Talbot Acres kept quiet till the controller left the bakery.

“You don’t think someone could have taken the fairies, do you?” He asked.

Valencia’s head shot up.

“Stolen them, you mean? They could have! I can’t see them leaving of their own accord. They haven’t taken anything with them. Did you notice? It’s as if they left in a hurry. Even the fires are still smouldering, there’s half-finished knitting still on needles… something happened in there.”

“But why would anyone take them? For what purpose?”

“I don’t know. To frame them? They must’ve taken them whilst everyone was gathered around the body outside,” she said, pulling her cardigan closer around her.

“We need to get out there and start talking to the people who were with her in the queue. Nickel works at the Cobblers on Emrick Street – ‘Magick Soles’, I think it’s called. Let’s start there,” suggested Talbot, eager to do something productive.

“I’d rather stay here and try to work things out first becau...”

A large stone crashed through the window of the bakery, scattering shattered glass everywhere.

“What the?” Said Talbot, racing out of the door to see who thrown it.

Valencia noticed the stone had writing on it. She tilted it with the toe of her black suede knee high boot so she could read it. It said -

‘Get out whilst you still can!’

“I didn’t see anyone who looks like they might have just thrown it, outside. I’m sorry about your window. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It can be fixed. But it was obviously a warning. It looks like someone wants rid of me. What if they killed that girl just to get me out of the bakery? They want me out of business for some reason.”

“And they’re letting you know, too. Is that why they’ve taken your fairies? So you have no stock? The poisoned cake used so you’d lose people’s trust and business? The other cakes planted so they’d either kill more people - or make you look guilty?” Asked Talbot, thinking out loud.

“Looks like it. You know, I feel like some fresh air after all… Let’s go and see what Nickel has to say. No one in the queue spoke to the girl, but he was behind her. I feel nervous staying here on my own now.”

“Look at it this way - we might be able to work out who the murderer is and if we do, we can end this and get your fairies back.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Valencia, stepping around scattered shards of glass on the stone floor. Talbot crunched his way over them without a care.

Outside, life carried on despite the murder although Valencia felt like someone was watching her. Someone who meant to get her out of her bakery. What their plans beyond that were, was anyone’s guess. she felt like a spider was settled, waiting for the right moment to pounce on her.

“You okay?” Talbot asked, wondering why she was rooted to the spot.

“I’m fine, but I can’t believe a girl died over there and yet … everyone’s just going about their daily business like it’s of no consequence.”

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“Spellica can be cruel sometimes.”

It was a short, brisk walk down Emrick street to the Cobblers ‘Magick Soles’ where Nickel worked.

Dwarves are highly skilled in leatherwork especially as they can turn an ordinary piece of leather into a pair of beautiful, crafted shoes - with magical properties. Their shoes were highly sought after and weren’t cheap.

If you bought a pair of their ‘Take you there’ shoes, you’d never get lost ever again. (Satnav for feet) ‘Put ‘em on and they’ll take you there – right to the door’ boasted the many signs in the window and in the small shop itself.

What they didn’t go into detail about was how fast they got you there. Some people reached their destination - but it was their final destination. Not everyone can keep that speed up for that length of time - and the shoes didn’t allow for obstacles that might be in the way. The shoes can get you there, but sadly, most feet can’t keep up. And they have no brakes or steering, but they’re are working on it. (Other bespoke shoes are available on request).

When they walked into the claustrophobic shop the first thing that hit them was the overpowering smell of tanned leather and shoe polish. It seemed to make the shop even smaller and stuffier. Nickel was stitching a sturdy-looking boot, humming a tune that Valencia vaguely recognized. He looked up when they walked in, and the smile slid off his face.

“Valencia! Fancy seeing you in here so soon. Do you need another pair of knee-high boots?” he asked, beads of sweat forming on his line etched forehead.

“We wanted to ask you about this morning. The girl who died …” said Valencia, her mind suddenly going blank.

“I don’t know her. Never seen her before. Never spoke to her. Can’t help you,” Nickle said, going back to his work.

“You must be able to tell us something. You’re not telling me someone as obsessed with attention to detail as you are didn’t notice anything at all,” said Talbot.

“I can tell you about her shoes.” He said, scratching the tip of his nose.

“Her shoes?” Asked Valencia, wondering how that could possibly help them.

“They were expensive. The leather they were made with is as soft as butter. I didn’t make them, but a top-notch cobbler did. She wasn’t looking after them, though. They were badly scuffed - and recently, too. They aren’t meant to be worn in rough terrain. Not even cobbled streets like she was found, so I don’t know what she was doing round here. Those shoes weren’t made for those streets,” said Nickel, disgusted someone could treat a true work of art and craftsmanship like that.

“Do you think she could have run over rough ground to cause that sort of damage?” Asked Valencia, suddenly interested in what he had to say about shoes.

“Certainly. But why ruin such an expensive pair of shoes in that way? They’re made to measure, bespoke. They aren’t off-the-shelf shoes. So, I can’t tell you anything about the girl, I don’t think I even looked at her face, but I always look at shoes. A pair of shoes can usually tell a story.”

“Or raise more questions,” said Talbot, under his breath.

They thanked Nickel then stood outside the cobblers, watching the busy citizens of Spellica going about daily errands and journeys, wondering what this new clue meant.

“So, we’ve got poisoned cakes, a dead girl wearing expensive, badly scuffed shoes, missing fairies and we’re no nearer to solving any of it, are we?” Valencia said, stamping her foot.

“I don’t know… We know the girl must be from a wealthy family - your fairies didn’t leave on their own accord and the other poisoned cakes were planted when everyone was distracted by the body lying in the street,” said Talbot, wishing Valencia had a bit more patience with things. They’d grown up together and she’d always been impatient. She expected results immediately. Life didn’t work that way.

“Hey! Hey! Stop!” Valencia shouted, waving her arms at a woman laden down with bags of shopping.

Blocking the startled woman’s way, she blurted out “Where did you get those cakes from?” Whilst pointing at one of the bags.

“I… Telfjords Bakery on Lemongrass Lane but… it’s a boutique bakery … I’m not sure you could afford their wares,” the woman said haughtily, pushing past Valencia.

“What was all that about?” Asked Talbot, marvelling not for the first time at Valencia’s impulsiveness.

“I noticed the symbol on one of her bags was the same as the one on the poisoned cake case.”

“Well spotted! Another clue!” Said Talbot, feeling they were finally getting somewhere.

“We need to get to the bakery on Lemongrass Lane. I’ve got a few questions for them; I can tell you. I mean how …” She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze fixed above Talbot’s left shoulder.

“There! The scruffy man at the scene! Stop him, we need to talk to him!”

They set off at speed after the lanky man as he weaved deftly in and out of the swarm of crowds on the narrow-cobbled streets.

“He’s getting away!” Said Valencia, frustrated, as he vanished into the blur of people.