Chapter Fourteen: The fabulous Mr. Roods
1.
MR. CARMEN: ...and you expect us to believe that the events transpired precisely as Miss Sylvested described them?
MR. ROODS: I learned a long time ago to keep my expectations in check, especially as they apply to those in the legal profession.
THE COURT: Mr. Roods!
MR. ROODS: Sorry, your honor. Do I expect you to believe...? I suppose I do.
MR. CARMEN: So you agree with Miss Sylvested's account?
MR. ROODS: More or less.
MR. CARMEN: Including the fantastical parts?
MR. ROODS: Yes.
MR. CARMEN: And the parts that contradict the other parts?
MR. ROODS: Is the question whether I expect you to believe them or whether they're true?
MR. CARMEN: Is Miss Sylvested's version of events accurate to the best of your recollection?
MR. ROODS: Yes.
MR. CARMEN: Could you describe what happened in your own words?
MR. ROODS: [inaudible]
THE COURT: It's a fair point.
MR. CARMEN: I don't see –
MR ROODS: [inaudible]
[laughter]
MR. CARMEN: Yes, well... how about just the night of the attack?
MR. ROODS: Fair enough... but you're not the only one here who bills by the hour, champ.
[laughter]
I was with Miss Sylvested on the platform–
MR. CARMEN: The train platform in Underton?
MR. ROODS: Yes, the train platform in Underton. I thought you wanted me to use my own words.
MR. CARMEN: I do. Please...
MR. ROODS: So we were on the train platform in Underton when the train went by. It's a long train, and there had been no one across the tracks when it passed, but once it had cleared the station there were... I'd say ten men waiting for us.
MR. CARMEN: Miss Sylvested said twelve.
MR. ROODS: Well, she was counting the trolls, I assume.
MR. CARMEN: Trolls? Plural? As in ‘more than one troll’?
MR. ROODS: Two trolls plus ten men equals twelve, counselor. Is there a math portion to the bar exam?
MR. CARMEN: You expect us to believe that you fought off two trolls and ten men?
MR. ROODS: Well, not exactly. In the course of my investigation I had uncovered a plan by one of the men's wives to have him “bumped off” with the help of another man. I had previously informed the second man of the plot, and it so happened that both men were in the group coming to attack us. So I did what anyone would do, I told Miss Sylvasted to run and pushed her toward the stairs and then I called out to the second man. “Hey Bronco,” I said, “Ferndy's the one in it with Jerimaline!” and Bronco goes after Frendy instead of me.
In the ensuing fracas I was able to dodge amongst the combatants and create enough confusion to allow Miss Sylvasted to escape.
MR. CARMEN: And that's it?
MR. ROODS: As I recall.
MR. CARMEN: Miss Sylvasted testified that you shot two men, knocked four more to the ground with your bare hands, stabbed someone, cut off a foot, rode on a man's shoulders as he attacked his fellows –
MR. ROODS: That would've been one of the trolls.
MR. CARMEN: Yes, and that you lured two men into the path of the train after fighting the mob single-handed for the length of time it takes for the train to make a full circuit, some 41 minutes. Is this true?
MR. ROODS: I... I suppose it is.
MR. CARMEN: May I remind you that you are under oath, sir!
MR. ROODS: You may.
MR. CARMEN: Your honor!? –
2.
Abe looked up with a start when he heard someone clearing his throat. He was sure he blushed a bit when he saw that the someone was McCallister Roods. Abe quickly pushed the papers he'd been reading back into the folder and swallowed and forced an exaggerated smile. “Oh, Roods. How nice to see you.”
He was sure it sounded as lame to Roods as it sounded to him. He cleared his throat and closed the folder, using his hand to conceal the name of the case, SYLVASTED V. CHINGACHO, as he did.
Roods said, “mind if I join you,” as he all but oozed into the chair opposite Abe. There was no point in saying he didn't mind, obviously, so Abe merely slid the folder down into his lap while Roods leaned forward and passed his hand over the butter knife on the opposite side of the table. Tall as he was, Roods leaned forward over the table as if he was folded in half at the waist, his head very close to Abe's when he said, quietly, “I have results.”
“Oh?” Abe said.
Roods nodded and passed his hand over the side of the plate Abe's soup was on. Abe noticed that the butter knife had vanished along with the piece of bread. The bread, at least, was accounted for: Roods was holding it in a death grip between one thumb and forefinger while he tore little bits out of it and rolled them into balls, then tossed the balls into his mouth. “The school is Lady Grendalia Darbyshire's School for the Profoundly Gifted.”
Abe took a moment to tear his gaze away from the distracting bread-ball-eating. “You found it?”
“I found out about it,” Roods said. “It's not in a place anymore, but I was able to acquire an address where it was known to operate recently.”
“Are you going to look into it?”
Roods held up a ball of bread and tilted his head back. “Was on my way now,” he said. He dropped the tiny ball onto his tongue and then did a bizarre tongue-flexing maneuver that flipped the ball of bread toward the back of his throat. He swallowed without chewing. “Just happened to be passing by and saw you all alone, thought you could stand a progress report.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Roods.”
“You'll appreciate it even more when I get a chance to look about the place. I expect it'll be dinner time in about, what, six hours or so?”
Abe nodded. “Seems about right.”
Roods leaned in once more, casting his large eyes to the left and then the right as if to ensure that they weren't overheard, and then whispered, “So perhaps you should return here for dinner, sir. In about six hours...”
“Well,” said Abe, “I don't know why I would want to come back here to eat dinner when I've just had my lunch here. A rather subpar soup, I might add. Though I gather the bread's good.”
Roods, in mid bread-ball-making, narrowed his eyes to slits. “You ought to return here,” he said and stuffed the rest of the bread into his mouth, “so that someone who was looking,” he was difficult to understand around the bread, and he was spraying crumbs a bit as well, “would know where to find you.”
Roods was still chewing as he unfolded himself from the chair.
Abe glanced around the table to see if anything else was missing. “So, to be perfectly clear, you want me to meet you here in six hours?”
Roods spoke very slowly and deliberately. “Yes. That. Is. What. I. Want.” He rolled his eyes and pushed his chair under the table. Once he was gone Abe found that he needed to ask the waiter for another spoon in order to finish his subpar soup.
3.
Abe passed the rest of the afternoon searching his uncles poorly-organized records for any mention of the School for the Profoundly Gifted. He found virtually nothing, but still dutifully noted the name of every person involved in the case where he found the school mentioned. He had a list of five names from this single case, which, due to his uncles poor system of filing and record keeping, had taken him several hours to procure.
Which is why, after rousing his uncle to put his robe back on and go pass judgment, Abe found himself beginning to organize the office in spite of himself. He had barely gotten started on his nearly-compulsive organizing when his uncle came back from blithely sentencing someone to something and promptly left for the day. Abe briefly lamented the truly deplorable state of the legal system and then lost himself in the files.
He could have spent weeks making sense of the papers in the office, imposing order on a mad heap of documents
accumulated over decades, but he didn't allow himself the total immersion that he had actually hoped for when he'd arrived that morning. No, the oblivion of monotonous file-wrangling was not what Abe wanted now, he was starting to put a system in place, sure, but that was secondary to searching for more information about the school or Lady Grendalia Darbyshire.
This effort was entirely wasted, however, and it was only due to a rumbling stomach (a rumbling stomach Abe attributed rather spitefully to Roods having eaten his bread) that Abe was able to pull himself from the task before he was late for his dinner appointment. He had intended to leave the office with enough time to eat somewhere better, but now he would be hard pressed to even make it to the restaurant at the appointed time. Of course it would serve Roods right to be kept waiting, but Abe knew that Roods was far more likely to leave than to wait. Abe was too curious to take that chance. He went to the restaurant as fast as his cane and his still-healing foot could carry him.
The restaurant was a small, dingy establishment with a very large picture window – it was this same window that had allowed Roods to see Abe from the street earlier in the day and it was through this window that Abe could see Roods as he approached. Despite the late hour, Roods was wearing dark-tinted glasses and he had an impressive amount of food spread out on the table before him. Abe was sure it was too much food for the slender man to eat himself, and so he allowed himself to smile at the notion of being treated to a meal. He did not consider McCallister Roods a friend, but perhaps he ought to start.
As Abe entered the restaurant, Roods gestured him toward his table with a broad smile only somewhat tainted by the mouthful of turkey. “Ah, Mr. Crompton! Please!”
Abe leaned his cane against the table and took the proferred seat. “This is quite a spread.”
“Well it should be,” said Roods. “We're celebrating.”
“What are we celebrating, exactly?” Abe reached for the basket of rolls that sat on the table between a large bowl of steaming roasted potatoes and an enormous ham. Roods hand slapped Abe's before he could get a single morsel, however. Abe drew his hand back with shock, but Roods seemed not to notice, as if his hand had a mind of it's own, and that mind was bent toward guarding the food.
“Well, I've cracked the case!” One of Roods’ hands continued to hover vigilantly, the long fingers fluttering like a bird prepared to dive toward Abe should he dare to reach for a bit of food. The other hand held a fork, twirling it between fingers and jabbing out with it in a threatening and cruelly efficient manner, propelling food into Roods’ mouth with alarming accuracy and frequency.
Abe looked at the food with rumbling stomach, but he folded his hands in his lap nonetheless. There's no way he could eat all that, right? In the meantime, Abe would sate his curiosity. “Well, that's wonderful, Roods! You went to the school, then?”
Roods shook his head. “Closed,” he mumbled around a mouthful of what Abe was sure was nothing but gravy.
“I thought you said you cracked the case.”
Roods swallowed. “I did say that. The school was closed at it's most recent location, which was over top of an unreported stairway to Underton. All boarded up now, tunnel collapsed... seemed dangerous.
“I asked the neighbor, a nosy old woman.” Roods pointed at Abe then. “Nosy old women are an investigator's best friend, Mr. Crompton. This old woman had seen strange goings on, described Lady Darbyshire to me, a dozen children. She'd snooped into the school when they cleared out and had the roster.”
“That's handy.”
“Mmm.” Roods was either agreeing or enjoying his makeshift ham sandwich. “Never trust handy. Of course she had put the list together from scraps she'd pulled from a fire, so...”
“Why would she do that?”
“Boredom? Why does anybody do anything?”
“Curiosity?” Abe said. “Because it was the right thing to do?”
Roods shrugged noncommittally. “I took her list and checked it against records and every single student has been missing or killed in the last two months.”
“Goodness! How many students were there?”
“Eleven”
“And they're all dead? That's ghastly, how?”
“All dead or missing,” said Roods. “Various things: fire, shot, stabbed... a Hembolt Rodrugian was torn apart by wild pigs, apparently.”
“Wild pigs!?”
“I know! Dogs or bears, sure... but pigs?” Roods cut another slice of ham. “Funny old world.”
Abe was wholly unable to respond to that comment and so simply sat for a moment. Roods soon went on. “And then there was your train tunnel fiasco... seven reported deceased all told and three missing.”
“Which is ten.”
Roods nodded. “Which means...?” He trailed off and smiled a meaningful smile.
“There's one still alive?”
Another nod. Roods pointed his twirling fork at Abe and grinned. “Tym Wharmley! Poor kid, scholarship, weird looking by all accounts. Lady Darbyshire told his parents he'd gone missing a month ago, so imagine their surprise when their lad Tym came rap-rap-rapping on their door late last Sunday night.”
“You found him?” Abe actually looked around the restaurant as if he expected the boy to come out from behind a curtain or something, like this was an elaborate ruse for his benefit.
“As good as,” said Roods. “Going by to see him in the morning. His dad got him a job nights down on Eagleton avenue, says it's best not to disturb him.” Roods lifted his glasses and widened his eyes and said, “embarrassed about it, I think. Boy's probably sellin'...” Roods cleared his throat as if he'd said something both profound and easy-to-understand. “Anyway, we'd best get over there first thing in the mornin'. Said his teacher was askin' after him as well.”
“I can come along? I have so many questions! Oh, Roods, this is magnificent!” Abe seized Roods’ hand and shook it vigorously. “Splendid! When should we go?”
“Oh, early, sir,” said Roods. “I expect we'll want to catch him before this teacher.. he sounded like a man not to be trifled with.”
“The parents talked to him?”
Roods nodded slowly. “Aye. Said he was a tall fellow... strong quiet type. Said he was almost... brown-colored, which I thought sounded a hair racist, but--”
“Brown? They said he was brown? Did they say how?” Abe grabbed his cane and his grip made his knuckles whiten. “Like what he reminded them of...?”
“Well, now that you mention it they did say that he looked to be made of wood. Sounds like a fellow you'd not--”
Abe was on his feet. “We have to go.”
Chapter Fifteen: On the case
1.
Before Roods could even begin to show Abe the way to Eagleton Avenue they had to escape the restaurant. This would have been significantly easier if Roods hadn't ordered everything on the menu with the intention of making Abe pay. Abe was unable to pay even if he wanted to as the prices were, as he said, “unconscionable, simply unconscionable!”
He had offered to pay the balance in the morning, and the counteroffer was for the Highmark guardsmen to be summoned to arrest Abe and Roods.
“Oh, that sounds like a splendid idea!” Abe said, loudly. He knew that the Woodsman was about to eliminate his only chance to find out why Merry and her entire school were being killed, so he went theatrical, brandishing his cane about him and shouting. “Yes, why don't you call the guardsmen to arrest Ebensworth's chief investigator and Judge Finche's clerk!” Abe leaned toward the suddenly-flustered-looking-maitre'd and tapped him on the chest with his cane. “Have you heard of the judge? Judge Finche? The judge I work for? My uncle? Or perhaps you recall Mayor Finche, may he rest in peace... was my grandfather, you know? I'm sure that the guardsmen will be delighted to take time away from their...” he was at a loss. Abe knew enough guardsmen and former guardsmen to know full well what they actually did with their time, but take time away from their dice and whore-threatening didn't have the proper ring to
it.
“...upholdin' of the peace!” said Roods.
“Upholding of the peace, yes... take time away from their upholding of the peace because you didn't think you could trust two of the most upstanding citizens of Highmark to pay a bill!”
As Abe and Roods were ushered out amidst a sea of apologies he wondered if he could get away with not paying the bill at all. He was beginning to hate this restaurant.
Abe had been pushing himself all day with his cane. It had been some time since he was in Underton, but his injuries had been significant, and rather than seek medical attention for them Abe had spent most of the time since then hobbling about between shops to buy weapons. Luckily, he'd abandoned his pride in giving that absurd performance at the restaurant, so he barely even complained when Roods slipped his long and thin and surprisingly strong arm around Abe's shoulders and helped him along the sidewalk.
Roods was all but carrying Abe by the time he stopped on the corner of Eagleton Avenue. Even in the dim gaslight of evening Abe could tell this was not exactly an upscale neighborhood. It reminded him of Underton, he realized. The dim light. The houses with crumbling facades. The way the night sky mimicked a distant cave ceiling. And then of course there was the terrifying presence of the Woodsman somewhere in the vicinity.
Roods lifted his tinted glasses as he stood on the corner, peering into the dim light until he saw what he was looking for. He pointed a few blocks down, “there!” he said. “See that chubby kid with glasses?”
Abe nodded.
“Well, that's our boy! Either that's Mikah Wharmley's only son Tym or he's going to have to explain himself to the missus.” Roods offered his arm to Abe once more, and Abe, rather reluctantly, took it.
They were just a block away from their quarry when Abe glanced down the next street and saw him. Strolling down the street toward them (making far better time than they were) was the Woodsman. He was dressed in a new suit, a deeper brown that made the brown of his face look nearly human, but the stiff movements and blocky build were unmistakable. At least to a man who had nightmares about them every single night. His face still bore some evidence of the burns he'd sustained in Underton, but most of the burnt material appeared to have been simply scraped away. If his hand was still damaged, there was no evidence of it.
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