47

That evening, Mick made sure to get to the King’s Head fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet George and Ma. He was wearing his best shirt, which he’d even pressed with a hot iron, and he’d cleaned his boots so well that if anyone needed a mirror, they should look no further. He’d thought about wearing a tie, but c’mon. He wasn’t going to court. No need to go overboard.

When George and Ma finally arrived, the three of them took their reserved table near the hearth. This table was usually snagged by Lewis Cooper and his pals, but they weren’t here tonight. After a quick look at the menu Ma and George both ordered the same thing – crab ravioli with a plate of garlic bread to share.

“Order whatever you like, Georgie,” said Ma. “It’s on Mick.”

Mick, who hadn’t known this information until a second ago, nevertheless agreed. What choice did he have? “Least I could do, after the other night.”

“Ah, forget it. I was young once,” said George.

Mick hadn’t been called young in a while, but he guessed it was all relative.

“No, don’t forget it,” said Ma. “Missing dinner like that, after you went to all that effort.”

“Give the lad a break.”

Mick had quite fancied the crab ravioli but three people eating the same dish would look strange, so he opted for a mushroom risotto. The mushrooms were most likely foraged by Lee Hunter, whose woodland trips weren’t all about tracking animals. So, as well as getting a tasty dish, he was helping out a friend. Such economical deals were hard to resist.

The food was a while in coming, but then, Zakariya Spencer was the chef, and his food was worth waiting for. They filled the time with chitchat. George was thinking of getting into taxidermy. A grim hobby, certainly, but he was retired, and he needed to occupy his time somehow.

“You’ll see when you get to my age,” he said. “An unwatered mind wilts before you know it.”

“Taxidermy, though? Couldn’t you have chosen something nice, like birdwatching?”

“When I was growing up, we had a stuffed black Labrador called Rex. Kept him near the fire in the living room. Rex was my father’s childhood dog. Him passing upset my father so much he swore he’d never have another pet, so Rex was the nearest thing I had. Grew strangely fond of him, I did.”

“Remember that little chick you found in the river, Micky?” said Ma. “And how it followed you everywhere?”

Mick smiled at the memory. “He used to sit on my shoulder at school. Until he got too big.”

“Aye, and he used to crap in my books, too. Still, nice little thing.”

Soon enough their dishes arrived, and it was when they were halfway through their meal, that George and Ma shared a look. Mick didn’t have to be a sleuth in training to know what was coming.

“Now, don’t get upset about this, Micky,” began Ma. “But George and I have something to tell you.”

Mick decided to pretend like he had no clue. “Alright.”

“You’ll always be my number one man. You know that.”

Mick almost laughed. “Okay, Ma. What is it?”

She put her left hand on George’s. He put his right hand on top of hers. She put her left on top on his. It looked a little like the ‘one potato two potato’ game, and Mick wondered if he ought to add his own hand to the pile.

“George and I, well…we’re getting married,” said Ma.

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A long, drawn out silence followed. George and Ma studied him, each trying to gauge his reaction as though he were the judge, and the verdict that left his lips would alter the course of their whole lives. As though the destiny of this elderly, in love couple rested upon what Mick said, on the decision he delivered.

Mick shrugged. “Okay. Happy for you,” he said, and resumed eating his risotto.

“I’d like you to be the groomsman,” said George.

Ma added, “And I want you to give me away.”

“Sure thing. Groomsmen don’t have to give a speech, do they?” asked Mick.

George shook his head.

“Phew. It would have been fine, but public speaking ain’t my thing. Anything else, I’m your man.”

Toward the end of the evening, the tavern door opened and in walked Connor Perry. Just one of him, this time. He looked tired, the poor guy, like his eyes had been out shopping and were holding bags with a month’s worth of groceries inside. He hadn’t even gotten changed into fresh clothes yet. He shuffled over to Mick’s table, his usual grouchiness completely absent.

“Mick. Wanted to thank you for everything.” He glanced at Ma and George now. “For…you know.”

“Part of the service,” said Mick.

“Anyway, wanted you to know that you get free second class deliveries for a year, and I’ll cut you a deal on first class.”

There was no sweeter music to Mick’s ears than that of getting something for free, especially after having bought dinner for three. “Thank you very much, Connor. What about third class?”

The postmaster smiled. “That’s called delivering it yourself.”

The night went by pleasantly, and before he knew it, Alec was ringing the tavern bell to announce last orders. Ma said she was tired and asked Mick if he was ready to walk his old ma home. He said he’d be delighted.

Just before they went, while Ma was getting her coat, George took Mick to one side for a quick word.

“It’s the anniversary coming up,” he said. “Your Pa’s.”

Mick nodded, strangely touched George would even know this. “That’s right.”

“I was thinking of taking your mother away for a few days. Would that be insensitive?”

“It’d be just what she needs, George. She always gets down this time of year, and Pa always said she wasn’t to wallow. She’d like a little break.”

It wasn’t long after the whole Connor incident concluded that the mimic breeder was caught just south of Full Striding, trying to snag some rare golden eagle eggs from a nest. This being a clear contravention of the conservation act, he found himself having to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why he was standing on a ladder, halfway up an elm tree, with a burlap sack in his hand. A deft interrogation by an inspector at the Georgehill station in Striding led to him admitting to breeding mimics, among other crimes. When all was said and done, the guy was looking at a lengthy stay with bed and board paid for at the state’s expense.

The mimics themselves had been a bigger problem. At least, at first. Letting them loose would be an invitation to pure mayhem, yet there was nowhere in Sunhampton to keep them. The town didn’t even have a jail cell; any criminals caught there had to go to Perentee or Full Striding to await their judgments.

Understandably, Connor Perry hadn’t wanted them anywhere near his home or the post office. He didn’t want to see a mimic ever again, which in fairness, was the likely outcome given how rare they were. Most people didn’t see one mimic in their lifetime, let alone five. The whole experience had been distressing for him, though, and Healer Brown wanted to meet up once per fortnight to talk things through so that Connor didn’t cling on to bad memories. Brown always said it was better to take your shoe off and get rid of the stone even if it slowed you down, rather than walk on and put up with the pain.

Connor’s strong preferences meant that Mick needed somewhere to keep them that was close by, yet still far enough away from the town center. The answer came to him while he was drinking a cup of coffee in his office. The mimics were in there with him, in their natural form of semi-solid lumps of fat. They were a docile bunch when they weren’t stealing folks’ identities, and in fact, they weren’t the worst company to have. Even better, they didn’t trigger his allergies one bit. If only one of them would take the form of a dog, it’d solve his problem and he’d have the pet he always wanted. Alas, mimics bonded close with the others in their pods. He couldn’t separate them.

Still, as much as he didn’t actually mind the mimics, they couldn’t stay in his office forever. All he needed was a place to keep them until someone from the Exotic Animal Preservation Society arrived. He needed somewhere out of the way, somewhere safe.

Inspiration came to him like a crossbow bolt.

“That’s it. The perfect place!”

That was how five mimics ended up staying in the kennels in Jack Cooper’s craftstead. Mick asked Lee Hunter to keep an eye on them, then made the journey across town and up the steep hill to the craftstead, where he found Jack Cooper still working in his workshop. The old artificer was as grouchy as they came, but when the cards fell, he was a decent bloke. He listened to what Mick had to say, thought about it, and then nodded.

“The hounds can stay in the house and we can lock the mimics in their kennel,” he said. “But only for a night or two, mind. Any longer than that, and the pups will start getting used to it and want to stay in my living room all the time. Only the saints know why, though. Their bloody kennel is more luxurious than my and Janey’s bedroom.”