Wenceslas.
‘Well, Mr Wincheap . . .’ began Citrine.
‘Wenceslas, please,’ insisted the Caveat’s owner.
‘Well, Wenceslas, I wondered if you had some chemicals for my Klepteffigium so I can finish the Depictions.’
‘Indeedy, I can certainly provide that,’ said Wenceslas, and went and returned in a matter of moments with two blue, ridged-glass, cork-stoppered bottles, which he handed over.
‘Anything else?’
I don’t suppose you can shed any light on what Governor d’Avidus and Leopold Kamptulicon are up to?’ asked Jonah, not sounding too hopeful.
Wenceslas sat and steepled his fingers and drummed out a little rhythm, the chubby tips undulating quickly, rather as a caterpillar moves. ‘I know that Leucer d’Avidus, for all his
pretence at being a man for the people, is a sly fellow not to be trusted. He has ’em fooled if they think he has their interests at heart. But I ain’t fooled. You don’t have to
go far back to see that the d’Avidus family are a bunch of troublemakers. Used to be in cahoots with Lord and Lady Degringolade, and we all know what an odd end they came to, a very odd end!
Holed up in that big old manor, never seen or heard of again. I never thought I’d see the day a d’Avidus would be elected to run the city. I cannot say how he got elected, though it
helps when you have the money he has. Money buys votes.’
‘We know that Leopold Kamptulicon—’
‘The “lamp seller”,’ scoffed Wenceslas.
‘. . . and my cousin, Edgar, are colluding.’
‘Colluding? Call it what it is, lass – hatching trouble. From what I know, it looks as if their plan, whatever it was, has been held up by all the ruckus at the Tar Pit.’
‘I thought Kamptulicon just wanted a Lurid,’ said Jonah, wiping crumbs from his mouth. He had devoured three cakes with gusto. Dipped in tea, they softened to a wonderful sweet
mush.
Wenceslas looked thoughtful. ‘Suma reckons that was a test, to see if it was even possible to embody a Lurid. Leucer has taken advantage of the fact that the citizens think your friend
Folly is responsible for all the trouble at the pit. Ever’one saw that sulfrus smoke pouring out of her. All Leucer has to do to throw them off his scent is to keep up this witch hunt against
you lot. It’s no coincidence they’ve named you the Phenomenals, after the worst Superents around. It’s scared the people and stirred up their superstitious nature like a porridge
spurtle. You’ve seen how ever’one still carries a Brinepurse even though the Ritual is past. And they wear their browpins and talismans and all sorts of whatnots.’
‘We’ve seen the tokens on the Kronometer,’ added Citrine.
‘Strange things ahead, according to my cards. The quake really shook this city up. The lighthouse is on the verge of collapse. In my ’pinion, it’s just another sign that
something’s afoot in the world of the Supermundane.’
‘Did you suffer much damage?’
The big man shook his head. ‘Oh, lost a few bits and bobs. It’s the other stuff you should be worried about. The Kronometer and the prophecy. If you were a black-bean merchant right
now, you’d make a fortune.’ Wenceslas paused a moment, as if considering a change of career. ‘If our governor can persuade the people that he is helping them through this
dangerous time, then he has them in the palm of his hand for whatever he wants to do in the future.’
‘Which is what?’ asked Jonah.
Wenceslas shrugged. ‘Whatever it is, it will help that he has Chief Constable Fessup and the DUG in his pocket.’
Citrine spoke up, unusually gloomily for her. ‘I know what’s in my future. I’m still wanted for Florian’s murder. If I can’t prove my innocence, I’m for the
noose.’
Wenceslas made a clicking noise with his tongue. ‘There’s no denying you’re between a rock and a hard place. Who do you think killed him?’
Citrine found herself unable to speak. ‘We think it was Edgar,’ said
‘Well, Mr Wincheap . . .’ began Citrine.
‘Wenceslas, please,’ insisted the Caveat’s owner.
‘Well, Wenceslas, I wondered if you had some chemicals for my Klepteffigium so I can finish the Depictions.’
‘Indeedy, I can certainly provide that,’ said Wenceslas, and went and returned in a matter of moments with two blue, ridged-glass, cork-stoppered bottles, which he handed over.
‘Anything else?’
I don’t suppose you can shed any light on what Governor d’Avidus and Leopold Kamptulicon are up to?’ asked Jonah, not sounding too hopeful.
Wenceslas sat and steepled his fingers and drummed out a little rhythm, the chubby tips undulating quickly, rather as a caterpillar moves. ‘I know that Leucer d’Avidus, for all his
pretence at being a man for the people, is a sly fellow not to be trusted. He has ’em fooled if they think he has their interests at heart. But I ain’t fooled. You don’t have to
go far back to see that the d’Avidus family are a bunch of troublemakers. Used to be in cahoots with Lord and Lady Degringolade, and we all know what an odd end they came to, a very odd end!
Holed up in that big old manor, never seen or heard of again. I never thought I’d see the day a d’Avidus would be elected to run the city. I cannot say how he got elected, though it
helps when you have the money he has. Money buys votes.’
‘We know that Leopold Kamptulicon—’
‘The “lamp seller”,’ scoffed Wenceslas.
‘. . . and my cousin, Edgar, are colluding.’
‘Colluding? Call it what it is, lass – hatching trouble. From what I know, it looks as if their plan, whatever it was, has been held up by all the ruckus at the Tar Pit.’
‘I thought Kamptulicon just wanted a Lurid,’ said Jonah, wiping crumbs from his mouth. He had devoured three cakes with gusto. Dipped in tea, they softened to a wonderful sweet
mush.
Wenceslas looked thoughtful. ‘Suma reckons that was a test, to see if it was even possible to embody a Lurid. Leucer has taken advantage of the fact that the citizens think your friend
Folly is responsible for all the trouble at the pit. Ever’one saw that sulfrus smoke pouring out of her. All Leucer has to do to throw them off his scent is to keep up this witch hunt against
you lot. It’s no coincidence they’ve named you the Phenomenals, after the worst Superents around. It’s scared the people and stirred up their superstitious nature like a porridge
spurtle. You’ve seen how ever’one still carries a Brinepurse even though the Ritual is past. And they wear their browpins and talismans and all sorts of whatnots.’
‘We’ve seen the tokens on the Kronometer,’ added Citrine.
‘Strange things ahead, according to my cards. The quake really shook this city up. The lighthouse is on the verge of collapse. In my ’pinion, it’s just another sign that
something’s afoot in the world of the Supermundane.’
‘Did you suffer much damage?’
The big man shook his head. ‘Oh, lost a few bits and bobs. It’s the other stuff you should be worried about. The Kronometer and the prophecy. If you were a black-bean merchant right
now, you’d make a fortune.’ Wenceslas paused a moment, as if considering a change of career. ‘If our governor can persuade the people that he is helping them through this
dangerous time, then he has them in the palm of his hand for whatever he wants to do in the future.’
‘Which is what?’ asked Jonah.
Wenceslas shrugged. ‘Whatever it is, it will help that he has Chief Constable Fessup and the DUG in his pocket.’
Citrine spoke up, unusually gloomily for her. ‘I know what’s in my future. I’m still wanted for Florian’s murder. If I can’t prove my innocence, I’m for the
noose.’
Wenceslas made a clicking noise with his tongue. ‘There’s no denying you’re between a rock and a hard place. Who do you think killed him?’
Citrine found herself unable to speak. ‘We think it was Edgar,’ said
Similar Books
