A Pest Most Fiendish
Page 3
“Have you ever heard of a lichfiend, Mr Bradbury?”
“A lichfiend! Oh my! What’s a lichfiend?”
Pippa explained and Mr Bradbury paled. He broke in to ask, “Is it quite gone, for good?”
“Certainly. Your company is clear to continue with the chalet.”
“Charming.” Mr Bradbury’s smile was tight. He pulled out a clinking purse from his jacket. “Your payment, Miss Kipling, and the bonus we discussed.”
“Ah, the bonus! I do believe we ought to discuss that further, Mr Bradbury.” Pippa led the man away from his workers for a private word. “Why, Mr Bradbury, I do so love that cologne you’re wearing.”
“Thank you, Miss Kipling. A sweet floral concoction. My grandmother lent it to me.”
“Might your grandmother be a pawnbroker, Mr Bradbury?”
“Indeed she is. Are you familiar with the family name?”
“Something of the sort.” Pippa inhaled. “Yes. Lovely cologne. Quite like my perfume, I believe. It has that certain … soulful effect.”
Mr Bradbury tugged at his collar. “Miss Kipling, what was it you wished to discuss?”
“Oh, it will come back to me, I’m sure. For now, I’m curious about your grandmother. Did she impart to you any other gifts? Accessories, perhaps, that one might wear around the neck?”
The colour drained from Mr Bradbury’s face.
“Why do it?” Pippa asked quietly. “You endangered the lives of your workers.”
“It was necessary!” Mr Bradbury spluttered. He took Pippa’s hands and squeezed them desperately. “Please believe me, Miss Kipling! I had to do it, for the kelpies!”
“What do man-eating water horses have to do with this?”
“They live in the hot springs, you see. The first team to scout the cavern found a whole herd of them. Naturally, if word got back to the company, they’d have the kelpies removed. We can’t destroy their habitat for the sake of our chalet.”
“You didn’t strike me as the sort to stand up for the rights of man-eating water horses, Mr Bradbury.”
“That’s because I’ve been lying to you, Miss Kipling. I’m fully aware of the bountiful pest resources in the Westword Library; I frequent the university, in fact. While I may play the part of a company representative, my true interests lie in the preservation of paranormal entities.”
“Am I to take it, then, that you were pulling my leg and you have in actuality heard of lantern leaflings?”
“Oh, certainly not. Although the idea of such creatures fascinates me, I must admit I’m rather dubious about their existence.”
“And I must admit, Mr Bradbury, I’m not as sympathetic towards your plight after hearing you say that.”
“My apologies, Miss Kipling, but I take my pest studies very seriously. I cannot lie about my scepticism, once it is ignited.”
“I suppose I must respect you for that. However, I cannot respect a man who would put his workers’ souls on the line to protect a hot spring of kelpies.”
“And I cannot respect a man who would not do that. Ergo, my actions. I will take whatever punishment the company chooses to give, unless…” Mr Bradbury wet his lips. “Is there a way you and Ms the Porter may be convinced to keep my actions to yourselves?”
“Why, it just so happens that there is.” Pippa waved at the Porter. “He’s asking for the way!”
The Porter came over and pulled from her jacket a scroll, which she flapped open in front of Mr Bradbury’s face.
“An amended contract,” Pippa explained, “between you and ourselves, Mr Bradbury. The company need not be made aware of this contract, nor of the situations mentioned within.”
Mr Bradbury took the contract and quickly scanned it, his artfully sculpted nails tapping out an anxious rhythm against the paper. “I’m to never contract nor enable a lichfiend again?”
Pippa indicated the fine print. “Or a pest of any sort that’s likely to eat the flesh, blood, bone, soul or anything else relevant to the well-being and enjoyable life of a human and/or automated being.”
“But if I sign this, how am I to protect the pests of the world from exploitation?”
“That’s your problem, I’m afraid. But if you don’t sign, this recent altercation of yours shall be the Magistrate’s problem.”
Mr Bradbury gulped and accepted the pen the Porter offered. “Perhaps I could try promotional fundraisers.”
After Mr Bradbury signed the paper, Pippa dusted it with a handful of red powder.
“What’s that?” Mr Bradbury asked.
“Just a guarantee you’ll be keeping your word. Should you not, let’s just say a troupe of hobgoblins may be suddenly possessed to storm your residence, and not to thank you for preserving their hunting grounds, or anything of the like.”
“That sounds terribly troublesome.”
“Terribly so.” Pippa rolled up the contract and handed it to the Porter, who slid it back in her jacket. Pippa then took the pale-faced man’s limp hand. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr Bradbury. Your servant, as always.”
“As always, Miss Kipling,” Mr Bradbury murmured, half in a daze. Pippa left him like that as she and the Porter went on their way.
“Shall we stop by the market first, Gemini?” Pippa weighed the money purse in her hand. “I’m rather out of most of my powders.”
“I suppose Gemini’s your great-aunt’s twelfth middle name.”
“Nonsense. I just like the sound of it. You don’t?”
The Porter shrugged. “It’s better than your typical suggestions.”
“Then you’ll accept it?”
“I think not. I’m the Porter, you see.”
“I don’t believe I can argue with that.” Pippa tucked the money bag away, which completed step three of her trusty three-step plan: Acquire the money for the job, regardless of whether or not the job has been completed in a satisfactory manner.
Outside the Banshee’s Dormitory, the forest was seemingly silent but for the night breeze rustling amongst the treetops. On the way to their carriage, the steel frame of which glinted in the moonlight, the Porter stilled and cocked her ear to the sky. She held out her finger just in time to catch a fluttering clockwork bird. The Porter held it by her ear a moment, then said to Pippa, “We have another job.”
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Begin Reading
Copyright
Copyright © 2016 by Caighlan Smith
Art copyright © 2016 by Kevin Hong