“Me,” said Rooftop. “It's a two party system. Troll party and man party.”
“How many trolls are there in Darbyshire?” Abe asked.
“Seventeen.”
“I don't suppose the fact that you're a massive people-eating drug lord helps, either.”
Roods inclined his head. “You'd be surprised...”
“I'm pollin' in the digits.”
Abe swore he misheard. “you mean double digits?”
“The digits.” said Roods, “He is no longer polling below the margin of error.”
“It's more people votin' against Sarwell than for me.”
“Or some people deem it wise to let the guy who rips arms off when he loses win.”
Rooftop chuckled. “Like bein' mayor'd stop me from rippin' arms off...”
“Anyway,” Abe said, “Sarwell is going to get the key at the party tonight…?”
“Except he isn't,” said Roods, “because you are going to get it first.”
“Oh, well what could go wrong? I'll just go into this party and steal a precious object from the most powerful man in the city without the two immortal monsters stopping me. Assuming that they even need to bother given that the woman they work for is a powerful magician... but what have I got to worry about, I have a revolver and a pen knife!”
“He seems very optimistic,” Rooftop said to Roods.
“I believe he was being facetious.”
The troll nodded sagely. “Checks out.”
“Abe, my friend, we have reason to believe that Mr. Mud and Mr. Wood will be at the clock tower, very far from the party. The only people who will recognize you will be The Lady herself and the students.”
Abe sighed. “If Merry and the others are going to be there it's where I have to go, anyway.”
“Then you'll get the key while you're there?” asked Rooftop.
“If I get the chance, I suppose...” Abe really didn't care to risk himself to help out a killer drug dealer.
Roods reached slowly into his front pocket. “Well, that's just not good enough, Abe. We've only got the one invitation, so unless you're prepared to swear to get the key for us...”
Abe laughed and produced the pair of invitations Myrtle had given him. “How about you get your key yourself, Roods?” He tossed down one of the invitations and stood up. “You can even bring the troll.”
“Oh, that would never do,” said Rooftop.
Roods grabbed the invitations and jumped to his feet. “Abe, hold on.” Abe looked back over his shoulder and Roods looked him purposefully up and down. “You're not going to the party dressed like that, are you?”
Chapter Twenty-Four: A lovely party
1.
Dressed to kill is a turn of phrase that Abe understood to mean a person was dressed exceptionally well. He reconsidered his understanding of the phrase when Roods insisted that he try on jackets with his revolver in the pocket to ensure that he could carry the weapon without appearing to do so. Roods even went so far as to procure a sort-of sling made of leather that hung around Abe's chest and held his gun in a strange position. Abe found, however, that after he got a little more used to the contraption it actually was a great deal easier to draw his gun from than, say, from the enormous pocket of the brightly colored jacket he'd been wearing. And it was much easier to conceal with the new leather holster as well.
Of course, this was only one of many strange garments that Abe was asked to try on. He had to admit that he liked the clothes he ended up wearing quite a bit more than the over-sized jacket he had borrowed from Myrtle, though. The jacket fit like a jacket, more or less, complete with lapels and everything, and if it was shinier than he preferred and a bit (a lot) too big and padded in the shoulders, at least it didn't threaten to swallow Abe up (another turn of phrase which had taken on new meaning after witnessing Rooftop's encounter with the soldier earlier in the day).
Roods had made Abe try on clothes for virtually all the time they had to spare. They had just enough time to get something to eat. When they arrived at the manor it was still quite early and when Roods insisted they wait until more people arrived before trying to go in themselves Abe filled the downtime with praise for the food in Darbyshire.
He had thought that the sandwich from Myrtle was a fluke or that she was some sort of food-savant, perhaps. He'd been disabused of this notion at a small restaurant called The Diner, where he had been presented with a tremendous plate of breakfast staples despite the fact that it was nearly dark outside. The food had been hideous, mostly, having a slight rainbow-tinged sheen like dirty lamp oil all about it, but it tasted magnificent. Earlier in the day Roods had tried to describe the addictive feeling of ingesting Spirit and Abe had been completely unmoved by his description... but biting into the ‘almond waffle’ that was drowning in syrups and butters, Abe thought he had some inkling of what it was like to take a Spirit Journey.
He had made that comparison more than once, in fact, since they'd eaten and had described much of the meal in such exacting and laudatory detail that Roods, who had initially shared his pleasure in the food of the city, had long ago gotten tired of it. Every ten seconds or so Roods was glancing around the corner to the gate that led in to the manor grounds.
“...some kind of a device that shapes the thing, it must be. But I wonder if it's placed into the device as a dough or if it's poured in as more of a batter? I imagine,” said Abe, “that it must be the former.” And Roods ignored him. Roods had been intent on waiting for another dozen groups to go in to the party before he and Abe would head in, but as Abe filled the time with endless waffle-speculation Roods found himself lowering the number in his head again and again. Perhaps after another eight groups, he thought.
“...butter seemed unnaturally soft, even before you put it...”
Or maybe just five.
“...and don't get me started on the syrup, McCallister! Don't get me started on it! So sweet and thick...”
Perhaps just one more group would be sufficient cover for their arrival. It was amazing how late everyone was to this party!
“And on top...? Was that some sort of whipped cream?”
“We're going in,” said Roods. He started around the corner and then stopped and glared back at Abe. “And if you say one thing about food, Abe, the fate of all the Spirit in the world and Rooftop's personal wrath might not stop me from shooting you.”
Abe looked a bit sheepish. “But there's bound to be food at the--”
Roods reached into his jacket and pointedly drew the hammer back on his gun. The click was audible.
2.
Despite Roods’ inability to put up with Abe's obsessive food-praise any longer, there were more than enough people gathered beyond the gate to allow Abe and Roods to go unobserved. Abe was honestly rather surprised that the sky-blue tunic-thing he was wearing coupled with the searing white of his suit didn't make him the focal point of the party (or at least the party's jokes) instantly. Roods had assured him that the outfit was perfectly normal, but up until that moment Abe had feared he was being set up to look foolish. It had been mildly calming to observe that Roods had selected a similarly awful costume for himself – a pale pink suit with a canary yellow shirt – but Abe was astonished to see that they fit right in.
Unlike the guests, the manor had none of the bright, gaudy, big-shouldered style that Abe had already begun to associate with Darbyshire. It would, in fact, not have been out of place in the posher districts of Highmark. The house was large and tastefully wood-colored with white eaves and leaded windows and cornices and porches and tall sloping slate-tiled roofs... the only things that made it clear that they weren't in Highmark were the clothing of those in attendance and the “artistic” way the hedges had been trimmed to suggest (in some cases more graphic than others) animals copulating.
Abe did his best to ignore the efforts of the gardener, a challenge which only increased when it was all anyone seemed to be talking about. Roods had insisted that the two of th
em make an effort to blend in, but Abe was wholly unprepared to discuss Darbyshire politics and only slightly more ready (and decidedly less willing) to discuss how the phallic effect had been achieved with boxwood. In point of fact he was rather surprised that the man he overheard asking the question was able to use the word “boxwood” in that context without giggling.
After bravely triumphing over the juvenile impulse regarding the topiary design, Abe was next confronted with the challenge of hors d'oeuvres. He smelled the food before he saw it, and he veered toward it so abruptly that he crashed into Roods.
“Really?” said Roods. “All you've done in the 30 minutes since you finished eating was talk about food. You can't possibly be hungry.”
Abe shrugged and went right for the table, but Roods caught his arm and pulled him aside. “I probably ought to have told you this earlier, but the food here isn't safe.”
“Not safe?”
“Not for us.” Roods glanced around to make sure there was no one too close and spoke softly. “The people who are born here are used to it... and there’s something here that helps keep them young and healthy.”
“Is it the food?” Abe asked hopefully.
“No, it's the opposite of the food! They can eat food like this: all salt and butter and sweets in everything... It won't make them fat or slow or sleepy or... obsessive.” He looked hard at Abe as he said the last word. “But it will you.”
Abe started toward the table once more. Roods held his arm tighter. “If you're too slow to react or you can't draw your gun because of the butter on your fingers and it gets me shot... Or your girlfriend or your pal Wharmley...”
Abe froze. He glanced once more, longingly, at the table and then said, “I'll just go see if I can spot either of them, then.”
Roods nodded. “And wash your hands. I'll see about spotting the former mayor.”
“Isn't he still technically...” Roods had gone. Abe resolutely ignored the food and set off for the house itself.
3.
If he thought the temptations were great outside the manor, Abe hadn't seen anything yet. Inside there were several adjoining rooms with large double doorways thrown open between them, and there were small tables scattered about that seemed, despite their small size, to provide a great deal in the way of refreshment. There was a man sitting on the floor with what appeared to be a mirror across his folded knees making lines out of a fine powder and all around him people seemed to be eating, drinking, and snorting to excess.
The room was large and there were several doors that led out to the lawn where even more people were behaving badly. It seemed to Abe, though, that the worst behavior was reserved for inside, even though everything that was going on could be seen from more or less anywhere. It was this fact that gave him pause, as he realized that, while there may only be a few people in attendance who could recognize him, it wouldn't be hard to do so from virtually any part of the sprawling party if he stayed in the midst of things. Abe never considered himself all that memorable-looking, but The Lady, as she was called here, would probably be on the lookout. He found a mirror that was not being used to poke drugs into easily-inhaled lines and made an effort to force his hair to look less his-hair-like (an impossible feat. Abe had been cursed with the sort of hair that resembled a child's attempt to represent an out of control fire using only glue and brownish broom straw. His efforts to slick it back or impose a part never succeeded and this time was no exception), and then went about trying to find someplace less open.
Working from the theory that the less he could see the less he could be seen, Abe began to move around the edges of the crowd, sticking close to walls. He passed before a stairway that led upstairs, roped off as if an exhibit at a museum lay beyond, and kept moving. A look around the party revealed several doorways that had been given a similar treatment, perhaps suggesting that these were areas of the manor that The Lady would prefer her guests avoid. He would have to start exploring these hidden areas soon if he didn't see some sign of Merry.
He assumed Roods would take care of the key, or at least he hoped for Roods' and Rooftop's sake that he would. Abe didn't care about the drug trade that they seemed to be involved in, he just wanted to find Merry (and, fine, Tym and the other students as well) and get back home. As far as he was concerned Roods' help this afternoon only made up for his betrayals of the past (strangely, Abe felt nearly as stung by being left with the check at the restaurant as he did by the punch and abandonment)... he was under no obligation to assist further. Or at least that's what he was thinking as he passed by another roped off doorway with his back to it and felt a hand grab his shoulder and pull him in.
Chapter twenty-Five: Merry meet again
1.
Abe very nearly lost his footing as he was yanked backwards through the doorway. The velvet rope snagged just above the back of his knees and the heavy brass stand would have fallen over loudly and destructively had his assailant not caught it. “Goodness, Abe. I see you've grown more graceful.”
Abe stepped awkwardly over the velvet rope and stared. He swallowed and eventually said, “um” and stared some more.
Merry straightened the stand and rope and stepped back out of the doorway. She looked expectantly at Abe and her brows raised. “Abe? Mr. Crompton?” She waved a hand in front of his face and then realized what he was staring at and crossed her arms over her chest. “Enjoying the view?” She said it bravely but she was a bit red.
“What?” Abe immediately caught up to her in the blushing race and proceeded to win handily. “I... um.. terribly sorry, Merry... just, the... um... low light and surprise and.... had to make sure.” If he had made any progress in amending his hair earlier he lost it now as he pushed his hand through his hair and looked pointedly away. “Um... I was under the impression you were dead, and... um... well, you look nice, Merry. Um. Miss Richards, I mean.”
To his credit, it was much dimmer in this room than it had been in the part of the house being used for the party. Where the rest of the house was replete with windows and open doors that filled the house with the magic-hour light of early evening, this room was windowless and lit only with a single lamp and what light spilled in from either of the doorways. That being said, Abe had been staring unabashedly. Merry looked magnificent. Her blonde hair was piled up on her head in a manner that seemed equal parts careful and sloppy, a few strands escaping to point like wavy blonde arrows to her slightly rouged cheeks and her vaguely heart-shaped lips that were slightly reddened as if from wine or aggressive kissing. Her neck was longer than Abe recalled and slender and pale, adorned only with a thin chain that dangled an emerald charm which pointed, not entirely subtly, down the front of her elegant black dress. Abe had been rather struck by her appearance when she'd been wearing rags and caked in dust in the dim and terrifying mines of Underton... here, he hadn’t a prayer.
“Hey, eyes up here, champ.” Merry pointed two fingers at Abe from breast-level and raised them up to her face, but she had a fairly enormous smile on her face despite her effort to sound angry. “So Abe, what happened? I thought you were dead.”
“Me? You're the one who got buried under an entire mountain!”
Merry shook her head. “Nope. I was back away from the collapse. Begonia stopped me.”
“Begonia stopped you...?”
Merry nodded and her smile vanished. “Right before the roof fell in on you and the Woodsman.”
“Wait,” said Abe. “So Begonia is...?”
“We're meeting her in a bit, actually.”
Abe stared blankly (and not at her chest). “We?”
“I suppose you can come along. I mean me and—”
“Merry!” It was a voice from deeper in the manor, a sonorous commanding voice that Abe recognized.
“Oh hell,” said Merry. “Play along,” and she grabbed the lapel of Abe's bright white jacket and pushed him back against the wall while simultaneously pulling herself closer. She stood up on her toes and leaned in and kissed
him. Hard.
2.
Abe was so shocked it took him a moment to close his eyes, but eventually he adapted to the situation and kissed back, feeling Merry's lips part against his and hearing, as if listening in on another life, the surprised and sad sound of Tym quietly groaning across the room.
“We're leaving in ten,” said Tym, his voice deadened to a monotone. It sounded like he was already on his way out of the room to Abe, but he was in no position to judge. Or pay attention. Or breathe. Or think.
Of course it wasn't the first kiss of his life, but just now (and forever after) he was having trouble remembering the rest. There were maybe a dozen meaningless, incidental grazings of lips in his past, but clearly this was the one. The first kiss in what would be the great love story of his life. The first small romantic chapter in the greatest tale of passion ever told...
“Thanks,” said Merry, very calmly as she pulled away and smoothed his lapel back into place. “I think Tym has this notion that he and I are going to get together, so hopefully that's dissuaded him.”
Abe stood dumbfounded. He managed to nod. “Yes, well...”
“I mean,” said Merry, “at least you understand where we stand. Don't have any mad notions about the two of us.”
Abe nodded again. It was a better nod this time, less hesitant. He applauded himself for his nod. “Of course. Strictly professional you and I.”
“Right,” said Merry.
“Speaking of,” Abe said, “Where is it you think you're going? I was hired to bring you to a wedding, you know?”
“Didn't the wedding already happen?”
“Well,” said Abe, “Be that as it may, I am obliged to see you returned to Highmark as soon as possible.”
“We can't possibly make it back in time for an event that's already happened,” said Merry.
“Proximity counts for something.”
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