Book Fair Frenzy (Or, Macalley Turns the Page)

by Robert Dahlen

  “It is,” I said as I carefully crouched down to scratch Murgatroyd between the ears; he barked his appreciation. “You’re on duty, I take it?”

  “I am. You never know when trouble might pop up.”

  I heard loud voices in the near distance. “Such as with the Fotheringay sisters?”

  Matterhorn shook his head and sighed. “I’d best make sure they haven’t hit the sauce too hard this morning.” We said our goodbyes and he set off, leading Murgatroyd as best as he could.

  I smiled as I turned away, but it quickly ran off and hid. I felt a dark pit open in the bottom of my stomach. The worst had happened, the absolute worst. Bludergard was approaching me with a handful of books. “What ho, Peavley!” he said.

  “What ho,” I replied, my eyes never leaving the stack of literary horror as it neared.

  “Have you had a chance to read my new book yet?”

  At least I had an excuse at the ready. “I afraid I haven’t. I’ve been busy preparing for the fair.”

  “I know how that goes,” he said sympathetically. “I haven’t been able to write much at all this week because of it.”

  My first thought on hearing that was about being grateful for small favors. I politely pushed it to one side. “How dreadful,” I said.

  “I know you’ll have time to read it soon.” Bludergard smiled. “I thought I’d give you some more for when you finish the first.”

  “Oh, you really shouldn’t bother!” I said, trying to put as much honey in my voice as humanly possible.

  “No, it’s nothing at all!” He tapped the stack as he stepped towards me. “The one on top is ‘So’s My Old Man’. It’s my personal favorite—”

  The toe of his shoe struck a clump of mud. It shot through the air with perfect aim and struck my right leg in mid-calf. It slowly oozed down towards my boot, forcing me to lift my leg as high as it could go. As the mud dripped towards the ground, I glared at Bludergard. “I’ll come back later,” he said, and took a rather quick leave.

  As I tried desperately to balance on one leg, I made the difficult decision not to curse loudly. “You should have left the book,” I muttered. “I might have been able to clean off this blasted mud with the pages.”

  “I think I can provide something that will work better, madame.”

  I wasn’t sure what sight was more welcome - Macalley, or the small towel he held out to me. I thanked him profusely as I rested a hand on his shoulder and cleaned as much of the mud from my leg as I could. “Lovely timing there,” I told him as I handed him the towel. “But it’s shame about the stocking.”

  “I should be able to get the stain out once we return to the manor, madame.”

  He tucked the towel away. As he did, I saw the top of a book peeking from his pocket. “Have you been shopping?” I asked.

  “I did stop by Madame Mabel’s table while waiting for a friend.” He showed me the book.

  “Ah. The new ‘Klondike and Canfield’,” I said. The series of books about the unlikely alliance between the elf policeman and the dwarf detective was one of Mabel’s top sellers.

  “I find a good mystery helps to unravel one’s mind after a hectic day,” Macalley said as he returned the book to his pocket. “Are you enjoying your browsing so far?”

  “What little I’ve had time to do. But I did see a table with some marvelous bookends.”

  “Bookends, madame?”

  “Unicorns. Hand painted, with gems for eyes.”

  “I...see.” From anyone else, that would have been a polite way of saying, “I can’t think of anything else to say.” From Macalley, it meant, “I do not wish to hurt your feelings, madame, but those bookends are abominations on the face of this fair land and should be set on fire at once.”

  I chose to dodge the issue for now. “I’d best get back to helping Mabel,” I said cheerfully.

  “Very good, madame.” Macalley bowed slightly and headed off. With a smile on my lips, I headed back to Mabel’s tables, figuring that the rest of the day was going to go splendidly.

  I was soon to realize just how wrong I was.

  ***

  The moment of that discovery came just a bit later. Priscilla had headed to a nearby sandwich shop to get our lunches, and I had gone back to the carriage to fetch extra copies of the Skybright books. When I returned, I saw that Mabel was in a deep discussion with a customer. She had brought a small selection of out of print books with her, some of which were quite rare, and this fellow had a handful of them stacked in front of him. “200 crowns,” he was saying.

  Mabel frowned. “These titles are hard to come by. I couldn’t accept less than 275 crowns for them.”

  The gent leaned forward, looming over Mabel, nastiness slipping into his voice. “Don’t be foolish,” he said. “Think of what you can do with 200 crowns.”

  “But considering what I paid—”

  “200 crowns!” the gent barked.

  Mabel is a dear friend, but sometimes her spine is decidedly unstiff. I dropped the Skybrights on the table and hurried over. I managed to stay polite as I asked, “Could I be of assistance?”

  It wasn’t until after the words had fled my lips that I saw who Mabel was speaking with. Somehow, I resisted the urge to add some choice curses to my dialogue.

  If ever someone wanted to paint a picture of arrogance personified, Lord Basil Oakton would make an excellent model. He’s one of those elves that give elves a bad name among other elves. He had long curly hair, a thick beard, and a sneer that he could use to slice bread were he not above such menial labor. I had had run-ins before with him; they had all ended in my favor, but Lord Basil was not the type to learn from his mistakes or concede that anyone, let alone a human or a female, was his superior.

  He caught my eye and performed the remarkable feat of smiling and sneering at the same time. “Peavley!” he said with a cheerfulness that was clearly forced. “What a surprise!”

  “You left out the word ‘pleasant’,” I murmured.

  “On purpose,” Oakton retorted. Another elf standing nearby made a noise that sounded very faintly like a snicker. I recognized Hillsboro, Oakton’s manservant. He was tall enough to be two Macalley’s, and had apparently bought out every muscle shop in the surrounding area, making sure to store plenty in the otherwise empty space between his ears.

  “You always have such a way with people,” I said to Oakton, keeping the irony out of my voice.

  “It’s a rare gift. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to convince this seller that 200 crowns is—”

  “It’s not a fair price,” I said, trying to keep my teeth from clenching. “And you are quite aware of that fact.”

  “You expect me to believe a dilettante? Or...” Oakton’s smile widened, though the sneer remained. “A Blissbottom?”

  Mabel blushed. “It’s an old, honored family name,” she said meekly. Bless her, she tried her best not to be embarrassed about her surname, but sometimes it happened.

  “200, Blissbottom. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

  That was enough to set my temper a-simmer. “Listen here, Oakton.” I pointed at him. “She’s already said your offer wasn’t enough. Either pay the 275 crowns, or take your money somewhere else.”

  Oakton pressed his face close to mine, turning the full force of his sneer upon me. I held on to my anger, to keep from wilting under the sheer power of that sneer. “Don’t be a fool, Peavley,” he hissed. “She won’t get this offer from anyone else.”

  “Perhaps it’s because our other customers aren’t cheapskates.”

  He straightened up and started to walk away, but spun around and pointed a finger at me in turn. “You’ll be sorry, Peavley!” he said loudly. “You and Blissbottom!”

  I waved my fingers in a farewell gesture. “Have a lovely day at the fair, now!” I said with overdone cheerfulness.

  Oakton snorted and spun away. As he did, his shoe caught a sizable clump of loose soddy mud, sending it towards me. It went too fast fo
r me to dodge, smacking me on my left shin, just below the hem of my skirt. I heard Hillsboro snicker again as he followed Oakton into the crowd.

  I raised my left leg and set my hand on the nearest table to steady myself. “You could have aimed a little lower,” I snapped. “At least the stains would have matched.”

  Mabel stared with horror at the mud as it started to slide. “Do be careful, Alice!” she said. “That could get all over the books!”

  I gritted my teeth. “My dearest Mabel,” I said flatly, “by any chance, did you bring a towel?”

  “They’re in the carriage!” Mabel dashed away. “Stay there!”

  “As if I had other options.” I sighed and stared at the mud and grass on my leg, trying to will it not to spill on or stain anything else.

  “Pardon me?” I looked over and saw a university-aged woman coming up to me, holding a very thick book. “Could I get you to watch this for a moment?” she said. “I need to get some money from my wife to pay for it.”

  “Well—”

  “Thank you!” She tucked the book in my free arm and hurried off. “I’ll be right back!”

  “I may not be,” I said, trying to rebalance myself. It was trickier than it sounds, as the book was quite heavy, and I still had the matter of the mud to deal with.

  “Hullo?” A man in a very well-tailored suit approached me. “Would you have the latest Skybright books?”

  “Over there.” I hopped in place and pointed with my foot at the stack I had dropped on the table earlier. “Sorry they haven’t been sorted yet,” I said.

  “Not a problem.” He tipped his hat and walked over to the Skybrights. I tried to hop back, keeping my balance while making sure that the dripping mud didn’t land on any books, boots or clothing.

  “Bring that back!” I twisted my head and saw Hesperia Fotheringay running towards me, carrying a glowing brass duck, her sister Antigone in hot pursuit while screaming rather impolitely. This was a sight that would fill me with horror under normal conditions, never mind when being twisted up more than a toddler’s first attempt at making a pretzel. I hopped in place yet again to keep from kicking either of them, barely staying upright as they passed. I sighed with relief and started to relax.

  To this day, I still don’t know how Murgatroyd slipped out of his bloody collar. It’s possible all his drool helped to loosen it. Regardless, the hound was running free and barking at full strength as he ran under the table, chasing the Fotheringays. I had to hop away from the table to keep from being bowled over. Even with my left leg stuck out in front of me, with one stubborn clump of sod clinging to my poor stocking - even while holding a ridiculously heavy book in my right arm while flailing my left about madly - I still managed to stay upright, and free of mud inside of my boots.

  Naturally, that’s when I bumped into Constable Matterhorn, who had made the mistake of not seeing me as he chased after Murgatroyd. I went sprawling back, my posterior landing on a bare spot on Mabel’s table. My left leg flew up further, which caused the clump of mud and sod to fly off my leg, execute a spiraling arc through the air, and land squarely in the middle of poor Matterhorn’s face. He staggered back, tripped over Murgatroyd who had picked that very moment to heed his master’s prompting and return at last, and fell into a large mud puddle.

  “Oh, no!” I exclaimed. “I am so sorry, Constable!”

  “Think nothing of it,” he said as a contented Murgatroyd rested his head on his stomach and promptly fell asleep.

  “Alice!” Mabel walked up to the table. “I have your towel…”

  She stopped next to me and gasped at the sight of Matterhorn, still sprawled in the mud as Murgatroyd began to drool in his sleep. “Is it too much to hope that you brought a second?” the constable asked.

  “Alice?” Mabel and I saw Priscilla walking up to us, carrying a tray with tea and sandwiches. “Did I miss anything?” she said with a grin. Dear friend or not, only the fact that she had brought lunch kept me from flinging the book I held at her head.

  ***

  To everyone’s relief, especially mine, the day was much calmer after that. Macalley, who had dashed back to the manor for a bit of house-cleaning, had returned not long before the fair was scheduled to close. He brought with him two sturdy chairs and a handful of scones with cinnamon icing, and Priscilla and I were torn over which we were more thankful for. “How does she do it?” Priscilla said as she eagerly bit into her scone.

  “Who and what?” I asked as I stretched out my weary, mud-splattered legs.

  “Mabel.” Priscilla gestured, with the hand holding her scone, at the elf as she straightened up a stack of books. “Is it that bloody elfish constitution again?”

  “Priscilla, do be careful!” Mabel said. “You’ll get crumbs everywhere!”

  Priscilla shook her head and stuffed the last of her scone in her mouth. “That’s one problem solved,” she said as she chewed.

  “In a rather unappetizing way.” Mabel sighed. “I wish my other problem was so easily handled.”

  “Your scone?”

  “These rare books. I’m concerned about leaving them here through the night.”

  “The fair’s staff will be around,” I said. “They’ll keep watch on the carriage.”

  “But so many things could go wrong!” This was typical of Mabel. She was the type who could see the endless potential problems in preparing a casserole, and worry herself sick about how much cheese should be layered on top.

  Macalley cleared his throat. “Madame Mabel…if I might make a suggestion?”

  Mabel’s pointed ears perked up even more than usual. “Please do, Macalley!”

  “It’s a simple solution. I shall take the rare books back to the manor in the motorcar, then return them tomorrow morning when I bring Madame Alice to the fair.”

  “Excellent plan!” Priscilla said. Mabel smiled agreeably.

  “Let’s get this started, then,” I said as the book fair staff started to shoo the last few stragglers away. “The sooner we clear the tables and store the books in the carriage, the sooner we can relax.”

  “And sample the prime rib at the steakhouse?” Priscilla said eagerly.

  “I was thinking more of a spinach and pepper quiche,” Mabel said with a pout.

  I sighed. “We have this argument every time, don’t we?”

  ***

  We finally resolved the discussion in favor of the quiche, with an unspoken agreement that the steakhouse would be our choice the following night. We managed to limit our wine consumption over dinner to one bottle, as neither Priscilla nor I wanted to repeat the sheer agony of that morning on Sunday with another long day facing us..

  My friends retired to their rented room for the night, and I returned to the manor, where sleep was quick in coming and quite blissful. I was well-rested when the morning came, and I was in the middle of breakfast when the phone rang. “That’s odd,” I said to Macalley from my seat at the dining room table as I spread apricot jam on a croissant. “Who would be calling this early?”

  “It does seem quite unusual, madame. If you’ll excuse me?” I nodded, and Macalley hurried out of the dining room.

  I had just finished my croissant when Macalley returned. Although his expression is almost always as impenetrable as a suit of dwarfish plate armor being savagely attacked by a pillow, I thought I saw, for the merest fraction of a second, his eyebrow twitch very slightly. “Madame?” he said, with just the faintest hesitation.

  I knew that whatever it was, was serious. “Spill it!” I snapped.

  “Madame Priscilla is requesting our presence at the fair at once.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She is...but Madame Mabel is beside herself.”

  I jumped from my chair and downed the last of my tea. “Let’s make haste, Macalley. And don’t forget her rare books.”

  ***

  Macalley had the motorcar started quickly, and we drove to the town square. Once there, we saw the three tables, Mabel si
tting at them with her head in her hands, and Priscilla trying to comfort her. For a moment, I wondered what had transpired, but then I remembered that the important part of this equation was what I wasn’t seeing. I jumped from the motorcar and ran up to my friends. “Mabel!” I shouted.

  Priscilla looked at me. “The carriage,” she said softly.

  “I know. It’s gone.”

  “And all of Mabel’s stock is gone with it.”

  “Not all of it.” I pointed back to Macalley, who was carrying the rare books over from the motorcar.

  Mabel lifted her head. “That hardly counts for anything,” she said quietly. “There were people coming back today for books. The ‘Rum and Bumbles’ series. The new Dilly Dole novel. The ‘Bluerock Tetralogy’.”

  “Oh…” I said.

  “And if I can't find the carriage, I'll be out of pocket for that as well. It’s a total disaster.” Mabel started to sniffle and lowered her head again. “I could be ruined.”

  For a moment, the despair that had Mabel in its grasp threatened to seize me as well. Her reputation would be destroyed, her sales would plummet. She might even lose the store she loved. I couldn’t let that happen to my friend.

  I shunted the despair aside. “Priscilla!” I said. “Where are the constables? The fair staff?”

  “They’ve already spoken to us,” Priscilla said. “They’re at a loss.”

  “Then speak to them some more. Ask them hard questions. Show them no mercy. Treat them as if they have crumbs in their beards yet deny eating the last scone.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Priscilla said as she hurried off.

  I turned to my valet. “Macalley? If I might impose…”

  He glanced at Mabel. “It would not be an imposition at all, madame.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. Take the motorcar. Follow the carriage tracks.”

  “It will be tricky, madame. A number of people used carriages to bring books and other items here.”

  “I know it’s a slim chance, but if we can find Mabel’s carriage and books, all will be well. And if anyone this side of the Great Detective can accomplish that, it would be you.”