Book Fair Frenzy (Or, Macalley Turns the Page)

by Robert Dahlen

  “One! Two! Dunk!” Sylvetta said. We set our biscuits into the tea, held them there for the count of five, and pulled them up. I stared at my biscuit, trying to figure out how long it would hold together, how fast the tea would eat through it like a patio beset by liquid termites.

  I glanced over at Oakton, and that was a mistake, for he picked that moment to sneer at me.

  I’ve mentioned before that his sneer was imposing enough to make a charging bull stop in its tracks and amble off for a few bites of alfalfa. One would think that I’d have gained some immunity to that sneer, having been on the receiving end of it so many times since moving to Darbyfield. However, on this occasion, I was caught completely off-guard. I reared back ever so slightly, and my biscuit broke apart, dropping onto the table with an audible thump.

  Oakton smiled and ate his biscuit. “The first round goes to Lord Basil Oakton!” Sylvetta exclaimed.

  “But…” I tried to say as Nadila cleaned up the remnants of my poor biscuit. “But…”

  “The sneer?”

  “The sneer.”

  “Perfectly within the rules,” Sylvetta said as Nadila poured just a bit more tea into the cups. “As long as there’s no physical contact once the biscuits are dunked, anything goes.”

  “Anything?”

  “I have quite a few stories I could tell. But first, we should commence the second round. Choose your biscuits!”

  I reached towards the plate to take the biscuit closest to me. Before I could, Oakton shot out his hand, knocking mine aside as he grabbed the biscuit I had chosen. “I do say!” I exclaimed.

  He gloated at me. “I wanted that biscuit,” he said coolly.

  “But they’re all the same!” I turned towards Sylvetta. “Is this within the rules?”

  “The letter, yes,” she said, “as no dunking has taken place. But…” She glanced at Oakton in a way that left the unspoken “not the spirit” part of her sentence redundant.

  I took another biscuit and held it over my tea cup. “It’s not a surprise,” I said with a sideways glance at my opponent.

  “Begin!” Sylvetta said.

  “After all, Lord Oakton has a certain reputation.”

  “Of course,” Oakton said with a smirk as the count started.

  We dunked our biscuits. As we lifted them from the tea, I fixed my stare on Oakton’s biscuit, avoiding his glare. I thought about the rules, and the spirit of the game, and after another two seconds I stuffed my biscuit into my mouth.

  Oakton started to smile. “Ah. No backbone for tea dueling, Peavley?”

  I swallowed. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You’ve conceded. You’ve admitted defeat.” Oakton lifted his biscuit. “Once I’ve eaten this, I will have won the duel.” He somehow managed to sneer as he opened his mouth.

  The biscuit broke. It fell onto Oakton’s chest, leaving a stain layered with crumbs on his immaculate white shirt. “What the devil?” he said. I sighed with relief as I took a quick sip of my tea.

  “Round two goes to Madame Alice Peavley!” Lady Sylvetta said, to cheers from the crowd. “The next round will decide the winner of this duel!”

  “Beginner’s luck,” Oakton remarked with a false casualness as Nadila refilled the tea again.

  I thanked the sprite as they finished. “I think not,” I said as I reached for the sugar. “You can take your biscuit first, by the way. I wish not to have my hand broken.”

  “A most spirited match!” Sylvetta said. “Choose your biscuit now!”

  Oakton growled as he snatched a biscuit from the plate. “And whose fault would that have been?”

  “Yours, obviously.” I smiled as I took the last biscuit.

  “Begin!” came the command from Sylvetta.

  We maneuvered our biscuits into position. “After all, you are the most selfish—”

  “One!”

  “Conceited—”

  “Two!”

  “Louse in all of Darbyfield,” I said quickly.

  “Dunk!”

  Oakton stabbed his tea with his biscuit, while I casually dipped mine. “One! Two! Three! Four! Five!” Sylvetta counted.

  As we lifted our biscuits out of the tea cups, Oakton glared at me with all his might. “A louse, am I?” he snapped.

  “Perhaps that was a trifle inaccurate,” I said. “After all, lice might actually serve a purpose.”

  “I’ve heard enough out of you!” Oakton snapped, pointing his biscuit at me. “You empty-headed wastrel dilettante!”

  “You left out ‘impertinent’.”

  “If it weren’t for your butler—”

  “Valet.”

  “You’d be hopeless!” Oakton was in full fury, red-faced, waving his arms in the air. “You’re good at absolutely nothing!”

  “I must disagree.” I held up my biscuit.

  “Wha—” He glanced down at his as it broke in half. The loose piece spiraled downward, landing with a splash in his tea cup.

  “I seem to be quite proficient at tea dueling.” I smiled as I popped the biscuit into my mouth.

  Lady Sylvetta watched until I had swallowed. “A splendid match indeed! By the score of two rounds to one, the victor is Madame Alice Peavley!” Priscilla clapped me on the back as the crowd, save for those who had wagered on Oakton, cheered soundly.

  “Wha…?” Oakton looked and sounded dazed, as if he’d been conked with a sack full of freshly-caught fish.

  “And by virtue of her victory—” Sylvetta quickly, before anyone could think of ogling, plucked the pouch she had been given from its hiding place. “A donation of 150 crowns has been made to purchase books for the Darbyfield Library!” That caused the entire crowd to cheer.

  “Wha…?” Oakton repeated.

  Sylvetta nudged me. “Handshake,” she stage-whispered.

  “Oh,” I said as I stood. I extended a hand towards Oakton. “No hard feelings, old bean?”

  “Wha,” he said dazedly as we shook on it.

  “Marvelous sportsmanship!” Sylvetta smiled. “Care to finish your tea, Lord Basil?”

  “Wha?”

  “You may take the cup with you. I’ll have someone collect it later.”

  “Wha.” Oakton picked up the saucer and tried to drink from it. Hillsboro took the teacup in one hand, grabbed Oakton’s arm with the other, and led him away.

  ***

  The crowd cleared out, the tables and chairs and such were removed, and I hurried over to Mabel, who gleefully embraced me. She was smiling more brightly than I had ever seen, and as much pleasure as I had gained from defeating Oakton, the joy I saw in her face brought me much more.

  “Madame Alice? You seem to have forgotten something.” Lady Sylvetta walked up to me with my teacup and saucer from the duel.

  I laughed and finished the tea. “Thank you,” I said. “It would have been a shame to let this go to waste.”

  “Of course.” She took the empty cup back. “You’ve left the prize with Mabel?”

  “I have.”

  “Splendid.” She smiled. “We shall have to have lunch sometime, my dear! There are so many stories about Clarence we must share.”

  “Absolutely.” I returned Sylvetta’s smile as we shook hands and said our goodbyes.

  “I do hate to spoil this party,” Priscilla said after Sylvetta had left, “but we still have one lingering problem.”

  “It’s...it’s all right,” Mabel said. “Even if the books aren’t found, I can try to post orders for them from the shop when I return. And at least we’ve helped the library.”

  “But you’ll lose so much money!”

  Mabel’s eyes started to water. “It'll be fine, Priscilla,” she said, lowering her head. “I'll get by.” I took her shoulder and tried to comfort her.

  Our heads all shot up when we heard the familiar rattle. I glanced past the table and saw Macalley driving the motorcar up to us. “Madame Alice?” he said as he came to a stop.

  “Macalley? Did you…?” I held m
y breath, worried that I’d bring a jinx upon us if I completed the sentence.

  “I think he did!” Priscilla shouted over the clopping of horseshoes.

  Mabel clapped her hands and squealed with joy as her carriage, driven by two constables, neared the table. “My books!” she exclaimed, smiling ear to ear.

  “Macalley, you are truly amazing,” I said in hushed tones as he climbed out of the motorcar.

  He waved his hand. “It was something Lady Sylvetta said that helped me realize what to do...which was to seek assistance.” He whistled.

  Murgatroyd jumped from the motorcar and loped up to us. “But how!” I exclaimed as I scratched the hound’s head. “Even his nose couldn’t have picked out the scent of Mabel’s carriage!”

  “Perhaps not…” Macalley took his copy of the ‘Klondike and Canfield’ volume he had bought the day before from his pocket. “But new books have their own unique, special smell, and once I exposed Murgatroyd to that specific scent, he would not be denied.”

  “What a marvel!” Mabel crouched down next to the hound and bestowed him with a great deal of affection. I could only hope that Murgatroyd’s prodigious drool did not ruin her lovely dress.

  “So where was the carriage?” I asked.

  “We should let the constable answer that.” Macalley pointed to Constable Matterhorn. He and a colleague were escorting, in a very non-gentle way, another passenger off the carriage. I gasped when I saw it was Bludergard’s servant Stibbins.

  “You scum!” Priscilla hissed. I grabbed her arm to keep her from inflicting grievous and possibly much-deserved harm.

  Matterhorn twisted Stibbins’ arm behind his back and frog-marched him up to us. “We found the carriage on Bludergard’s estate, near the entrance. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Well, guv’nor…” Stibbins swallowed. “It was an honest mistake, it was.”

  “Since when is anything coming from his mouth honest?” Priscilla murmured.

  “Y’see, Lord Bludergard had gone back to the estate with a friend in a motorcar, and he had told me to get the carriage back later to keep someone from pilferin’ his stock.”

  “Who’d want to steal Bludergard’s books?”

  “Someone in desperate need of kindling?” I suggested.

  Stibbins glared at me and Priscilla briefly before continuing. “I stayed late, and had a few rounds at the pub. After that, I went back to the stables to get the horses for Blue’s carriage, but it was after sunset when me and the horses got here, and I got confused. All them carriages looked alike in the dark. So, I hooked the horses up to the nearest one and headed back to the estate.”

  “So where was the staff? They were supposed to have prevented this.”

  Macalley coughed softly. “They were apparently celebrating at the same pub as Stibbins.”

  “Right you are, guv’nor!” Stibbins smiled. “It’s all just a big case of mistaken identification.”

  “Absolutely,” Bludergard said as he walked over from his table.

  “In no way whatsoever did I buy several rounds for the book fair staff to get them distracted so that they wouldn’t be payin’ any attention when I took Blissbottom’s carriage so that she wouldn’t have any books to sell and the fairgoers would buy Blue’s books instead.”

  “Positively.” Bludergard paused. “I think.”

  Mabel’s jaw dropped. Macalley and I exchanged glances. Priscilla pressed her fingertips to her brow, shaking her head slowly. Even Murgatroyd seemed baffled.

  Matterhorn shrugged and released Stibbins. “Can’t charge you with anything right now,” he said with clear reluctance. “But stay out of my sight for a while.” Stibbins nodded and ran off, presumably towards the same pub where he had spent part of the previous evening.

  “Constable Matterhorn!” I said. “You can’t let him get away with this!”

  “We’ll be looking into this further.” Matterhorn walked over and took Murgatroyd’s leash. “Good luck with your day,” he said to Mabel as he half-walked and half-dragged the hound off.

  Bludergard smiled. “No hard feelings, then? Everything worked out well.”

  “Poppycock!”

  He turned as Augustus Thurston marched up to him, blood in his eyes. “Poppycock?” he said feebly.

  “Yes!” Thurston snarled. “And balderdash!”

  “Such strong language,” I murmured.

  “But the books have been returned!” Bludergard said.

  “This is about something else.” Thurston held up a book. “Recognize this?”

  “I certainly do. That’s one of my books. ‘Me And That Army’.”

  “Clarinda actually read this book.”

  “A true act of bravery,” I noted.

  “She just told me that you named the villain ‘Austin Thirsty’!”

  “Ah.” Bludergard deflated like a balloon that had been punctured by a brat with a slingshot. “I can explain—”

  Thurston would not be denied. “And that this ‘Thirsty’ was out to destroy reading by murdering authors and burning every book he could find!”

  “A metaphor for the collapse of modern society?”

  “And he was torn to pieces by a horde of rabid wolverines!”

  “...It was artistic license.”

  Thurston’s face reddened. “Artistic license?”

  “Properly speaking, there are no wolverines in this region. Had I gone for authenticity, I would have used badgers…”

  Bludergard slowed to a stop as he realized that the hole he had been digging for himself was now deep enough to hold not just him, but also Stibbins, all the copies of his books, and his carriage. “That hardly seems fair to badgers,” I said. “Or wolverines, for that matter.”

  “I will not stand for this insult!” Thurston said as the book fair staff lined up behind him. “Your table rights have been revoked for this year and next. Please take your books and depart immediately.”

  Bludergard squirmed. “I can rectify this in my next book,” he said. “Perhaps Thirsty has a twin brother—”

  Thurston pushed Bludergard’s book into its author’s hands as if it were contagious. “Pack up and go,” he said. The book fair staff grabbed Bludergard and dragged him away.

  “I feel bad about this,” I said to Priscilla.

  “For Bludergard?”

  “No. For Clarinda. She actually read that book.”

  “Fair call. So what’s next?”

  “We can relax. Everything has turned out splendidly.”

  “Shall we celebrate?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “WIth a bottle of wine or two?”

  “I’ll stand the first round.” We linked arms and started to go.

  “Get back here, you two!” Mabel shouted, trying to unload her carriage with Macalley’s assistance as booklovers swarmed her tables. Priscilla and I broke out in laughter as we hurried over to help.

  ***

  We had quite the busy afternoon, as all the customers we had asked to return, along with various late arrivers and curious onlookers, did their best to buy out a large percentage of Mabel’s stock. Things finally quieted down as the day neared its close. I settled back in my chair, seeking fortification in a fresh cup and a cinnamon bun. “A pleasant day,” I said with a satisfied sigh. “Wouldn’t you agree, Priscilla?”

  “She’s a bit busy at the moment, madame.” Macalley came up to me and pointed over at Priscilla.

  Thurston had returned and was in much better spirits, having successfully banished Bludergard and his offending volumes from the fair. With the crowd mostly cleared out, he and Clarinda were choosing books from what remained of Mabel’s stock for the Darbyfield Library. Clarinda would point at a book, and there would be a brief discussion. Thurston would then nod if the book met with their approval, and he or Clarinda would take the book and set it in the stack that Priscilla was carrying, which now reached past her shoulders.

  Clarinda caught my eye. “My dear Alice!” she
said with a broad smile. “Thank you for securing such a generous donation for us!”

  I blushed. “Think nothing of it.”

  “Maybe a touch too generous,” Priscilla said half to herself.

  “Mabel has added to that donation, as she promised.” Thurston rubbed his hands. “We should be able to make a significant addition to the collection!”

  “Marvelous!” I sipped my tea.

  “And quite heavy,” Priscilla said, glaring at me.

  “Perhaps we should dedicate this collection to you!” Thurston tossed a thick book onto Priscilla’s stack, staggering her.

  “I would be honored,” I said, “but it might be more appropriate to name it after the actual donor. Perhaps...the Lord Basil Oakton Endowment For The Literary Arts?”

  Thurston and Clarinda glanced at one another. “We shall take it under advisement.”

  Priscilla sighed. “At this rate, you could also consider naming it ‘The Priscilla Wentworth Memorial Collection’.”

  Macalley raised an eyebrow as Thurston and Clarinda resumed ransacking the tables. “Wouldn’t he be upset at being reminded of his loss, madame?”

  “Image, Macalley.” I sipped my tea. “With any luck, he’ll be too flattered about the honor to be more than mildly indignant at me when next we meet.”

  “One can only hope. Might I make a suggestion, madame?”

  “Certainly.”

  Macalley nodded in Priscilla’s direction. The stack of books she held was now up to her eyes, and threatened to topple over should anyone as much as cough in her direction. “She could use some assistance.”

  Priscilla rolled her eyes. “You finally noticed,” she said.

  I smiled as I rose from my chair. “I suppose I can finish my tea later. But we must hurry.”

  “It’s not time for supper yet.”

  “No, but I still need to make a purchase of my own before the fair closes.” I removed a handful of books from Priscilla’s stack and handed them to Macalley.

  “The unicorn bookends?” he said, putting in a supreme effort to keep his disappoint and reproach under control.

  “The very same.”

  “As you wish, madame.” I chuckled at the faint hint of sorrow in Macalley’s voice as I piled more books in his arms.