Page 28

“Will is always late.” Dan smirked. Particularly for a.m. meetings. The porter was not known for being a morning person.

“Will always arrives exactly on time by the only standard that matters,” said the man himself. Will was standing right behind Dan. “Which means that nothing interesting happens until I’m present.” He dropped into a chair beside Dan and helped himself to a sip of Arthur’s coffee. Then he made a face. “Yuck! You must hate yourself to drink that sludge straight.”

Maida Westabrook appeared from the direction of the kitchen. “I’m glad I found you here this morning, Dan. Granny Luna just finished baking these. Said they were your favorite. Still warm from the oven.” She carried a plate of freshly baked strawberry scones accompanied by small bowls of jam, honey and clotted cream. She set the plate down and put her hand on Dan’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry about the tavern, Dan. Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out. I’m so glad nobody was hurt.”

“Thank you, Maida,” Dan said politely, but what he was really thinking was that there was no “we.” This was his problem to solve, and his alone. Much as his friends meant well, the tavern was ultimately his responsibility.

“Which reminds me,” Arthur tapped the notepad, “Maida and I want to chat about the rent situation. You’re all good for the time being. Let’s talk again in say… six months?”

This was preposterous. Dan’s rent wasn’t due till next week, but he had every intention of paying it. It would be tight, but he’d scrape it together. He opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur cut him off.

“I already know what you’re going to say,” Arthur said. “You’re going to tell me you don’t need charity. So, I’m going to save us both some time and tell you that what we’re proposing isn’t charity. It’s a collaboration.” He turned the legal pad around so Dan could see what he’d written there. “We’ve been spitballing setting up an artist-in-residence program for the Mudpuddle for a while now. The resident would get the room in exchange for a contribution to the cultural life of Primrose Court. A series of talks, a workshop, something of that nature.” Arthur folded his hands and looked up at Maida, who continued.

“Exactly!” She leaned against Arthur’s shoulder. He reached up to squeeze her hand. “You would be our inaugural resident. Which means you would also be the person who helps us work out how the program would be structured. Like a consultant.”

Dan took the legal pad from Arthur and leafed back a few pages. There were several pages of notes, written with different ink, in different sessions over time. He saw that there were ideas for the program’s name, proposed timelines and duties, and even a list of possible candidates. It looked like it was something they’d been discussing for a while.

“This idea existed before the fire?” Dan asked.

“Yes. The concept existed,” Arthur said. “But I won’t lie. The timing is what it is. We hadn’t finished fleshing it all out. Hence the ‘collaboration’ part. We’d love your help figuring it all out.”

“I have to get back to the counter.” Maida glanced over her shoulder at the line that was forming. “But think about it, Dan. We’d be honored to have you.”

“I am honored to have these scones!” Will exclaimed, stuffing his mouth. “Granny Luna’s been holding out on us. Have you tried these?” He pulled the plate closer to himself.

“One workshop,” Dan said, after Maida walked away.

“Two,” Arthur said. “And a talk at the Mabon gathering.”

“One workshop and we can run a trivia night here with a Q&A after,” Dan said. He thought he could swing that. He might use it as a dry run for the Samhain event at The Wildernest. His stomach dropped at the thought of what his tavern looked like now. A smoking shell. Samhain was only three months away!

“Done.” Arthur made a note on the legal pad. He held out his hand to shake Dan’s. “Welcome to the Mudpuddle Artist-in-Residence Program.”

Will handed Dan a scone, and then reached into his pocket and withdrew a small parcel and a slip of paper. He handed the parcel to Arthur.

“Amrita sent this for you,” Will said. “And she wanted me to ask you to sign for it.” He held out the slip of paper. “The director’s been acting a little weird. First, she postpones our mission, and now she’s sending me on her errands and making me bring back receipts.” He pouted. “It’s like she doesn’t fully trust me anymore.”

“I’m sure that’s not it, Will.” A brief silence settled over the table as Arthur signed the receipt and handed it back to the porter.

“So.” Dan looked over at Will. “About this super-secret mission. Where to? Ancient Alexandria?”

Will’s expression did not change in any way that could be acknowledged as either confirmation or denial.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

“The questions you asked me the other day? Ptolemaic library architecture. Preservation methods for ancient papyrus. Navigational routes of the first century Mediterranean. How to avoid malaria and heatstroke?” Dan rolled his eyes. He took a bite of the scone. It was delicious. Buttery biscuit goodness and a burst of strawberries warmed him from the inside out. “At the very least, I think it’s safe to assume you’re going somewhere warm.”

“Eventually,” Will said, deadpan.

“Will…” Dan tipped his head and looked down his nose at Will. “Don’t you want to ask me any other questions about the library? I don’t mean to brag but I’m kind of an expert on this sort of stuff.”

“I cannot divulge any specific details about this upcoming mission.” Will shrugged. “But what I can say is that your knowledge of ancient library cataloguing systems, the Pinakes specifically, is both impressive and consistent with someone whose ancestry includes a creature that has been plaguing people with riddles since long before the common era.”

“Aha!” Dan exclaimed, certain his guess had been on the nose. Why else would Will Porter have any interest in the great bibliographic catalogue of the Library of Alexandria? “It sounds like an exciting mission, wherever and whenever you’re going. I almost wish I could come along!” Dan said.

“Heavens, no!” Will exclaimed. He looked horrified. “I’ve got my hands and my airship full enough already.”

Just then Granny Luna bustled in with a basket full of baked goods that was almost as big as she was. It was covered with a cloth and smelled of cardamom and spices.