The Lion Lies Waiting

by Glenn Quigley

  The men passed by all manner of shops stocked with a mesmerising variety of goods from across the known world. People in shawls and bonnets pressed their noses against the glass, oohing and aahing at the glittering trinkets inside. Almost every business was decorated with at least a garland of holly or a sprig of mistletoe. The winter solstice was approaching, and there was excitement in the air.

  First order of business was securing lodgings. Mr. George Reed—the landlord of the Moth & Moon—had recommended they stay at his sister’s inn, located on Pebbleshoe Way, towards the centre of the town. It sat at the foot of a steep hill, near a tall clock tower. It was, in fact, three different buildings, each one taller than the last, arranged in a triangle. They were somewhat crooked, with upper storeys poking out and were sprinkled with balconies. The three buildings were connected via a series of covered bridges set with small, stained-glass windows cast in oranges and yellows and greens. It was named The Lion Lies Waiting, and the men found it dimly lit, cold, and unwelcoming.

  They entered into a dark antechamber between two set of stairs. In front of them was a countertop and behind it an imperious older woman stood. She wore a frilly bodice of musty lavender and her face was powdered bone-white, in what Duncan understood to be the fashion on the mainland. However, the powder, ill-applied as it was, dusted her hairline and a good stretch beyond, as if she had prepared for her day by simply planting herself face-first into a bag of flour. She held in her arms a tiny pug who yipped excitedly at the men.

  “You must be Mrs. Reed. Sorry, I mean Mrs. Firebrace. We’re from Blashy Cove, we know your brother?” Edwin said.

  “Oh, yes. How is George?” she asked.

  “He’s well, he sends his love.”

  “Does he?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “How nice.”

  Duncan was standing closest to the front desk, with the two great forms of Edwin and Robin flanking him on either side. Duncan didn’t even come up to their shoulders. When they were all together, it looked as if they were his bodyguards.

  “We’d like to rent two rooms, please,” Edwin said.

  “How long for?”

  “Well, I’m not sure at the moment.”

  “We only have one available,” she said, setting one key on the counter.

  Duncan picked it up and pointed at the shelf behind her.

  “But there are two keys,” he said.

  Mrs. Firebrace glanced at the second key, covered in a thin layer of dust.

  “I prefer not to rent that room, especially not at this particular time of year.”

  “Whyever not?” Duncan asked.

  “It…gets very cold.”

  “It’s fine, Duncan can ’ave it. ’E’s so ’airy ’e won’t even notice. Keeps ’im warm, y’see.”

  “Yes, thank you, Robin,” Duncan said, flatly.

  “We don’t use the room often. Hardly ever, in fact,” she said.

  “Well, you’re just going to have—” Duncan started before being interrupted by a swift tap on the leg from Edwin’s boot.

  “Please, Mrs. Firebrace,” Edwin said. “It’s getting late and we’ve had a long, cold journey. We won’t be any trouble, and we probably won’t be staying for more than a night or two. If you could let us have that room as well, we’d be ever so grateful.”

  Duncan noted the impact Edwin’s twinkling sea-green eyes, dimpled chin, and charming smile were having on the innkeeper.

  “Fine,” she said, handing the key over. “But don’t think batting your eyelashes at me is going to work every time. This close to Midwinter, you’re lucky I’ve got any rooms left at all.”

  Duncan made a show of looking around the dingy space, at the cobwebs and chipped furniture.

  “Yes. Lucky,” he said with a hollow grin.

  “I suppose you’re here for the parade?” she asked.

  “What parade?” Robin asked.

  “The Tar Barrel parade.”

  “That’s right,” Edwin said, avoiding the look from Duncan.

  “Oh yes, we love the parade,” Duncan said entirely without sincerity. “Dozens of people carrying wooden barrels filled with burning tar through crowded streets of drunkards? What could be better?”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Will you be attending it yourself?” Edwin asked quickly.

  Mrs. Firebrace fidgeted a little and stroked her pug’s head. “I shall be watching from the doorway, as usual.”

  She pointed to the staircase. “Fifth and sixth floor.”

  There were signs of disrepair everywhere. Loose steps rattled underfoot and wallpaper wilted in dank corners. The scent of mould filled the stagnant air. They opened the door of the first room, finding it tidy enough and almost spacious by Moth & Moon standards. It even had a small water closet, something the Moth had yet to install in its rooms.

  “Well, this’ll do us,” Robin said, setting his and Edwin’s bags down.

  “Hang on, I might want this one,” Duncan protested.

  “Oh, Duncan, you wouldn’t make an old man walk up an extra set of stairs, would you?” Robin said theatrically, stopping over with one hand on his back and the other on Duncan’s shoulder. Duncan was having none of it.

  “You’re not that old, Robin,” he said, eyes narrowing as Robin laughed.

  “The one upstairs might be nicer if it doesn’t get used as much,” Edwin offered.

  Accepting the possibility, and hoping he was about to bed down in a luxurious, barely-touched suite, Duncan raced up the suspiciously smaller and even more decrepit set of stairs. There was only one room on the top floor and his heart began to sink as he swiped away the cobwebs from the door handle. Unlocking it, the door creaked open to reveal a cramped, low ceilinged room with a single bed and a ramshackle collection of wood and hinges he assumed was trying to be a wardrobe. He set his bags down carefully, fearful they might fall through the ancient floorboards and crash into Robin and Edwin’s room below. He slumped onto the bed and sighed heavily when he realised the room would be much too small for them.

  “I’ll only be here for a couple of nights,” he said to no one in particular. “It might not be so bad.”

  “HURRY UP WITH those bags! Careful! If you scuff them, I shall have them repaired with your hide!”

  “Eva! There’s no call for that.”

  Lady Eva Wolfe-Chase lowered her rabbit fur-lined hood and smoothed out her raven-black hair.

  “There absolutely is,” Eva said to her wife, “it keeps them on their toes.”

  She wrinkled her nose at the bounty of aromas wafting across the busy harbour. The sea voyage from Merryapple had been particularly rough and she was glad to be on solid ground once again. She stamped her expensive boots on the pier, partially to warm up her feet and partially to assure herself of its rigidity. When Lady Iris Wolfe-Chase reached the bottom of the gangplank, Eva held out one long, splendid arm for her and the pair walked away from the water’s edge, followed by four young men. Each one struggled to keep the many, many cases and boxes they carried between them from becoming in any way tarnished. They loaded up the waiting closed carriage and stared wide-eyed at the grandiloquent image of a ship’s wheel intertwined with a beautiful curling letter “C” inlaid in gold leaf on the door. The symbol of the Chase Trading Company.

  Eva’s family owned a huge number of the ships passing through the harbour, and indeed most of the harbour itself. The enormous warehouses stretching away into the distance all bore the company symbol, as did the tallest building at the waterside—its drawing office and official headquarters. Fabrics, minerals and spices from all four corners of the globe were transported on a Chase ship at one point or another. They had offices in all the major ports, but it was from Port Knot the company had sprung. It was from Blackrabbit Island that Lord Marley Chase—the beating heart of the Chase Trading Company—ruled with an iron fist. And it was to an audience with him at the renowned Chase Manor that his daughter and her wife would soon travel.

  “How do you
think he will take our news?” Iris asked.

  “Marley Chase? The great Swan of Blackrabbit Council? Quite badly, I should think,” Eva responded with a wicked smirk. “Quite badly indeed.”

  Chapter Four

  EDWIN AND ROBIN stood outside a splendid tearoom overlooking the harbour. Its glass walls were set between thin black iron rods springing up from the ground, dipping and climbing like the shoots of delicate metal plants reaching for the sun. Inside, finely-dressed men and women enjoyed their cakes and sandwiches, fully aware they could be observed by all who passed by. Edwin surmised that to be the entire point of visiting the Frost & Thaw Tearoom. Ornate birdcages hung from pillars, their brightly coloured inhabitants twittering as they bounced merrily about on their perches. Edwin leaned in for a better look realised the stationary ones were automatons—clockwork devices, caked in bright enamel paint, softly ticking and clicking. An utter, shameless extravagance.

  He gave his name at to a server and was told they were expected. They were shown through to a semi-private conservatory at the rear. Semi-privacy was all one could hope for in a building made of glass. Inside, Ladies Eva and Iris Wolfe-Chase stood to greet them.

  “Mr. Farriner! Mr. Shipp!” Eva called, with her usual grandiose yet genuinely warm tone. She laid a hand on Edwin’s shoulder as her diminutive wife hugged his broad waist.

  “Edwin! Robin! I’m so pleased to see you both,” Iris said.

  “It’s lovely to see you, too,” Edwin replied as he waited for the women to be seated. He then pulled out a chair and sat at the round metal table. The furniture would have been more at home in a country garden than in a fancy town tearoom but placed as they were under facsimiles of wide-leafed trees and plants, the effect of bringing the outdoors indoor was quite striking.

  “How did you know where to find us?” Edwin asked, holding up the little card left for them at the Lion Lies Waiting.

  “Mrs. Whitewater told us,” Eva replied, referring to Robin’s mother. “We had plans to come to the island and we heard you’d be here too. We surmised she would be aware of the particulars.”

  Her eyes usually gave one the impression she knew more than she was letting on, but the effect was increased tenfold today.

  “You’re here to see your father?” Edwin asked.

  “Yes, we’ve not long arrived and we’re on our way to the manor, but thought we’d stop and see you first,” Eva said. “Oh, but before we get to that, you are invited to dine with us tomorrow night at the manor—I won’t take no for an answer—and you must tell us your plans for solstice evening.”

  “Oh, um, thank you,” Edwin said, turning to Robin. “And solstice. We haven’t thought about it. We’re not even sure if we’ll still be here by then.”

  “If you are and you’re not doing anything, you simply must join us here for the masquerade ball.”

  “Here?” Edwin said. The idea of attending the kind of soirée Eva and Iris would be invited to made his veins run cold. They were friends, but he was always keenly aware they moved in different social circles.

  “Ball?” Robin said. He sat a little dumbfounded at the prospect. Edwin knew all too well Robin found it difficult to move ten yards without knocking into something, and the idea of being crammed into a room full of well-to-do people likely filled him with dread.

  “Our dear friend Ms. Clementine Frost owns this place,” Iris said. “She always closes early for the parade and decorates for the most marvellous event!”

  “There’s a Ms. Frost, so does that mean there’s a Ms. Thaw as well?” Robin asked.

  “It’s Mr. Thaw,” Eva replied. “Or it would be if he actually existed. Clementine invented him because she was terribly amused by the wordplay. She has since realised the imaginary Mr. Thaw is a useful ploy for removing herself from unwanted company. She simply claims to have spotted him across the room and dashes off to speak to him.”

  “But she is tremendous fun!” Iris said. “You’ll be able to watch the procession from the balconies, there’ll be drink, food, all manner of entertainments! Oh, say you’ll come.”

  “Um, well…” he said, turning again to Robin, but then he noticed Iris pouting, “…yes, I’m sure we’ll be able to come. If we can bring Duncan as well?”

  “The more, the merrier!” Iris exclaimed. “And please, extend our invitation for dinner to him as well. I do so enjoy his company. It’s nice to be able to speak to someone with having to strain my neck!”

  She and Eva had invited Edwin and Robin to dine with them at Wolfe-Chase Lodge—their Blashy Cove residence—several times in recent months, and Duncan had accompanied them on the last two occasions. Iris often said she delighted in his directness, for it was the same quality her wife possessed. She liked to joke about how, much like Duncan, she was a good deal shorter than the company she kept, so having a person in her eye line made for a nice change of pace.

  A server arrived and placed a teapot in the centre of the table, followed by four patterned china cups with saucers. Edwin watched Robin frown as he tried to lift the dainty little cup by its handle, only to have it instantly snap off from the force of his grip. Edwin’s hand quickly shot over to Robin’s and gripped it, rubbing his thumb across its surface, feigning a romantic gesture. He smiled at Iris and Eva and pointed at some innocuous architectural detail on the ceiling behind them. While their heads were turned to the balcony overhead, he quickly palmed the broken cup handle and slipped it into the pocket of his corduroy trousers.

  Robin looked embarrassed and mouthed the words “Thank you.”

  Edwin winked and patted him reassuringly on the knee.

  “Edwin,” Iris said, “you know we think the world of you, and we have, well, something of a favour to ask. More than a favour actually. It’s, well, the thing is—”

  “We want you to father a child for us,” Eva interrupted.

  “I beg your pardon?” Edwin spluttered his tea over himself.

  Robin dropped into his lap the cake he was ever-so-carefully lifting to his mouth.

  “I was trying to ease into it, Eva,” Iris said, irately.

  “You were taking too long, dear.”

  “You have no patience,” Iris sighed

  “Patience is for people with nothing of worth to do,” Eva said haughtily.

  “I’m sorry, can we please get back to the subject of me fathering your child?” Edwin asked.

  “Of course, of course,” Iris said, taking Edwin’s hand. “I’m aware this is a lot to ask, and you may never have considered it before, but Eva and I would dearly love a child of our own and we cannot think of a finer man to ask.”

  “Well, that’s extremely flattering,” Edwin said.

  “I’ve known you a long time, though we’ve only truly been close friends for a little while, but in that time, you’ve proven yourself to be a fine, upstanding gentleman, and the most noble man we’ve ever met. And you’re red-haired, like me. Think of how beautiful our child would be!” Iris gleefully tapped her toes on the mosaic floor as she spoke.

  “So, you would carry the child?” Edwin asked. He was nearly twice the size of the dainty Lady Wolfe-Chase, if not more.

  Eva sat back at an angle in her chair and laid a porcelain hand on her hip.

  “Of course,” she said. “It would be a crime to ruin this figure.”

  Iris turned to her wife. “Eva. We spoke about this. Flippancy is unwelcome in this matter.”

  “You’re right. I apologise, I’m just…nervous.”

  That made Edwin sit up straight, suddenly completely aware of his surroundings. Everything suddenly became very real.

  “At the harbour in Blashy Cove,” he said, “I’ve watched you stare down obstinate captains the size of trees, bark orders at entire crews of unruly sailors and admonish actual pirates. I’ve never once seen you nervous.”

  “There has never been anything to be nervous about, before now,” Eva said.

  For the first time since he’d known her, she was unguarded.
Vulnerable.

  “I mean, we’d have to talk it over,” he said to Robin, as much as to the women, “but even if I agreed, how would we…go about it?” Edwin asked, blushing.

  “Now, I’m not versed in the language of breeches myself,” Eva said, snapping back to herself, “but my darling wife is.”

  “Yes, thank you, Eva, I can manage from here. Now, Edwin—my dearest, sweetest Edwin –” she said, placing her tiny hands on his, “you have lain with women before, I believe?”

  “Well, yes, but that was a long time ago,” he said, clearing his throat with a modest cough. He’d tried a great many things in his youth.

  “I’m fairly sure the process remains unchanged,” Eva said. “And is she not beautiful? Would you not have sought her company, back when you were more…adventurous?”

  Iris shot her a look.

  “Yes, of course, but…” Edwin said, stumbling to find the right words.

  “Oh, I’m just teasing,” Eva said. “Look, we know it’s a lot to ask, and we know you prefer to lay with gentlemen these days so if you’re not comfortable we could arrange for a pair of curtains you could pop your bits through. Mr. Shipp could be on hand to get things started, as it were. Oh! Or perhaps a hole in a dressing screen you could—”

  “Eva!” Iris yelped.

  “I’m just trying to speed this along, my dear.”