep, bedded down in odd corners of the house. That is, all the Pixies except for Moxie.

“Good morning!” Moxie said cheerily from the kitchen table.

Gan stifled a yawn. “Why are you up already?” she asked. Pulling out a chair at the table to sit on, she plopped down and making a sigil in the air, used her magic to stir up the coals in the fireplace. “Shouldn’t you still be asleep?” Using the same method, she enough fuel to get a bright fire lit and then swung her tea kettle over the flames. Then and only then, she indulged with a large and comfortable yawn.

“The robins woke me up,” Moxie said. “They sing so loud in the morning, I’m surprised they don’t wake everybody else up. But nobody else wanted to get up. I was about to go back to sleep, but then I remembered I liked to watch you boil water, so I stayed up.”

“You like to watch boiling water?” Gan asked as she stood up and went to the bread box. Carefully, she cut two slices, one quite small. She handed the smaller piece to Moxie.

“Oh thank you!” the Pixie said, for some reason surprised at the offering, and then she took a bite. Swallowing, she continued her chatter. “Oh yes, I like to watch the steam coming out of the tea kettle. It’s like clouds in the summer, without the thunderstorm. I love watching clouds.”

“Pixies see things differently than we big people.” Gan yawned once again, then pulled down her teapot off the shelf. “I would have never thought of that.” She was just about to reach for the tea chest when there was a knock at the door.

“Now who could that be this early?”

Moxie shrugged. “It can’t be Leila. She doesn’t like to get up this early.”

The knocking woke several other Pixies up.

“Loud noises early are evil,” said Seamus, flying in to land on the table. He saw that Moxie had some bread. “But breakfasts are good.”

“Soon, little man. Let’s see who this is.” Mistress Gan walked to the door, Moxie on her shoulder. The visitor knocked again right before she opened it.

Rob Woodway, the young Bauchan gardener that worked on Elaine’s estate and often doubled as her driver stood there, holding his red wool cap in his hand. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said, looking down at what he had done to his cap. “Sorry it’s so early, but Lady Elaine told me to get here early.”

“Well, hello there, Rob,” Gan said. “What brings you out here this early?”

“Begging your pardon, Ma’am,” he said, twisting his cap a little more in this hands after realizing how Gan was dressed. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t wake me up, son. Just knocked a little bit after I was awake. Still making my morning tea.”

“I’ve seen you before,” Moxie said, landing on the young man’s head. “You have hair like my brother.”

The young man didn’t know what to think about that statement. He looked up at the Pixie and shook his head. Laughing, Moxie flew off.

“Lady Elaine sent me over to work on your gardens, Ma’am, if you don’t mind.”

Moxie flew back to Gan’s shoulder. “I remember you - you’re the one they told to run because that meanie Tree Shepherd was walking across the field. I don’t blame you for hiding behind the building.”

Gan turned her head, trying to get a good glimpse of the tiny woman on her shoulder. “I thought you were off in Cullin’s forest when that was going on,” she said, surprised.

“I was flying overhead, out of that nasty smell,” Moxie said. She shook her head then rubbed her nose. “It wasn’t very nice of them to use all that Ixip. My nose itches just thinking about it.”

“Were you the one crying about wanting to go home?” the gardener asked.

“You heard me?” Moxie gave him a big smile, then drifted his way. “Big people don’t always hear me. I’m impressed. I promise not to use any pixie dust on you.”

At this, Gan chuckled. “Go inside for a bit, Moxie. I want to talk to our young gardener here.”

The Pixie, cooperative for once, nodded and did as she was asked. “Oh, the lovely steam clouds!” she said as she drifted back in.

Gan looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “So young sir. You know that my house and gardens and fields are quite likely to have pixies in them.”

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“Yes Ma’am. Lady Elaine gave me a charm against the dust.”

“And that people like Cullin, the Tree Shepherd, or other not Daoine or Bogan folk might show up at any time?”

Rob clutched his cap. “Yes, Ma’am. He won’t throw mudbombs at your house, will he?” He looked nervously at the forest.

She smiled. “No, I don’t think so. Just don’t go across the boundary fence, or throw anything over there.”

“I promise,” he said.

“Be sure you keep that promise, and all will be well. So, Master Rob, I’m going to go inside and drink a cup of tea and get my day clothes on. After that, will you show me what you want to do to my garden? I can tell it needs a good hand on it. Are you a good hand?”

“Lady Elaine told me I was,” the young man said.

“Good. So what do you think about hollyhocks?”

“They’re beautiful, but will take over a garden bed..”

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It was early in the work day in Goblin Market, and the Dragon Web station was busy coming to life, with freight handlers and travel carriage crews and technicians wandering into their work stations, and the early shift counter personnel began to ready their stations. A bell rang in the VIP transport section, surprising the work crews, and the transport workers hurried to their stations to secure the carriage.

The carriage, large and luxurious, only held a few people: Gabbro Bryony and his retinue, two ceremonial guards, and sitting next to Bryony, Umber Madrona.

The travel carriage creaked as it was secured in position, the voices of the crew outside as they secured it penetrating the quiet room.

The older investigator turned to his companion. “It was good working with you, Umber Madrona,” Bryony said to the young dragonkin man, still dressed in his formal uniform, a little dusty from wear, but still making a sharp impression. The clothes, though, couldn’t disguise the mix of fatigue, appreciation, and anxiety in the young man’s face. “You made an excellent orderly.

Umber nodded, beamed under the praise. “I will always remember this,” he said. “Thank you, sir, for bringing me along, although I wish the end had ended up better.”

“And I wish I could stay and tell that supervisor a thing or two, especially since we know he’s got his fingers in the local smuggling business. Keep an eye on him. If he deals with the wrong people – well, let us know. His official contact is with a Daoine named Rustin. Anybody else, signal me. I doubt if he will, but still – there’s a lot at stake, and someone wants to make everything topsy turvy.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “That’s the thing with investigating. No matter how carefully you plan, sometimes it doesn’t turn out the way we plan. But this still was quite useful. We might not have yet found out who was using Shulan as a channel to smuggle, but we interrupted that person’s trade network. We don’t know who’s trying to unbalance long balanced ways of doing things, but this will please our allies, and perhaps open up another path to investigate.”

Umber nodded.

Bryony sighed. “But now you have to go back and finish your first year. I hope this taste of some of what investigating can sometimes be like will help you through the drudge work of paperwork and a boss who could be better. Hang in there, and write me when your year is nearly done. I have good hopes for you, son.”

“Thank you very much, sir. I will be sure to stay in touch. I hope at some point in the future, you can let me know how this situation turns out.”

Bryony nodded. “I will if I can. You have some right to know, since you were involved. Stay in touch. And in your letters home, tell your uncle hello for me. Now, I have to get back to Sunderland. You have to face your supervisor. And I will have to face mine. Master Investigator will be more than interested in what happened. No telling where he’ll send me next. He has the ability to see connecting threads when nobody else even has a glimmer they are there.” He smiled at the young man. “Another bit of wisdom from the DIC manual. ‘First you plan. Then you act. Take a day to let it sink in. Then back to the grind.’” He gave the young man a pat on the back. “I hope you get your day.”

“Thank you, sir.” Umber said. He stood up from his seat in the carriage, and saluted Byrony.

Byrony motioned to one of the other attendants, who opened the carriage door, and Umber walked out.

Lana, the blue dragonkin woman who had befriended him earlier, had made some sort of excuse to leave her counter and was standing near the carriage. She gave him a little wave, but before he could say anything to her, Thornfield Witstone, his boss, stepped forward.

“Might as well get out of that fancy uniform, Umber. Get your things put away and then head back to the office. There’s a stack of paperwork on your desk waiting for you. Wouldn’t want to get ink all over it.”

“I guess I don’t get that day,” Umber muttered, picked up his bag from where the porter put it, and headed to his quarters.

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Cullin the Tree Shepherd sat in a tree near the boundary of his land, looking at the activity going on at Pixie Hollow as Gan Thistleberry and the young man from Lady Elaine’s estates walked through the garden area near the little house. Pixie Hollow was a fairly narrow strip of farm land, longer than it was wide. Once it had grown enough wheat and peas and barley to bring prosperity to a large family, with surplus to trade, but those days were long gone, gone before the pixies moved in, and only the remnants of the plow furrows undulating over the open fields where Blowie and Cin, Gan’s cows, grazed contentedly showed what had been done in the past.

One of Gan’s goats came near the border fence, and began browsing on a shrub that had grown there. Cullin looked down at it.

“Having a good time here?” He asked it. “Eating things that only grew here because the forest is generous with its bounty?”

The goat looked up at him, chewing, as if she were contemplating his words, then went back to eating the shrub.

“I wish you could tell me why Sulis told me to keep an eye on Gan Thistleberry, but no doubt that would be too much to ask of you.” He scratched the back of his neck.

The goat baahed, as if in agreement, and then, having done a serious amount of pruning on the bush it had grazed, moved on to find other things to eat.

A raven circled overhead, then as the goat wandered off, came in for a landing on a branch near where Cullin was sitting.

“Talking to goats now, are we?” the raven said.

“I talk to you, Morvran. What’s the difference?”

“I talk back,” Morvran said, turning his head to get a better look at the Tree Shepherd. “Did the goat?”

“What makes you think that chatter is better?”

Morvran cawed and fluttered his wings. “Maybe I should go find Leila and get her to figure out why you’re in such a mood.” When Cullin didn’t react, he turned to look over the field to see what Cullin was looking at.

“Gan Thistleberry, out and about today,” Morvran said. “And who’s that with her?”

“I believe they called him Rob. He was here the day the work party started. He seemed to think I was going to throw mud at him, and the rest of the people there.”

As he watched, Rob stuck a stick of wood in the ground and attached a string to it, then paced off a number of steps, and poked another stick in the ground and tied the string to that.

“What’s he doing?” the bird asked.

“Measuring, I believe,” Cullin replied. He watched as the young man paced even more steps, more than double the first amount, and poked in a third stick. To this he dutifully tied another string.

“Are they going to build something?” Morvran asked. “I’ve seen house builders in the villages near here use that trick.”

“More likely a garden,” Cullin replied. “They’ve been walking around and working in the gardens by the house.”

“Never understand why people plant gardens. Enough plants growing everywhere without making them a special place.” Morvran picked at a piece of moss growing on the tree branch he had perched on.

“Cabbages and onions like Gan fed you don’t grow in the wild,” the Tree Shepherd remarked. “You liked those well enough.”

“I liked the bacon better. Don’t need gardens to grow pigs.”

Cullin slipped of the tree. “I’ll come see her later.”

Then, using his magic, he was gone.