CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I’m proposing,” said Oatcake, “that now that we’ve buffed ourselves up on cupcakes, we now all go out to the bar and drink a beer in the honor of the man who brought us here.”
“It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” said Threadwork.
“And a beer costs eight dollars,” said Wayne, who, nice suit or not, had a budget.
“This is my proposal,” repeated Oatcake, saying it in such a way that it sounded less like a proposal and more like a vague threat. This was how guild leadership worked.
I quickly sent a text to Charice, signaling that this was the time. It would take a moment for her to get in place, and so in the meantime I would need to stall a little bit.
“Before everyone runs off, I have something important I want to say.”
The eyes of the Horizons turned toward me, and it was not pleasant. Let’s face it, I was a stranger keeping them away from midmorning beer. It was especially intimidating because I didn’t have anything important to say. I was just bullshitting until Charice was ready.
I led off with flattery.
“I didn’t know Jonah as you did, but this whole trip has meant more to me than I can say. The immense kindnesses you’ve shown me over the past week—arranging Jonah’s funeral, sharing stories about him with me, and of course welcoming me as one of your own—has been an amazing experience.”
“Who is this person again?” I heard Oraova discreetly ask. I looked up to the balcony, and no, Charice was still not there.
“Thank you, Dahlia,” said Clemency, and with this the crowd began immediately to disperse.
“I’m sorry, just one more thing. Two more things.” Where the hell was Charice? “Jonah’s parents wanted me to quote a few lines in his honor.”
This worked. Everyone stood obediently. I just didn’t have any lines to quote. My head went blank. It was as if I was in the second-grade talent show all over again.
After an expectant stare, I quoted the first thing that popped into my head.
“‘This, Children, is the famed Mongoose. He has an appetite abstruse.’”
Heads nodded respectfully, if a little confused.
“‘Strange to relate, this creature takes a curious joy in eating snakes. All kinds, though, it must be confessed. He likes the poisonous ones the best.’”
More nods.
“‘From him we learn how very small a thing can bring about a Fall.’”
I was getting squints now, but they at least they were still.
“‘O Mongoose, where were you that day, when mistress Eve was led astray?’” I quoted, noting that, thank God, Charice was waving at me now from the balcony above.
“‘If you’d but seen the serpent first, our parents would not have been cursed. And so there would be no excuse for Milton, but for you, Mongoose.’”
There was a golf clap from Threadwork.
“It was one of Jonah’s favorite poems, or so I was told.”
“Who told you that?” asked Tambras.
I ignored this entirely reasonable question. “I do have one last bit of news about the spear.” And this piqued them. I paused for a moment, savoring the complete command I suddenly had over the Horizons. “I have been in contact with Left Field Games and they have verified that the spear… was taken by a gold farmer—in this case, Hungarian. It is presently posted at an off-site auction house. The current bid is nine hundred dollars—if you’re interested, I can give you information on how to bid. I’m sorry.”
Charice was taking pictures of the group from above as I scanned their faces for a reaction. Everyone should be shrugging their shoulders, given that this is exactly what everyone had expected. Everyone except for the thief, whom I hoped would have some sort of visual reaction to my stealing the spear for myself. And everyone was nonchalant. Mostly they seemed happy that I wasn’t quoting nonsense poetry.
Except for Tambras aka Ophelia the violist.
Charice had filmed the thing from above so I could study the faces more closely. But I didn’t need it.
I pulled Ophelia aside as the Horizons ambled down to the nearest bar, which was conveniently still in the convention center.
“You were expecting me to say something else, Ophelia?”
I wish I could include some witty repartee here, some amazing bit of deduction where I wheedled out of Ophelia that she had stolen the spear—while she, all the while, continued to weave a bewildering web of lies that my deductions slowly broke through. But none of this happened. She just socked me in the arm.
“You jackass,” she said.
I liked Ophelia. I really did. I didn’t quite understand why she was interested in Kurt, or why she had stolen the spear, and as it was socially acceptable to ask only the latter of these two questions, that was what I did.
“I was trying to smoke you out,” I told her.
Ophelia grimaced at me. “How did you know it was me?”
“You came to visit Saint Louis two weeks ago to visit Kurt. You went to go see the Saint Louis Opera Theater’s production of Peter Grimes. The spear went missing when you were in town.”
Ophelia just looked at me, impressed.
“Why did you come in secret?” I asked. “Jonah never knew that you were involved with Kurt.”
“It’s embarrassing,” said Ophelia. “Starting a romantic relationship with a guild mate who lives across the country. That was the first time I had ever actually met Kurt, so it could have been a disaster.”
“I see. You also lost this,” I told her, handing her the gem. “It was in Kurt’s… place.” I was not about to explain that I had found it in Kurt’s car.
“Oh, gods,” said Ophelia. “Kurt made this for me with a BeDazzler. I thought it was just good, clean, ironic fun, but he seems to think I should wear it. Keep the gem. Every gem that falls off of it is a gem closer to me throwing it away.”
“Oh, I don’t wear it most of the time. But I figure it’s a small thing that would make Kurt happy, and it’s not like people aren’t wearing tackier things here.”
“Forget the BeDazzler, Ophelia. Why did you steal the spear?”
“That’s pretty obvious, I should think. I stole it because Jonah was being a jerk to roll for it in the first place. It should never have gone to him. It was infuriating.”
“So Kurt logged you in to his account when you came out to visit?”
“Oh, Kurt had nothing to do with it. We just came by the apartment one day while Jonah was at work. Kurt was taking a shower, and Jonah had left himself logged in to the game. I wasn’t planning it. It was just one awful impulse. I wished I hadn’t done it almost immediately.”
“You did take the time to write that nasty note, though. ‘What comes around goes around.’”
Ophelia blinked at me.
“What?”
“‘What comes around goes around.’ It was a note that Jonah was sent immediately after the spear was stolen.”
“I didn’t send a note.”
“Someone sent a note,” I told her. I wasn’t exactly accusing her, but I was a little confused. It wouldn’t make any sense for her to cop to the theft and deny sending a note afterward. But if not Ophelia, then who?
“I don’t know,” said Ophelia. “Not my problem. Anyway, I probably would have eventually given it back to Jonah, but then he died, and there was all that nicety and free tickets from beyond the grave. Which I still kind of think is bullshit, somehow. But even so, what else could I do?”
There was a pause, and I had expected Ophelia to ask whether I was going to tell everyone that she had taken it. But she didn’t, and I could tell from her body language that she didn’t much care about the issue. She looked happy and relieved, glad to have gotten the story off her chest.
I chatted with her for a few minutes more and left her to return to the Horizons, where she could finish drinking with her friends. Even with all these folks around, I was drinking alone. I was at journey’s end. I had recovered the spear, found the culprit, and earned every bit of my money. So, why did I feel so sad about it—or so I felt the bartender should have asked me. There was no denying that there was something anticlimactic about Ophelia’s tossed-off confession. Although the truth was, I think I would have found anything dismaying, even if Ophelia had wrestled me to the ground all the while screaming, “I’m innocent, you wench! I’m innocent!”