The Orphan and the Thief

Chapter 2: Edward P. Owl

Toad's captor manhandled him to the door at the end of the library, knife edge biting into his throat. In seconds, the door had been kicked open and Toad found himself in a circular room with a small table in the center. The talk ceased immediately as four heads swiveled in Toad's direction. One dark figure took up nearly half the room with his girth; he made Bone seem wimpish in comparison. Another was tall and stringy with the pallor of a weed devoid of sunlight. The third sat hunched in a low, leather armchair, his round face flushed pink. It was the fourth, however, that stole all of Toad's attention: slim, composed, with short, black hair smoothed into elegant waves, Mr. Edward P. Owl sat with a slightly raised eyebrow, eyes as slate gray as the Banks River.

Toad pinched his eyes shut — this can't be happening; this cannot be happening.

"Cutter, what is this?" asked Owl.

"Caught this whelp in the library," said the man, giving Toad a rough shake. Toad inhaled sharply as the knife's blade cut skin. "Thought he'd help himself to the Emerald Dragon, sir."

Owl stared at Toad and Toad suddenly didn't care if his throat got sliced if he tried to jerk free: he wanted to run and never stop.

"Shall I deal with him, sir?" Cutter asked, eager and breathy against Toad's cheek.

"In a moment," said Owl and his voice was as glacial as his eyes. "Mr. Barrow was here first." He redirected his gaze to the hunch-backed man with the round, pink face, the only other one sitting. "This is quite the unfortunate turn, Mr. Barrow. You tell me your expert got himself bludgeoned to death by an ogre?"

Pink-faced Barrow was sweating profusely. With a trembling hand, he wiped his top lip clear, his bald plate agleam in the gaslight. "Y-yes, sir. It's wild, the west country. But rest assured, sir. I can find you another."

"Another expert? This time, perhaps, you can find one who does not run afoul of ogres? Or maybe one who doesn't get so drunk that all his goods, including the clothes on his back, are robbed by bandits, like the one before that? In short, do you have any experts for me, Mr. Barrow, who are not fumbling morons?"

Owl's voice never rose in volume. It remained as composed as ever, but the room seemed to grow more frigid.

Barrow's trembling increased visibly. "I made a mistake in recruiting Morris. I see that now. B-b-but if you give me a week—"

"I think not, Mr. Barrow," said Owl, slicing off Barrow's words. "I've grown tired of your ineptitude. Fletch."

The pale, wiry man moved close to Barrow's chair. Barrow gave him a nervous twitch of a glance.

"There is a Hickory Guard stationed outside," Owl said to Barrow. "I wonder if you will go to him for sanctuary, even with the obvious threat of a jail sentence for a smuggler such as yourself."

At these words, Barrow's face drained of color. "Mr. Owl — I'd never — never — You can trust me, sir! Please, sir — I can get you another expert — a better one!"

Owl ignored him. He pulled out a pocket watch. "I will give you a minute head start before I send Fletch after you." He eyed Barrow expectantly across the table. "Get going."

Barrow shot another terrified glance up at Fletch, who leered down at him, flexing his abnormally long fingers, before leaping to his feet and darting from the room without another word. Toad could hear his shoes squeaking and slipping on the polished wood floor in his haste.

"Fletch," said Owl, a tinge of warning in his cool voice, "you know what I expect. No body."

Fletch nodded, grinning in a fashion that made Toad's skin crawl, before slipping from the room after Barrow. Owl pushed his chair back and rose. He strode past Toad and Cutter without a glance, entering the dark library. Toad, already trembling with panic, wondered if this was Owl's silent code to 'handle him', for the arm clamped across Toad's chest tightened and the knife's edge cut so deep he felt a trickle of blood slide down his throat. But a moment later Owl returned, now holding the emerald statue that Toad had spied. He did not return to his seat but settled against the table's edge. At once, Toad was thrust into the vacant armchair, still warm from Barrow.