The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill (35 page)

“Elgart! All the boxes from the parade. Where
are they?” Tamik said, now as breathless as her friends.

“Just yonder in the vault ‘round the bend
there. Why? You plannin’ another one, there, Tamik? That last one
was…well, it was the best thing I’d seen since that time…”

They didn’t hear him. Even as he followed
them around the corner to the heaping piles and piles of boxes,
they heard not a word he said. They were too busy digging through
them. He didn’t seem to mind.

“….oh yeah, that was unforgettable, that was.
Course I was only twelve, then. A young pup but oh what a time it
was…I remember…”

“Elgart.” Root said at last. “We need
help.”

“Uh? Oh. Sure, sure. What can I do for ya,
kidlets?”

“Well, you’ve got Animata, right?”

“Indeed, if those ain’t thirteen animated
mops, I’ll just eat my dustpan. No offense, Barnicle.” He laughed
and patted his dustpan.

“We’re looking for something very, very,
very
important. D’ya think you could animate some of your
equipment down here, to y’know help us find it?”

“Well, sure I can. I’ve got my grippers and
some pails. Pails might be good for diggin’ some a that out. And
those garden sifters might come in handy. Any preference?”

The kids were still rummaging madly through
the boxes. “Use ‘em all!” Dwyn called from inside one.

“All of ‘em? I dunno. That seems a bit
excessive, there Dwyn. What might y’be lookin’ for that needs such
a fuss, eh?”

“Oh, nothing. Only the last HaloEm
Quill.”

It was quite a sight, even to Elgart, who’d
once been the Animate Foreman of eighty-six separate yard rake
crews. The entire vault was blitzed into a whirling dervish of
brooming, pailing, gripping, sifting, digging action.

Watching the kindness with which Elgart
related to his animated charges touched Root. To someone else they
would be lifeless means to a utilitarian end. But not Elgart. He
collected his equipment like one collects cute little fluffy
bunnies, giving them names and affectonate pats. The way rakes and
brushes followed him around, you’d think he was ‘Grandpa ‘Gart,
Custodian Extraordinaire.’ Which, of course he was. Everyone knew
the castle would fall to pieces without him.

Hours later, many, many it seemed, as it
painstakingly sifted through the very last box, and while the
fingers and toes of those watching crossed in anticipation,
Elgart’s gripper came up empty handed.

The crew, the live one that is, fell into
heaps, exhausted and utterly frustrated.

“I don’t get it. Where else could it be? I
know it wasn’t used on any of the floats!” Tamik racked her
brains.

“What about a costume or a headpiece or
something?” Root asked.

“No way, I totally would have noticed.”

“Well, obviously somehow we missed it. We’ll
just have to go through it all again.” Dwyn stood, way too
energetic for his mates.

They dragged themselves up and began another
ridiculously long excavation of boxes. Elgart’s crew was definitely
a big help, but still it was discouraging. It was only the vivid
memory of Martika’s beautiful HaloEm Quill that made it
bearable.

“Why d’y think she gave it to us? I mean,
it’s a HaloEm Quill.” Root asked.

“Probably ‘cause she and Alabiss were already
dead and didn’t really need one.” Lian said “They had the power of
the whole underworld working for them.”

They dug awhile longer when a thought dawned
on Root “Elgart, was anyone else down here? I mean, any other
team?”

“Not that I know of…uh oh…” His eyes looked
like they were going to pop out into one of his waiting pails.

Everyone stopped. Even the non-breathing
crew.

“Uh oh what, Elgart?” Root said slowly.

“Well, there was them Skullks.”

“What?”

“The ones what did that play, that dinner
theatre. The night before you kids were all supposed to go. Course
that was before that terrible Dead Treader incident and that boy,
Krism was off and sent to…”

“The Skullks, Elgart! What about them?!”

“Right. Well, as a special thank you for
helpin’ out that night, Master Gub let ‘em go through these here
boxes for props ‘n set pieces ‘n costumes, stuff for their theatre
company, I guess.”

The Director of the Lord Sclerous Players had
a foul skullache. His Silken Oxback actor had grown particularly
indulgent on stage these past weeks and had riled the entire cast
against him. As director, if he could, he would most certainly have
fired the actor’s oxen butt out of there ages ago but as it was he
could find no understudy.

“No, no stop!” the director yelled. Again.
“The line is ‘Doth thou thinkest me so gullible?’ not ‘Doth thou
thinkest me so gulli-
bull
.” If he had hair he would be
tearing it out right now.

“Yes, but you see it’s a clever play on
words. Bull and Ox. Highly amusing.” The Silken Oxback said.
Again.

“He is about to commit murder. I don’t think
the audience would find his word play amusing while he pierces a
dagger through her heart.”

“But it’s comedic relief. Just before
the…”

“We are not doing a comedy. We are presenting
one of the greatest tragedies of our age.”

The double doors of the Lord Sclerous Players
Theatre burst open revealing four heavily breathing, wild eyed
kids.

“We are closed to the public if you don’t
mind.”

“Are you the director?” Root was puffing.

“I am.”

“We…we need a …word with you.”

The director put a phalanx to his temporal
bone. “Alright, cast. Take a break.”

He grabbed a pack of something and approached
his visitors. “Do you mind if we talk outside?” He held up the
pack. It read
Puffly’s Best
. “Bad habit but what can I say?”
He led them outside and pulled a fat round stump from the pack. He
lit the end and took a great puff. “So, how can I help you?”

They tried not to stare at the smoke that was
now coming out of every hole in his skeletal head. The empty eye
sockets were particularly unnerving. He didn’t even seem to notice
as he inhaled a second time. “Well?”

“Mr…” Root began.

“Mathelopolick. Sir Mathelopolick.”

“Mathel..”

“Lopolick. The emphasis is in the ‘lop’.
Lopolick.”

“Lopolick.”

“Yes?” Another puff. More smoke rising from
the earholes.

“Well, sir. We were told that you were given
permission to take some items from the House of Gub.”

“Ah, yes. Master Gub’s generosity allowed us
to collect much in the way of props, costumes and unique set
pieces. Many of which we are using in our current production ‘The
Return of the Silken Oxback’. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

“Actually, no Sir Mathe...lopy..I mean, sir.
I’ve uh…well, I’m new.”

“I see.” Mathelopolick’s last puff even
filtered out the ribs. “I’m sorry I’m not quite sure I understand
why you’re all…”

“Some of that stuff wasn’t Master Gub’s to
give.” Tamik blurted. “And we need it back.”

“Oh. Well, I’m afraid I can’t do that. We are
using the items, if not now, then in successional productions. I am
sorry that you were misled but Master Gub made no exceptions to his
generous donation. Now, if you will excuse me.”

Tamik burst into tears. She was a very
natural actress. And this was not her first soliloquy. “Oh grandma,
grandma! I’m so sorry! Forgive me! Forgive me!” She fell to her
knees. Root, Lian and Dwyn blinked. They had been as surprised as
Mathelopolick, who jumped back in horror.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s uh…” Root stammered.

“You took my grandmother’s antique writing
Quill. It’s all I had to remember her by and now…now it’s gone!”
Tamik howled in dramatic agony.

“What? What is she prattling about? That
shiny feather with the silver middle? Gauche thing, it is.”

“Uh…”

“ My grandmother made it with her very own
hands, the same ones that raised me single handedly when my parents
left me to the jungle howlers!” Real live tears burst from Tamik’s
eyes. It was very impressive.

“This is preposterous. I am sorry about your
grandmother but it has nothing to do with…”

Another burst of tears. This time, not
female.

Even Tamik was shocked as Dwyn threw his fist
into the air. “Curse you! Curse you dark night! My beloved’s heart
breaks and now I shall be left alone!” He’d done his own fair share
of acting back home, even getting an ‘A’ in drama.

“Alone? Why ever for?” The director was
drawing into the drama.

“Because without her grandmother’s writing
Quill, we can’t….sign the…marriage…vows.”

“Marriage vows?” Everyone said.

“It’s uh.…an Ekladian thing.” Dwyn quickly
added.

“Oh my! You’re Ekladian?” The director perked
up. They thought they had him but oh, did the tables turn. “Then
that Quill must be worth thousands!”

When four people panic at the same time, it
can be very chaotic. Which it was. Not to mention ineffective. The
director was about to give them the cold scapula…but as luck would
have it…

“Sir Mathelopolick!” They all turned to see a
very short skeleton in a cropped wig walking toward them. “I’m
afraid we’ve all discussed the matter and have come to the
conclusion that unless Rexford is released from the role of Silken
Oxback, we shall not continue in our services.”

“What? You can’t do this to me!”

“I’m afraid we have no choice. He simply
cannot be tolerated. Why, just now he stole the fur from Aliston’s
costume and added it to his own. And when he was confronted, he
said the lead must have the better appearance.”

“But even with an extra strip of fur, he’s
practically in a paper bag, Edwonk!”

“Yes, well, that’s all there is for it, sir.
We stand united in this.”

“But you’ll ruin me. We could lose every last
dime in advanced tickets alone for this!”

“There haven’t been any sold, sir.”

“Yet!”

No answer.

“Look, Edwonk. I know he’s difficult but
believe me when I say, if I had an understudy I would this very
instant…”

“Done. I accept your offer, Sir Mathelwicky.”
Dwyn stepped forward.

“What? This is preposterous. You’re what,
fifteen and you think you can be Thurston Silken Oxback, the most
ferocious beast in the…holy mother of Butnick eating a log!”

Dwyn was rather pleased with his Molding.
He’d made extra efforts on the horns and a bullring, of course.
“Here’s the deal, Mackawonka.” He said with a mighty Silken Oxback
voice. “I do the role and you give my darling dearest the
Quill.”

“But that Quill is worth…”

“Trust me.” Root stopped him. “With Dwyn
Puffler in the role, you will make more than enough money! Every
girl in DréAmm will see to that.”

The door swung open. A tall skeleton in a
paper bag with a length of fur attached approached. “Sir, I was
thinking that scene three could use a bit of a trim. Perhaps
Isadora’s role could be eliminated. That would allow me a bigger
moment for…”

“Done!” The director shook Dwyn’s hoof.

The Guardian of DréAmm, Studaben Picklepug
was late. And he was cranky. “For the love of salt, what is going
on out there?” he demanded to his Secretary, Slim Pulpit. “There’s
a line up all the way down the main corridor.”

“Seems there’s to be a theatrical production
of some sort and one of our own is starring in it.” Slim Pulpit
said.

“A theatrical production? Well, see about
getting me two tickets. Can’t pass up a public appearance now can
we.”

“No siree, sir.” Slim Pulpit stubbed out his
cigar. “You have one Miss Ginovane Borealis to see this
morning.”

“Ginovane Borealis. Who on earth…?”

“Quest guide. Formal complaint.”

“Oh her. The one with the eyes that are too
far apart. Gives me the willies, that one. Any chance of
rescheduling?”

“’Fraid not, sir. She’s right behind
you.”

Picklepug turned around to face the scowl of
Ginovane Borealis.

Slim Pulpit slipped away into some filing
matters. He had become very good at slipping away into filing
matters.

“Ginovane! How wonderful to see you!” The
Guardian smiled with gritted teeth.

“Remind me to file another complaint when
we’re done, Mr. Guardian.” Ginovane spewed. “One about your
manners!”

Picklepug swallowed. “Forgive me, Madam
Borealis. I have had a most difficult bout with illness. This is
not a reflection of my usual interactions and I assure you that I
am not only sorry but, as I look upon such an exquisite
countenance, I am also mistaken.”

“Wow. He’s good.” Root said with a strained
expression.

“What? Who?” Lian asked.

They were sitting at a table. Hundreds of
people were lined up in front of them. Down the corridor Tamik had
her loudspeaker shell, advertising the Skullk show and shepherding
the crowd at the same time.

“Sh!” Root said. “I’m eavesdropping on the
Guardian with my Quatra.”

“On who?” Lian asked, then turned to a ticket
purchaser. “Hello. For how many?”

“The Guardian.” Root whispered.

“What? Is that allowed?”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Well, I don’t think you should be. You could
get us in a lot of trouble, Root.”

“It’s that team guide. The one I overheard in
Vulcherk’s Cooking Court. She’s filing a formal complaint about the
team member who went to the Zero-th Floor. This could be our
proof.”

“Hello, for how many?” Lian asked the next in
line then, intrigued, turned back to Root. “What’s she saying?”

“Well, if you’d stop talking to me, I could
concentrate and tell you.” Root skewed her eyes and turned slightly
away. “She’s telling him everything…even the Dark Arts part.”

“Names! Is she mentioning names?” Lian
pressed.