27

The next morning, Mick felt like someone had scraped out his head and filled it full of bees, and last night’s beers and whiskeys weren’t exactly forming a cordial coalition with his stomach. Even so, he forced himself to change into his joggers and ran a lap around Sunhampton. There was one point where he thought he might die, but he pushed through it and felt better by the time he got back home, covered in sweat.

After bathing and getting dressed, he made a mug of coffee and then spent twenty minutes trying to wrap Zip’s birthday present, getting it wrong twice and having to start over. He almost ran out of gift wrap, but just about avoided disaster. He even had a little bit of wrapping paper left over to reinforce the weak points in his package’s armor. Then, with the present tucked under his arm, he walked through town and to Kiera and Zip’s house.

He was surprised – shocked, in fact – to find Zip outside in the garden, using the rolling lawnmower to tame their front lawn. She was about halfway done. The edges would need trimming, too, and if Mick was a gambling man he’d bet that she would forget that detail. But she was doing a good job. What’s more, the stone path leading to the house was completely leaf free.

“Is this my niece?” said Mick, “Or did I bring an evil mimic back from Striding? What’s the rhyme you’re supposed to say to banish a mimic? Actually, scratch that. Looks to be an improvement.”

Zip laughed. “Morning, Uncle Mick.”

He nodded at the lawnmower. “Isn’t this…it is your birthday today, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “It is indeed.”

“Ah. I see. I used to get chores as punishment, too. When I accidentally smashed the kitchen window with a horse chestnut, Ma made me climb onto the roof and clean the gutters. I showed her though. Fell right off. That’s how I got my scar, just above my right eyebrow, see?”

“Mother’s still in bed,” said Zip. “She’s starting work later today, so I let her sleep in. She didn’t ask me to do nothing. She’s probably forgotten it already. So I thought, what kind of punishment would a parent give to a kid who stole fried potatoes and skipped school? And I came up with this.”

Mick had never heard of the criminal punishing themselves before, but there was a certain logic to it.

“Oh, right. Well, I’ve got something for you,” he said.

“I’ll be right in.”

Zip finished mowing the lawn, then joined Mick in the kitchen where he was heating up coffee on a glow stone. Kiera always told Mick to make himself at home here, so that was what he always did. Resting on the kitchen table was a badly wrapped, oddly shaped present.

Since Kiera was getting some well-earned sleep, Mick spoke in a hushed voice. “Happy birthday, kiddo.”

“Thanks.”

Zip struggled to find a suitable opening in the wrapping paper, since Mick had double sealed parts of it, worried his poor technique would have seen the paper splitting on his way here. Finally, giving up being neat, Zip ripped it open.

“Got it in Striding,” Mick said. For some reason, whenever he gave a gift, he always felt he needed to provide a line or two of explanation. Explain his reasoning, that kind of thing. “Thought you might enjoy a new hobby.”

“A bow and arrow set?” said Zip, picking up the box Mick had bought in a Striding hobby store.

“Yeah. I’d have loved one of them when I was your age. It’s made of elm, should last you a while. Only, keep it somewhere flat so it doesn’t warp, and maybe wax the string from time to time.”

“Uncle Mick…this is…” she stood up, walked over to him and gave him a hug. “Thanks!”

“Only practice when it’s safe, mind. I’ll set up a little target range for you in the back garden. And you always make a sweep of where you’re going to be firing, got it?”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Oh, I’m glad you said, because I was going to walk onto Coiner’s Way and put a blindfold on and start letting them loose.”

“Smart arse,” he said, with a smile. “Now, how about I buy you a birthday breakfast at the Sunny Café?”

“I’d love to, only, I still have some stuff to finish around here. I have to sweep the place before mother wakes up. Part of my punishment.”

A self-imposed punishment, on her birthday of all days. He’d heard it all now. He was pretty sure what was going on here, though, and when he thought about it, how could he blame her? Poor Zip. Her mother was always working or studying, and Mick hadn’t exactly been the most present uncle. Maybe, when it came down to it, the only way to be heard was to play truant and go around Striding market thieving potatoes.

Need to do something about this. Should have done it a while ago.

“Okay, kiddo. I best be off. But how about I take you for dinner at the King’s Head later?”

“Sounds great, Uncle Mick.”

Set loose in Sunhampton on his own, Mick was unsure what to do at first. It used to be that he’d be working for Mr. Leabrook on a day like today. He’d probably have a bunch of scrap that needed moving from one place to another, or something equally pointless.

As much as he had been growing to dislike those odd jobs, at least there had been a structure to his days. Now, though, he was a free man. Well, as free as a man could be when he was living on his savings. Better get a move on earning my tokens, he told himself. Start earning some decent coin.

Heading through Coiner’s Way, he nodded hello to Percy Tattersall cleaning his bookstore window, and then Mrs. Grant, who was setting up tables and chairs outside her bakery. He slipped down an alley and went toward Douggie Fernglass’s supply shed, which had always doubled as Mick’s town guard office.

Halfway there, he stopped walking. He didn’t work for Mr. Leabrook anymore, did he? So he couldn’t expect Mr. Leabrook to let him use the Coiner’s Way supply shed for guard stuff. He’d need to find somewhere else to work.

Even so, he thought he should at least see if Douggie was around. Say good morning to him, have a chat. He’d always gotten along well with him.

Reaching the supply shed, he was surprised to see an envelope with his name on it slipped halfway under the door. When he pulled it out, the envelope felt heavy.

“What the heck is this?”

Inside it was a key, and a note. The note read, ‘Our newest detective can no doubt work out where this key belongs.’ The key itself was long and black, and looked like the kind you might use to open an old crypt or something. The only thing was that it looked new. The metal had this fresh gleam to it, and this meeting of old and new was strange, to say the least.

Mick reached to his inner pocket for his notepad – his normal one, not the narrative kind – so he could add this mystery to his list.

Mysteries to take a look at:

1) Tim Ritson’s Missing Moggy

Help the old man find his missing cat

2) The Lady with the Red Neck

Why’s her neck so red? Find out without being weird about it.

3) The Mysterious Key

Find out who left the key and what it unlocks

He was hardly solving crimes or puzzles that would shake Easterly to its core, but they all counted. This was how he was going to get his tokens, after all: by finding little mysteries and riddles, and setting his noggin loose on them. This one was a pearl of a mystery, by his reckoning. Nothing like a strange key to get you thinking.

Studying the note, Mick was sure he recognized the handwriting. There was just something familiar about it yet strange at the same time. Someone he knew trying to alter their handwriting so he didn’t recognize it, perhaps? That’d narrow it down, since he could count on one hand how many people wrote notes for him often enough that he’d know their penmanship.

So, who did he know who liked to scribble a letter?

Granny Wells was a suspect. She only lived two minutes from his house, but she loved sending and receiving letters. She wrote to everyone about absolutely anything. If a bird landed on her windowsill, she’d probably reach for her pen and write to her friend, Helen, about it. Mick wouldn’t be surprised if the woman was keeping Connor Perry’s post office afloat.

This ain’t Granny’s writing, though. Not Kiera’s either. Not even if they tried altering how they wrote to disguise it. And I can say for sure it isn’t Ma’s.

One thing Mick was certain about was that someone had left this for him deliberately. He felt sure that whatever clues he needed to trace the origin of the key, were right here in the envelope. Otherwise, whoever left it was just playing games.

Unhooking his knapsack from his shoulder, he took out his poor-rated sleuthing kit he’d been issued at Elmshore station. Inside was a magnifying glass with an artificed lens. It was supposed to show up forensics that the naked eye might miss, but the artificery was spotty, and it didn’t tell him anything about the key or the letter.

He tried using the fingerprinting kit, sprinkling a little starch powder on the paper and then dusting it with the fine brush, but he hit a wall. Whoever had written the letter had worn gloves, and Mick couldn’t even begin to check the key. He didn’t have the Forensics skill tree yet, and his skills weren’t good enough for him to check an awkwardly-shaped object like a key for prints. Right now, flat surfaces were all he could work with.

With no forensics to work with, it was time for some good, old-fashioned sleuthing.