9

Friday night was quiz night at the King’s Head, which meant the tavern was packed to the rafters. The people to beat were The Old Timers, a team consisting of Jack Cooper, Janey Morgan, Flo Anderson, and Martha Peters. They always grabbed the table closest to the bar so they didn’t have to go far to order drinks. Between them, they had over two hundred and fifty years’ worth of life experience and knowledge. How were people meant to compete with that?

Mick’s team’s name changed every week, and he, Lee Hunter, Spruce Wilkinson, and Nell Kelly took turns in choosing. Mick had picked ‘The Porkers’ in honor of how he’d spent his time recently.

“Question fourteen: in ‘the Ballad of the Three Sisters’,” said Alec, standing by the bar, “One sister has a snake’s head, the other a bear’s. For one point, tell me what kind of head the third sister has.”

Mick knew this one straight away, but part of being a good team player was letting the others feel involved by getting the answers. He sat patiently, watching Lee rap the table with his knuckles as he tried to tease the solution out of his mind.

“Come on, Nell,” said Spruce. “Don’t you teach literature at your school?”

“The Three Sisters is a little…well, it doesn’t get taught anymore, put it that way.”

“Got it,” said Lee. He snatched the paper and scribbled ‘wolf’ onto the answer sheet.

“Alright, folks, we’re halfway into the quiz. Let’s take ten minutes, get yourself some drinks, and then we’ll pick it back up,” said Alec.

Nell stood up. “Another round?”

“Yes please, Nell. My throat feels like sandpaper. Want a hand?” asked Mick.

“I’m fine.”

Nell had this trick where she could order four beers and bring them all back to the table in one trip, on her own. Mick never quite figured out how she managed it, but she made it look easy. So, if she said she was okay, he believed her, and didn’t move to get up as she headed toward the bar.

He, Lee, and Spruce chatted while they waited for Nell. Lee was considering approaching Janey Morgan with a business arrangement. If she could come up with various scents that would help hunters in the field, he could sell them in his store.

This was all part of this idea he’d gotten into his head that if he could just increase his takings in his ‘hampton hunting store, maybe he could expand into Perentee, or maybe Full Striding. Lee had been spending his breaks and lunches at Paisley Porter’s store lately, trying to get business tips from her. She’d told him that it was no good having a product if you didn’t have access to the right market, but no point having customers if you didn’t offer what they wanted. A deal with Janey would work out for both the alchemist and the hunter.

Spruce Wilkinson, on the other hand, had a different problem. He was thinking of easing off from the work side of things. Until maybe a year or so ago, he and Mrs. Grant had been an item. Things had ended amicably, and she was spending her days with Percy Tattersall lately. He was happy for them, since he and Mrs. Grant had parted as friends, and she and Percy were a better match anyhow. It just didn’t work out, that was all. But the whole thing had got him thinking that maybe he ought to spend less time in his café frying eggs, and more time living his life.

His problem, though, was that he didn’t want to close the café. To add another layer, he didn’t quite trust another chef to take over duties. He, Lee, and Mick argued this back and forth for a while, before Spruce asked that they change the subject.

“Did I tell you what I got at the Hattersdale auction?” said Spruce.

Spruce liked to visit auction houses and see what kind of bargains he could get. He didn’t have the antique dealer class token, but he’d done a lot of reading over the years and could generally tell whether a vase or a tea set was undervalued. It wasn’t all about making a side profit, though. What he really loved was to sit there in the auction house and wait for something to just tug on his fancy.

“No, wait a minute. Let me guess,” said Lee. “I reckon you got…a huge, stuffed bear.”

“Nope. A carriage.”

“A carriage?”

Spruce nodded. “It doesn’t have wheels, and it’s only a step up from kindling. But it’s a fancy carriage. Or it was once, anyhow. A Clarington carriage, apparently. Might go see old Jack Cooper, maybe he’ll be interested in restoring it for me.”

“How about you? You alright, pal?” said Lee, looking at Mick.

Mick nodded. “Right as rain.”

“Only, you’ve been staring at the door every five seconds.”

He sighed. “Haven’t spoken to Ma yet. Pretty sure she’ll already know I quit with Mr. Leabrook. Word gets around.”

“So?” said Spruce.

“You know how mothers get.”

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Lee laughed. “Mick, you’re in your mid-thirties. Your ma can’t tell you where to work.”

“I know. In theory, that’s a sound premise. In practice, mothers keep their authority all your life. You see if they don’t. I could be fifty, and she’d still be able to scold me like a kid.”

“My mother’s eighty-six, and she can still freeze me to the spot with a stare,” said Spruce.

Nell approached the table with four glasses of beer and set them down without spilling a single drop. Then she sat in her seat and drank half her glass in one go.

“What are we talking about?”

“Mick and his job.”

“Oh. That. You’ve never done a better thing than telling Mr. Leabrook to shove it, if you ask me. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Nell.”

Now, Lee, Nell, and Spruce glanced at each other like a set of thieves. Even if Mick didn’t have his finely-sharpened instincts, they couldn’t have looked more suspicious unless they’d been wearing hoods over their heads with little eyeholes cut out, as well as carrying crowbars and loot sacks.

“What’s going on?” he said.

Lee cleared his throat. “I was in Striding on Wednesday. At the market. Happened on this.”

He took a folded up piece of paper from his pocket and handed it across the table. Mick took it and unfolded it, quickly scanning the contents.

“They’re accepting candidates for the sleuth token training program in two weeks’ time,” said Nell. “We’ve been talking about it. We think you should apply.”

“You guys been planning my future?”

“Well, meaning no offense,” said Spruce, “but someone had to. If you’d have been happy working for Mr. Leabrook, that’d be one thing. Nothing wrong with being content. But you’re always saying how-”

Spruce stopped talking as the tavern door opened, and Ma walked through it. Mick’s initial happiness at seeing her was quickly replaced by a sudden shock of nerves. Funny how she could do that to him, even as a grown man. She stood in the doorway for a moment and looked left to right, surveying the tavern like an eagle looking down on a field and choosing which mouse to eat. Her head snapped in his direction, their eyes locked, and she stomped over to the table.

“Michael James Mulroon,” she said, getting closer.

“Alright. Before you say anything-”

“Don’t you ‘Before you say anything’ me.”

Nell stood up, grabbed a spare chair from Percy Tattersall’s and Mrs. Grant’s table, and then made room for it next to her. “Sit yourself down, Mrs. M.”

“Thank you, darling.”

Ma had always loved Nell. Ever since Mick had brought his new friend home after school and asked if she could stay for dinner all those years ago, Ma and Nell had been thick as thieves.

His mother took a seat next to Nell. Mick, seizing the opportunity to extract himself from the situation whilst doing something good, asked if she wanted a drink.

“I want a whiskey,” said Ma. “But I want a word, first.”

“Ma-”

She held up her hand, silencing him as if she was a mage casting a mute spell. “Mr. Leabrook told me about your little chat yesterday. He says things get said in the heat of the moment. If you go see him in the morning, then the water’s under the bridge.”

“I don’t-”

Ma continued, “However, I told him that if you quit, then you had a good reason. I told him that my Mick’s stubborn as a mule, and he’s been working that job too long anyhow.”

She glanced at Nell now, who gave a crafty look back. So, it seemed Ma had been in on their conspiracy, too.

“You think I should go to Striding? Try and get myself on the sleuth token program?”

“Tell me this. Are you happy, Mick?” said Ma.

“You know me. I love it here.”

“I know you do. But that’s not what I’m asking – I don’t mean are you happy living in ‘hampton. Look at this week just gone. Spending all your time trying to find a missing pig, not getting paid a penny more than your expenses for it. A person wouldn’t do that if they didn’t want to. You could just give it up whenever you feel like it - you’re volunteering, after all. But you don’t.”

“Dad never quit.”

“He didn’t. Here’s another thing, Mick. Your father always talked about getting a class token, and he never did it. Are you going to go down that same road? It doesn’t lead anywhere, let me tell you. I loved your father to his core, but by the saints, he needed a kick up the arse.”

The next morning, Mick went for a run in an effort to sweat out all the beer he’d drunk the night before. They had placed third in the quiz, which had only served to stoke Nell’s competitive side, but it had still been a nice evening. Now, though, he was paying the price. His pace was slow but steady at first, but he quickened as he got into it. The chill breeze he ran directly into was especially welcome.

On his way home, exhausted but actually feeling better, he stopped by the Tillwright’s farmhouse. The siblings had already been up for hours longer than most folks in Sunhampton, and they were already having what was, to them, almost like their lunch.

Jane, the second eldest Tillwright next to Alister, invited Mick in and practically forced him to sit at the table with them and enjoy a cooked breakfast. Sausages, beans, bacon – the works. Mick wouldn’t have told Spruce, but it had the edge on Sunny Café’s breakfasts.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Alister Tillwright told him. “The other pigs missed Rohan. I could tell. You’ve never seen anything mope around like an upset pig.”

“He’s alright, then?”

“Back in his pen, wallowing in the muck.”

“I’m glad.”

Alister rose from his seat. “Stay there a second.”

With half his plate still left to eat, not to mention toast and a square knob of butter still sitting on a nearby plate, he had no intention of moving just yet. All the same he humored Alister, watching him leave the kitchen and head down the hallway toward their living room.

“How’s your Ma?” asked Samantha.

“Good.”

“She sleeping any better yet?”

“Some nights. She’s been keeping a diary, trying to work out how her food affects it.”

“Pass on my best,” she said.

“Will do.”

Alister returned not long after with a brown envelope. He set it down on the table, next to Mick’s coffee cup. The corner of the envelope touched the butter, which was starting to melt.

“What’s this?” said Mick, aware that, as head of the guards, he ought to be very wary of accepting brown envelopes.

“A little something.”

“For finding Rohan? No, Alister. It’s my job.”

“Well, I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but I don’t think it’s a secret that you don’t get paid for what you do.”

For some reason, the truth of it hit Mick right there and then in the Tillwright’s farmhouse kitchen. All his life, or at least after he got back from traveling, he’d done his utmost to save every coin, to get the most out of his money. He’d thought of himself as a thrifty guy, maybe even bordering on tight.

At the same time, he’d given precious hours of his life for free. He’d worked as Sunhampton’s guard while getting barely any coins for the pleasure. That wasn’t thrifty; that was downright extravagant. Only, in a different kind of currency.

“Open it, for saints’ sakes,” said Samantha.

“I can’t accept it, whatever it is.”

“This isn’t payment,” said Alister. “It’s a gift from your friends. Everyone appreciates the work you do around here, Mick.”

It was stupid, but this almost made him well up. He hadn’t cried since Pa died, but this stupid envelope brought him close.

When the moment passed, Mick put his thumb in the opening at the corner of the envelope and carefully wedged it open. Inside it was a single slip of card.