Yule Be Sorry--A Christmas Cozy Mystery (With Dragons)

by Kim M Watt

  “Those brownies were a bit iffy,” Beaufort said. “Even for me.”

  Mortimer groaned, holding his stomach, and Alice sighed. She wasn’t quite sure what dragon vomit would do to the upholstery of her car, and she didn’t really want to find out.

  “Come on,” she said. “I’ll open a window and you can stick your head out. Just tell me if you think you’re going to be sick, alright?”

  Mortimer nodded miserably, and she led them out into the chilly day, Miriam wrapped in an enormous red and orange woollen poncho and not looking much happier than Mortimer.

  Alice tried to drive a little more conservatively than usual, taking bends gently and not accelerating quite so hard on the occasional straight. Even so, Miriam was clutching the door handle with white knuckles, and Mortimer was hanging half out of the window making uncomfortable groans. He ducked every time they saw another car, then scrambled to shove his head into the fresh air again. It wasn’t an auspicious start to the investigation.

  “Not far now,” Alice said, as Mortimer puddled back onto the seat while they passed a mud-splattered van going in the opposite direction.

  “That’s okay,” Mortimer said. A little blue had crept back onto his snout, displacing the sickly yellow-green. “I think I’m feeling a bit better.”

  “That’s the ticket,” Beaufort said cheerfully. “Some fresh air always helps.”

  “I suppose.” Mortimer burped loudly, and covered his snout with his paws, the blue draining away again. “I’m so sorry!”

  Miriam laughed. “It’s okay, Mortimer. Shows you enjoyed your meal.”

  “It does? That’s a little odd.”

  Alice snorted, and flicked the indicator on. “That’s one explanation. The other is that Jasmine put about a cup of baking soda in those brownies, from the bit I tasted.”

  Beaufort leaned between the seats and peered out the windscreen as the car started to slow. “Is this it? Where the postmen were taken?”

  “Somewhere around here,” Alice said, and a moment later they saw yellow and black tape flashing bright against the grey stone walls of the lane. She pulled in just beyond the lay-by, and stopped to let Miriam climb out before she nestled the car in as close to the wall as she could. She didn’t put the hazards on. It was quiet enough around here, and she didn’t want to draw any attention to them.

  The dragons tumbled out, Mortimer looking better but still burping with painful regularity. Alice wasn’t too sure she liked that. Dragon burps seemed a little fiery, and she hoped he’d be done with them by the time they got back in the car.

  “It’s empty,” Miriam announced, from the edge of the crime tape.

  “Did you think they’d leave the van here for everyone to gawk at?” Alice asked.

  “Well, no.” Miriam’s nose was pink in the fading light. “I just thought there’d be – something.”

  They stared at the empty gravel of the lay-by, too rough for tyre tracks, and Alice patted Miriam’s shoulder. “You’re absolutely right,” she said quietly, wondering where the postmen were now, and who had them, and if they were even alive. “It does feel like there should be something.”

  “Well,” Beaufort said. “We’d best take a look.” He slipped under the tape with his wings close to his back and padded across the rough gravel, heavy head swinging and golden eyes collecting the last light of the day. Mortimer gave a final burp then followed him, and they circled the area like scaly bloodhounds, peering over the wall into the field beyond, splashing through small puddles and examining the weeds.

  Alice beckoned Miriam to follow her, and they went to lean against the wall at the edge of the lay-by, watching the dragons work. Alice was cold all the way through. She hadn’t been dressed to be outdoors when she arrived at Miriam’s that morning, and driving all the way here with the window open hadn’t helped. She hugged her arms around her, trying to ignore the gnawing discomfort in her knuckles, and they waited. A car flashed past without slowing, and the dragons didn’t look up. They were faint enough when people were standing still. It would be terrible luck indeed if someone managed to see them from a car.

  She was almost ready to admit defeat and suggest to Miriam that they get in the car and turn the heater on when Beaufort and Mortimer came back, a dispirited droop to their wings.

  “No luck?”

  “It’s too muddled,” Beaufort said. “There’s fear, from when the postman was attacked, and the excitement of the police that found the van. I think one was Jasmine’s husband. He always smells a little puzzled, like burned eggs.”

  Alice wondered why puzzlement would smell of burned eggs, but put it aside for now. “Nothing off the attackers?”

  “Nothing. Just excitement and fear.”

  “If they were flying,” Mortimer said with a hesitant look at Beaufort, “the smell would disperse quickly. It wouldn’t have a chance to sink into the ground.”

  Beaufort humph-ed, and looked at his paws. “Quite true, lad. Quite true.”

  No one said anything for a moment, then Alice said, “Well. We’ve found out all we can here. Let’s get everyone home.”

  It was a quiet ride back to Toot Hansell, and Alice dropped the dragons at the edge of the village, pulling into a gap in front of a farm gate, where they could take flight unnoticed. It was already all but full dark, and she uncharacteristically wished the winter would hurry up and be done. The long nights seemed too full of unpleasant possibilities.

  “We’ll find them,” she said to the dragons. “I have a plan for the DHL delivery.”

  Beaufort perked up immediately. “A plan?”

  “Yes. I’ll show you tomorrow when you bring the baubles down.” She waved them off, Mortimer not looking very comforted, and pulled back onto the road.

  “A plan?” Miriam said.

  “Of course. One must always have a plan.”

  She took by Miriam’s silence that the younger woman didn’t entirely agree.

  She dropped Miriam off before she went to Gert’s. She both wanted to be able to talk to Gert alone, and to give Miriam a little break. The younger woman did try, but she was maybe not the best at the careful art of informal interrogation.

  Gert didn’t look surprised when she opened the door in purple jogging bottoms and an ancient sweatshirt advertising an AC/DC tour. She just said, “Come on in,” and led Alice through to the kitchen.

  The same voice called from the living room, “Who ’tis, Gertie?”

  “Just one of the girls.”

  “Right you are.” The volume on the TV went up, and Gert closed the kitchen door behind them.

  “Drink?” she said.

  “It feels like that sort of day,” Alice said. She was only just starting to feel warm again, and Gert’s kitchen was delightfully cosy and full of the smell of curry. Gert took two tumblers from a corner cupboard and a whisky bottle from a shelf crowded with chipped porcelain figurines and tacky souvenirs. She sat down across the table from Alice and poured them both a generous measure, and they clinked glasses solemnly.

  “You want to know about Amelia’s baubles, I take it,” Gert said.

  “It’s the only other source of scales we know of.”

  “That’s fair.” Gert took a sip of whisky and rolled it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. “I don’t get any unworked ones. Amelia wanted to keep it all quiet, but she was worried that if there wasn’t some outlet, dragons would start getting ideas about trying to set up their own trade. So I buy blankets or cushions or piercings or whatever they want, and she makes me baubles and boats and gliders and so on for the kids and grandkids. I’ve got fourteen grandkids now, you know? We’re all getting together on Boxing Day. Rented a hall down Manchester and everything. It’s going to be wonderful.”

  Alice thought it sounded horrifying, but she made a pleased expression and said, “No one could have got hold of the baubles and passed them on to someone?” Or gone into business themselves, she added to herself. Gert’s family had some interesting e
lements.

  “Not unless they’ve been under my tree. I mean, I wouldn’t put it past Angie, but no. No one’s been up here. And that Amelia’s got her head on straight. I don’t think she’s dealing with anyone else.”

  Alice didn’t think so either, and she sipped her whisky with a sigh, letting the heat spread in her chest. “Piercings?” she said after a moment.

  “Quite the market for it among the younger dragons, apparently. Nail polish, too.”

  “Well. The things you learn.” Alice finished her drink and got up. “You’ll let me know if you hear anything?”

  “You know I will.”

  Alice nodded, and made her way out. She hadn’t really thought Gert had anything to do with it, but sometimes you had to tick all the boxes, just so you knew they were ticked.

  There was no silver Audi outside Gert’s, or on the roads home, but the cat was sitting at her door when she walked up the path. He examined her critically.

  “You could go back to Gert’s, you know,” she said, opening the door. “I’m sure you’ll learn just as much there.”

  He trotted in with his kinked tail held high, heading straight for the kitchen. Alice watched him go, then shook her head and pulled the door closed again. She didn’t have any tuna left. She was going to have to go to the shop. She trudged back to the car, wondering why she was going shopping for an unwelcome cat that wasn’t even hers.

  She figured it had something to do with the powers of the Watch.

  10

  Miriam

  The next day dawned clear, the clouds finally lifted, the thin winter sun not offering much heat but flushing the fells, painting the fields gold, and sparkling on the waterways of Toot Hansell. Miriam was glad to see the sun back. Somehow kidnappings and exploding baubles felt much less likely, much less immediate with the sun out. She put a fresh batch of mince pies in the oven (the trick was to make the pastry ahead of time and keep it in the freezer, then doctor up some bought mincemeat so that it tasted like homemade. It was the only way to keep up with a dragonish appetite for mince pies) and mixed up a ginger cake. That done, she started assembling boxes for the baubles, checking the windows impatiently, and wondering when exactly the dragons were going to turn up.

  Miriam had cooked four batches of mince pies and the ginger cake was cooling on the rack and spicing the air by the time Alice arrived. There were brown boxes and recycled packing paper strewn across the kitchen table, and a sticky flower of tangled tape hanging from the counter, plus her pen jar had been knocked over and there were markers and pencils and leaking Bics all over the floor. She’d also somehow forgotten to do the breakfast dishes. She felt the tops of her ears grow hot as she led Alice in.

  “I thought I’d get ahead.”

  “How many boxes have you made up?” Alice asked, surveying the mess.

  “Um. I think about fifty.” Which was a small untruth. She’d stopped counting at fifty. There was something deeply comforting about putting the boxes together, and she’d just kept going. They were stacked six deep around the table, and Miriam’s skirt had caught them as she went to answer the door, strewing a dozen or more across the floor. She collected them hurriedly, the heat spreading to her cheeks.

  “How many do we have going out today?” Alice asked.

  “Maybe thirty altogether,” Miriam mumbled, trying to stack the escaped boxes and knocking more over.

  “Well, then. We’re ahead for next time.” Alice put the kettle on and took some mugs from the cupboard. “Where shall we store them?”

  “Spare room?”

  “Excellent.” Alice collected an armload of boxes and headed into the hall just as Miriam spied three scaly heads bobbing a little awkwardly up the garden path. Beaufort led the way with Amelia and Mortimer trailing behind him, all of them walking carefully on their hind legs with big baskets clasped to their chests, straps hooked over their shoulders where they wouldn’t interfere with their wings.

  “They’re here!” Miriam shouted, dropping the boxes and rushing to open the door. “Oh, I was so worried you weren’t going to arrive in time! The van’s meant to be here in an hour!”

  “Do calm down, Miriam,” Alice said, coming back into the kitchen and picking up more boxes. “There’s plenty of time. We’ll make short work of it with two of us.”

  “Five,” Amelia pointed out as she staggered in the door, using her tail for balance and leaving muddy footprints across the stone flags. Miriam and Alice exchanged glances.

  “Two with hands,” Alice clarified, carrying the boxes out of the kitchen, and Amelia shrugged.

  “Up to you,” she said, and put her basket down, helping herself to a mince pie.

  “Morning, morning,” Beaufort said, struggling to get out of his basket. “Blasted thing. I think it’s caught.”

  Miriam pulled the big teapot down while Mortimer helped the High Lord out of the basket. A shoulder strap had somehow got caught over one of his spines, and now he had a paw trapped in it and was looking slightly panicked.

  “Mortimer!”

  “I’m doing it, just hold still.”

  Beaufort grumbled something about High Lords not being pack horses, but held still as Mortimer fiddled with the straps. The younger dragon looked tired, and his scales had a distinctly grey cast to them.

  “Did you find anything at home, Beaufort?” Miriam asked.

  “No, nothing our end,” he said, finally escaping from the straps. “Thanks, lad. Horrible contraptions, those things.”

  “S’okay,” Mortimer mumbled.

  “Are you alright, Mortimer?” Miriam asked.

  “Fine,” he said, and started unpacking the basket with a weary slump to his shoulders.

  Amelia eyed the cake. “This looks nice. Mortimer, have you seen this? And all the mince pies?”

  “I guess.” He was frowning at the baskets as if he’d forgotten something.

  Amelia stuck her tongue out at him, but he still wasn’t looking. Alice raised her eyebrows at Miriam as she came back into the room, and Miriam shrugged.

  “So, anything new down here?” Beaufort asked

  “Nothing so far,” Alice said, handing Amelia a plate and shooing her away before she could try cutting the cake. “But hopefully we’ll know more tomorrow. The scouts are out.”

  Miriam sat down at the table and started lighting the baubles while the tea brewed, setting them floating about the kitchen. It was their final quality check, which had become part of the routine ever since that one bauble that Mortimer had thought blossomed into a perfectly nice floral design, but which had made Miriam blush and giggle so much that she’d had to call Alice for a second opinion. Alice hadn’t blushed or giggled (Miriam couldn’t imagine Alice doing either of those things, actually), but she’d given a surprisingly deep, rusty chuckle and suggested that there was probably a special market for such things, but it wasn’t one the W.I. could really be a part of. There hadn’t been any more with problematic shapes since, but it wasn’t worth sending them away unchecked. Besides, Miriam had to admit that this was her favourite part. She loved the magic of it, setting one bauble after another free to dance softly across the room, blooming into exotic flowers and butterflies and birds of paradise. It made a bright day even brighter.

  Alice had filled the sink, and now she floated the boats in it one by one. Dry, they looked like paper boats or little hats folded from the hard, glossy dragon scales. As soon as the water surrounded them, though, they unfurled masts and sails, growing and transforming into sloops and ketches, schooners and barquentines, strung about with the fine threads of their rigging and flying pennants from their masts. Miriam thought they were some of Mortimer’s finest work.

  “It’s most frustrating,” Beaufort said. “None of the Cloverlies know anything about it, obviously, and last night I even tried talking to a few dwarfs, as well as the tiddy uns at the lake. They couldn’t help, and I’m not certain what our next move should be. We’ve got to be quite careful about our investiga
tions. We don’t want to tip the wrong Folk to what we’re doing here.”

  “That makes it sound rather sinister,” Miriam said, watching a bauble bloom into a collection of hummingbirds. “Oh, this is lovely!”

  “I’m sure we’ll find some leads,” Alice said. “We’ll just have to be persistent.” She retrieved a boat from the sink, shaking off the last few water droplets while it shrank, then tucked it into a box and fetched another.

  “Well, we did find out about the whole black market in scales thing,” Mortimer said. “So that’s always good to know.”

  “It’s not exactly a black market,” Amelia protested. “It’s more of a, um, side market.”

  “Oh, well, that’s fine then. If it’s a side market.”

  She glared at him. “You’re just sore because you didn’t think of it yourself.”

  “I’m not! That’s so unfair. I taught you how to make everything, and you just—”

  “Oh, stop being so ridiculous! We’d never have enough scales if it wasn’t for me! We wouldn’t have enough baubles if it wasn’t for me!” Amelia had gone a dangerous puce colour, and Miriam moved a couple of boxes out of the way, just in case.

  Mortimer was still pointedly not looking at Amelia, but his colour wasn’t right, either. “Oh, really? You think I couldn’t do just as well on my own?”

  “Now, you two,” Beaufort said. “We’ve been over this more than enough.”

  “Beaufort, you know it’s not that simple,” Mortimer snapped. “We’ve already said that this side market could be connected to the missing postmen and the counterfeit baubles.”

  “Mortimer!” Miriam exclaimed. “You’re not accusing Amelia—”

  “No! No, Amelia, I’m not—” Mortimer flushed yellow, his front paws raised. “No, I really didn’t mean that!”

  But Amelia had gone very pale, blending into the stone flags as she stared at Mortimer with wide eyes.