~ 8 ~
Madam Petra and the Pinlegs
As the minutes ticked past, Max and David sat outside while the smee tried to bluff their way in to see the smuggler. The waiting was intolerable. Every so often, Max shifted uneasily in his chair and searched the many windows for any signs of activity within the huge yellow house. There were none—only the mocking reflections of the gray lake and the sun rising behind them.
“How long has he been in there?” Max muttered to David, mindful that they were undoubtedly being watched. It seemed ages since Toby had gone inside.
“Thirty minutes,” David whispered, sipping his wine. “Try to relax—Toby’s a professional.”
“In ten minutes, I’m going in.”
“You’ll spoil all our plans.”
“I’m not going to sit by while—”
Max broke off as the back door opened and several gardeners filed out. He craned his neck for a glimpse of Toby and exhaled as the smee emerged, a noticeable bounce to his step as he walked to the wagon with Dmitri and a pair of workers. After instructing them on which cargo to unload, Toby called out to his companions.
“Skeedle. Hrunta. Come. The Great Piter Lady has agreed to hear us.”
Although the secretary was smiling, the man’s eyes were spiteful. Max guessed that he either opposed his lady’s decision or had hoped to wring further bribes before their interview. He did not return their hasty bows as they stepped across the threshold and entered the smuggler’s house.
They followed the man through several exquisite rooms. Nightingales chirped from within gilded cages and flowers abounded: purple orchids, stargazer lilies, brilliant red tulips, and others so exotic and lush that they suggested an underlying magic or technology at work. After weeks of travel in the gray and wintry wild, the house’s color and warmth were almost disorienting.
They found the daughter back at work on her still life, loading her brush with paint as she studied the arrangement.
Dmitri cleared his throat. “Katarina, your mother would like you to sit in on the meeting.”
“I’m busy.”
“She insists,” said Dmitri, beckoning.
“Isn’t that your job?”
A vein throbbed in the man’s temple. “Your mother no doubt intends that you should someday replace me,” he said with a tight smile. “For the young lady to do so, she must learn the family business.”
“Very well,” the girl sighed, wiping her brush on a rag and plunking it into a jar of turpentine. Glaring at the goblins, she swept past them and ran up a grand staircase.
“My lady indulges her daughter,” remarked the secretary stiffly, leading them up the stairs where they passed yet more paintings and sculpture and palms in copper planters. As they climbed to the third floor, Max heard music playing, a tinny warbling like an old jazz recording. Reaching the third-floor landing, Dmitri led them down a long hallway that terminated at a conspicuously stout door. It was barely ajar, just enough to let the music and Katarina’s voice escape into the hall.
“Have their heads and be done!” the girl hissed. “I want to finish my painting.”
“I’ll not ask again,” replied a woman’s voice, gentle but unyielding.
A stamp of a foot and then silence.
Dmitri knocked delicately. “The goblins are here, Madam Petra,” he announced. “May I show them in?”
“Do.”
Max and David trailed after Toby into a paneled office whose far wall was lined with enormous windows that provided a panoramic view of the misty lake. Huge artworks dominated the other walls, abstract spatters of luminescent paint on black or red canvases. To the left was a long conference table, to the right a comfortable sitting area where Katarina was pouting by a colossal fireplace. Straight ahead was a small desk. Behind it stood the smuggler.
Madam Petra was the most striking woman Max had ever seen. She was younger than he’d imagined— midthirties, with porcelain-white skin and long auburn hair that fell in a braid to her waist. Her understated dress was in marked contrast to her ostentatious house: a simple black jacket, gray tweed pants, and black riding boots. She wore only one piece of jewelry, a diamond choker whose central stone must have been worth half of Piter’s Folly. Offering a polite smile, she gestured to three chairs across her desk before returning her attention to several documents. When Max and the others were seated, Dmitri pulled up a fourth.
“We will not be needing you, Dmitri,” said Madam Petra offhandedly, jotting something on the top paper. “Katarina will sit in for today.”
“My lady,” said the secretary, holding up his hands. “It is merely goblins—no doubt it would be better for Katarina to sit in with the Baron of Marrovia. That would be more educat—”
The smuggler glanced sharply up from her papers with eyes that flashed like emeralds. The man fell silent at once. When Madam Petra spoke, her voice was dangerously soft.
“As you say, we have several Broadbrims with us this morning. I value their clan greatly and am anxious to hear their proposal. And we must disagree; I think Katarina has much to learn from this meeting. For example, she has already seen you break a cardinal rule of our profession and compromise another client’s identity. Did you intend to impart such a clumsy lesson, Dmitri?”
The man turned ashen. It was clear that he craved Madam Petra’s approval on many levels.
“I—I apologize,” he stammered. “With your permission, I’ll take my leave.”
“Very good,” said Petra coolly. “Please tell the chefs that I’d like supper to be ready by eight—and no more fatty meats in pastries or boiling everything to shoe leather. Delicacy. Elegance. Subtlety. I know they object to Nestor, but ask him to lend a hand. I think he trained as a saucier.…”
Once the chastened secretary closed the door, Madam Petra turned to her daughter. “Katarina, come and sit by me.”
“I’m fine over here. Goblins stink.”
“I imagine they say the same of you. Come over here—I want your help.”
At this, Katarina dragged herself up from the chaise and came to sit on her mother’s lap. She was too old for such things—eleven or twelve—but the girl seemed an unusual combination of old and young, absent and present.
“How am I supposed to help?” she asked, blankly surrendering her cheek for a kiss.
“Well,” said Madam Petra, “we have a problem. And I know you like to solve problems.”
The girl nodded. Max glanced uneasily at David and Toby, but the two kept their attention on their hostess.
“Here’s our dilemma,” continued Madam Petra. “The kingdom is at war and Aamon’s armies are rampaging across the land. And here comes an unguarded, solitary goblin wagon braving the Ravenswood Spur with a pittance of goods and asking for a private audience. Mind you, the Broadbrims haven’t even sent anyone senior to conduct the business—just a junior trader and two others I’ve never met before. Now, they must have known I’d have their heads for such appalling insolence and yet … here they are. Why haven’t I taken their heads, sweet daughter?”
The girl frowned and stared at the three visitors. “They’re either crazy or something’s off,” she murmured. “Maybe they’re acting without their leader’s approval. Perhaps they’ve secretly brought something that we would find valuable—something they didn’t want Dmitri to know about. Of course, they might not be goblins at all; perhaps they’re imposters.”
“Hmm,” said Petra, considering her daughter’s analysis. “Each suggestion seems plausible. Be a dear and flip the record for us while we talk. While you’re at it, you might retrieve that marvelous little thing I showed you the other day.”
“I don’t want to touch that. It frightens me.”
