Copper Cove

by Robert Dahlen

  Jenkinson stared at Sophie for a moment. “Alright,” he said, “but out here. Not inside. I don’t want Miles snooping around.”

  “Oh, Heaven forbid,” I said, rolling my eyes. I walked away and sat on an old tree stump on the outskirts of an empty overgrown loft. As I did, Darjeeling hopped off my shoulder and went off to explore and play.

  The interview went quickly, as Jenkinson gave short answers to Sophie’s detailed questions. He tersely turned down Sophie’s request to let her use his name in her story, and I found myself wondering how much use Sophie could get out of this interview. I wasn’t surprised by Jenkinson’s behavior; I’d noticed in the time I’d known him that he had been getting more sullen and withdrawn.

  After ten minutes, Sophie wrapped up the interview. I hopped up from the stump and whistled for Darjeeling. “Where’d you go?” I said to myself.

  “Your pet ferret?” Jenkinson said.

  “Khala.” I peered around. “Where is she?”

  I heard a bark, and then chittering. A stray dog had wandered into the empty lot, and was warning off the small interloper. Darjeeling, not being one to fight, skittered out of the field, between Jenkinson’s legs, and past the ajar door into the workshop. “Miles!” Jenkinson shouted.

  “I’ll get her.” I pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Darjeeling!” I said, followed by a whistle. Jenkinson cursed loudly, but I knew from experience that Darjeeling would need to see me before she settled down.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark workshop after being out in the sun, but I could see Darjeeling on a table near the door, standing on a blueprint. I walked over to her, keeping my eyes on her as best as I could out of professional courtesy. Still, as I scooped her up, I saw what Jenkinson had been working on out of the corner of my eye. It was some sort of harness, with prongs and wires and a narrow tube attached to the back.

  “Are you done snooping about in my workshop?” Jenkinson shouted.

  “I am not snooping!” I yelled as I turned away from the table.

  “Likely story.” Jenkinson pointed at me from the doorway. “You were always like that, Miles. Trying to take advantage of me. Using me for your own ends.”

  “What, because I borrowed those pliers once?”

  “Get out.”

  “I gave them back, you know.”

  Jenkinson was turning a rather unattractive shade of purple. “Get out! And take that damned ferret with you!”

  “Thank you for the interview,” I said as I brushed past him and out the door.

  Sophie was staring at me as I emerged from Jenkinson’s workshop. “Has he always been this—”

  She paused as Jenkinson slammed the door. “And she’s a khala!” I shouted.

  “Unpleasant?”

  I sighed. “No, he hasn’t. Shall we flag down a cab?”

  “Let’s.” We started to walk away. “Do you have any idea what happened to him?”

  “If I had to hazard a guess, it might be due, at least in part, to being isolated. He dislikes being ordered about, which is the main reason that he never joined a guild, but I don’t think he has any companions or close friends.”

  “Or perhaps he’s just a misanthrope,” Sophie said.

  “It could be,” I said. “Even when we were going out, he wasn’t the easiest soul to deal with.”

  “Going...out?” Sophie’s eyes widened.

  I chuckled. “Daftest thing I ever did. It was only three times, and the last one was just me being polite. He had no interest in anything except talking shop and drinking.”

  “Ah.”

  “He was attractive in an odd sort of way once. It’s hard to tell with that beard, though.”

  Sophie spotted a cab and waved her hand. “So where to next?”

  I grinned. “I think we should wash what just happened away with a spot of tea. Don’t you?”

  We were soon at Henry’s Crossing, and lunch was quickly ordered.

  “Do you always dine here?” Sophie asked as I rejoined her.

  “Of course not,” I said. “They don’t have fish and chips here.”

  Sophie smiled as she glanced around. “I realized last night why I’m coming to like this shop. It reminds me of the coffee places I used to visit when I was younger.”

  “Where was this?”

  “In Dauvenne.” Sophie poured the tea.

  I set Darjeeling on the table. “I would have sworn you were born and raised here.”

  “Because I know the city so well?”

  “Precisely. Thank you for pouring the tea.”

  “You're quite welcome!” Sophie reached for the sugar bowl. “My family had roots in Dauvenne, but they traveled quite a bit, and we stayed here often.”

  “Salesmen?”

  “Nobility. Dauvenne has very lax rules about buying titles, and when your great-grandfather made a fortune in textiles, it’s just another splurge.”

  “You’re nobility?” I was genuinely surprised. “I never would have known it from your writing.”

  “I’m not quite so noble. I’m a fourth child, and I won’t inherit the title.” Sophie stirred her tea. “During my travels, I met all sorts of people. I came to realize how much governments and nobility could hurt the lower classes with their policies and their willingness to turn a blind eye to cruelty and injustice.”

  “I wish more nobles would learn that.”

  “As do I.” Sophie paused. “I wanted to help. I wasn’t sure what the best way was for me to do it, until my family visited Thorn Harbour and I first read their newspaper, the Times. I talked the editorial staff into letting me intern there, and after that I attended university here, and applied at the Courant when I graduated.”

  “And you’ve been a thorn in the side of the rich and powerful ever since.” I grinned.

  “I suppose that’s one way to put it.” Sophie stared down at her tea. “It is frustrating sometimes, when the stories you take the time to work on are bumped off the front page because a countess’ parakeet was eaten by a stray cat. It causes me to wonder if what I write is doing any good.”

  Without thinking, I reached out and laid a hand on hers. “It does. Trust me, Sophie. It really does.”

  Sophie looked up at me. She was smiling, but there seemed, oddly enough, to be a touch of sadness on her face. “Thank you, Tabitha,” she said quietly. I started to blush as I returned her smile.

  The food arrived, sparing us both further embarrassment. Sophie ate quickly, setting her sandwich down halfway through. “I should check in with the Courant,” she said as she stood. “Do you think the staff here would allow me to use their telephone?”

  “I’m sure they will,” I said, “as long as you pay for it.”

  “It would count as a business expense.”

  I grinned at her. “Be sure to get a receipt.”

  Sophie chuckled as she left our table. I watched her walk up to the counter, and for a moment, I was lost in the way she moved, the smoothness of her skin, the slight sparkle in her eyes. I had to remind myself that I did not fancy her, not in the slightest.

  I turned my attention, with a surprising reluctance, back to the table, just in time to see Darjeeling sniff tentatively at the half sandwich Sophie had left uneaten. “Back off!” I said firmly. Darjeeling jumped back and gave me a guilty look; I smiled and set the small piece of apple I had saved from my lunch in front of her. She picked the apple slice up and sniffed it with obvious glee; apples were her favorite food.

  I glanced at the counter and saw Sophie chatting on the telephone, her eyes wide. She hung up, handed the telephone back to Amee, and rushed over to the table. “Tabitha!” she said loudly. “We have to go!”

  Darjeeling’s eyes widened as she toppled back onto the table, still clutching her apple slice. “Go?” I said.

  Sophie grabbed her uneaten sandwich half, wrapped it and stuffed it in her handbag. “You don’t have to be at your second appointment for a while, right?”

  �
�Right. It’s later this afternoon.”

  “Excellent.” Sophie picked up her tea. “You’ve shown me what you do for a living, right?”

  “I have.”

  “It’s my turn to show you.” Sophie smiled and downed her tea.

  I nodded and reached for Darjeeling, trying to resist the blush that threatened to spread across my cheeks. I did not fancy Sophie, I reminded myself as I stood up to go. Not at all.

  “City Hall?” I said as I settled into the cab.

  “Yes,” Sophie said as she sat across from me. “I’m surprised I was able to get this interview! You could have knocked me over with a feather when Alcroft told me he had consented!”

  “Who?”

  “I…” Sophie shook her head. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. Promise you’ll keep it a secret?”

  “I promise,” I said.

  “It’s Chad Whitlock.”

  I scowled. “The name’s not ringing a bell.”

  “And he prefers it that way. He’s the liaison with the guilds for the construction of the rail line. He works with Minister Strom.”

  “You’re interviewing him in connection with that?”

  “In a way.” Sophie glanced out the window. “I’ll try to keep it short. I don’t want to cause you to be late for your next job.”

  I could tell that she was changing the subject, and I decided to allow her to do so this time. “Thank you,” I said.

  “Have you ever been to City Hall?”

  I lowered my head, staring at the floor of the cab. “I have,” I said softly. “Two years ago. When the bastards at the Double-C set me up and brought me in for violating the Wells Act. The fine cost me nearly all my savings.”

  “Oh,” Sophie said. “Oh dear. I had no idea.”

  I nodded. “Few people do. If I get caught again, my fine will be so great I might be cast into debtor’s prison to work it off.”

  “Did you want to wait outside, then?”

  “I should say not.” I raised my head. “If the guild enforcers are after me today, I’d probably be safer inside.”

  “They wouldn’t chase after you there?”

  “The bounty they’d get for turning me in wouldn’t be enough to pay for all the damage they’d cause.” I grinned, and in spite of myself, I was pleased when Sophie smiled back.

  The couches in the northern wing of Copper Cove’s City Hall are none too comfortable. I can attest to that, as I sat on one near Whitlock’s office for fifteen minutes. Darjeeling was napping next to me, which some might use to counter my observation. I’ve found, however, that she can sleep happily on top of rocks, so a couch with rather firm cushions was no challenge for her.

  I was wondering if sitting on the nearby table might be more comfortable when the office door opened. A tall man with a sour expression stepped into the hall. “This interview is over!” he said as he walked off.

  Sophie hurried after him. “Master Whitlock—” she said.

  He stopped and turned on Sophie. “I will hear no further accusations!” he snapped. “You are dealing in suppositions and probable fabrications!”

  “But I have sources—”

  “Fie on your sources!” Whitlock glanced about, fury etched on his face. “I’ve had enough of you and your damned newspaper—” He stopped as his gaze fell upon me. Without another word, he dashed past Sophie and into his office, slamming the door behind him.

  “What happened?” I rose from the couch and bent to pick up Darjeeling.

  “I’m not having the best of luck with interview subjects today.” Sophie sighed. “Shall we go?” I could hear her frustration, and I knew this was not the time to ask further questions, so I nodded and followed her out.

  Collibosh’s macaw was the most strikingly colorful bird many would ever see. It was an explosion of feathers, red and yellow and green and two shades of blue, with a pair of feet and a curved beak attached. It was native to Dhowash, where the residents had given it a different name, but when Lord Collibosh saw it while on honeymoon he arranged to have several mated pairs brought back to Copper Cove as a present for his mother-in-law. This created major issues, as not only did the Dhowashi government rightfully complain, but as it turned out, said mother-in-law was allergic to birds.

  The macaws were passed off to Collibosh’s younger sister Marine. She realized that there was a fortune to be made, as the colorful feathers were marvelous accents to clothing and accessories. She soon had a small but thriving business; no socialite worth their fortune could bear to go on the town with a hat that lacked a feather or eight from Collibosh’s macaws.

  Her son, and then her granddaughter, kept the business going, and sales were still strong. However, a problem had arisen when the current Lady Collibosh had instituted a new method for caring for the macaws. They thrived the best in open air and sun, with room to spread their wings, but letting them fly free would lead to them flying off.

  A crafter had come up with a simple solution. He built a set of devices that projected magical wards around the macaw compound. Air and sunlight could get in, but if anything else did, or if one of the birds tried to escape, they would be repelled by the wards.

  Lady Collibosh had the devices inspected regularly to ensure they were in good working order. However, she did not trust the guilds with that task, for the one time they tried it, they briefly shut the wards down by mistake. Two macaws escaped, but they were nervous, and nervous macaws shed feathers. Word got out, a crowd swarmed near the compound to grab the feathers, and two seamstresses and a millner were arrested in the ensuing chaos.

  I had done a favor for an acquaintance of Lady Collibosh, and so my name came up the next time she sought to have the wards checked. Since then, I had been there every four months, inspecting the devices and ensuring that the macaws would be safe. I also looked over the addition I had made, which was designed to deliver a shock to anyone who tried to enter the compound without using the door. Lady Collibosh had been uncertain of the need for that additional precaution, but when she found Fenton the tailor sprawled on the street after trying to break in one morning, she came around quickly.

  Sophie had spoken briefly to Lady Collibosh, and was now watching me as I inspected each of the devices that generated the ward. She was carrying the container that held Darjeeling. My pet would have loved to play in all the trees in the compound, but while the macaws were used to humans, they did not react well to other animals, including khalas. She was silent in her cage, except for the occasional wounded-sounding chirp, and I knew I’d have to make it up to her later.

  I’d been chatting with Sophie about the macaws as I worked, and I decided to risk changing the subject. “So what happened in your conversation with Whitlock?” I said with a false casualness.

  Sophie sighed faintly. “He was less than thrilled with my line of questioning.”

  “How so?”

  “Well...how shall I say this? I was asking about things that he did not want to discuss.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Tabitha?”

  I glanced over at Sophie, who seemed to be both amused and annoyed. “Yes?” I said.

  “You’ve been keeping things about your client and your commission confidential?”

  “I have.”

  “It’s my turn.” Sophie grinned.

  “You’re no fun.” I pouted as I finished checking the ward generator.

  “Not where this is concerned.” Sophie’s smile faded. “Trust me, Tabitha, I’m not ready to discuss this with anyone else yet. I still need to dig further. I need more confirmation before I can publish this.”

  “It’s a big story, then?”

  Sophie looked away and blushed. “It is,” she said softly. “It could end careers. It could put people in jail. I need to be completely sure that I have everything right before it goes to press.”

  I could tell that she was regretting even saying as much as she had. I walked over to Sophie and knelt in front of her. “I won’t t
ell anyone what you just told me,” I said. “Not a soul. Not even Darjeeling.”

  She looked at me hopefully. “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that.” Sophie smiled. “Time to go?”

  I nodded, holding back my own blush, and picked up Darjeeling’s container. As we started towards the door, I reminded myself, again, that I still did not fancy Sophie. Not even a tiny bit.

  Darjeeling had been let out of her cage before we left the sanctuary, but she was still in a cranky mood. She was on my shoulder, as usual, but she did not respond to my whispers or my head scratches. “She seems upset with you,” Sophie observed.

  “She’ll get over it.” I glanced down the street. “So which way is it to the waterfront?”

  “I believe it’s this way.” Sophie pointed towards a narrow lane. “We can use this as a shortcut.”

  “Good.” I headed down the lane. “We’re heading for the Crabby Kraken.”

  “The Crabby…”

  “There’s someone there I want you to meet.” I grinned as I glanced back over my shoulder.

  Sophie did not smile back. Her gaze was fixed on the ground in front of me. “Tabitha…?” she said uncertainly.

  I turned my head and saw what was concerning her. I had to restrain a chuckle.

  It was an odd sight, I must admit. It’s not every day one sees teapots on wheels. But there they were, three of them, heading towards me. For a moment, I wondered if this was some new, odd takeaway service being offered by the Pot Perfected.

  I heard a voice saying, “Now!” The pots began to rattle, then whistle, as they neared me. Hot jets of steam shot from their spouts. I shouted wordlessly as I threw up my arms to protect my face.

  The steam cleared quickly, but I saw more pots coming towards me, and behind them, a familiar and not terribly welcome sight. “Good afternoon, Miles!” Claudette Elgin said. “Time to face the Breakfast Brigade!”

  “Breakfast Brigade?” I gaped at Elgin. “You’re even more daft than I thought.”