Chapter 3, Part v

 After a very long day of travel, Trisha had decided to stop and sleep at one of those roadside inns. The gypsy caravan she had been traveling with had to stop anyway, so she figured that if she had to sleep, she would rather sleep in her own room than with a bunch of gypsy types. They were friendly and loved to share, but they also assumed that you loved to share as well, and that you loved to share your money and possessions without them having to ask you to share. She was sure she could handle any trouble that they gave her – she had broken more than a few noses in her day – but even so, she wanted a real bed before hitting the road again.

And so she had rented a room above the restaurant area (they served absolutely delicious food, for an inn,) and had slept remarkably well. The morning light was streaming in through the grimy window, so she stretched and swung her feet off the bed. She was incredibly grateful for thick socks on these cold mornings.

Trisha heaved herself up to a standing position and made her way to the window, where she could see the gypsy caravan still mostly asleep, with a few members feeding the horses and oxen. She didn't like oxen. They were big and slow and smelly, just like most of the men who were dining last night downstairs. Thankfully the restaurant-keeper had given her a table right by the bar itself, just so he could keep her safe from the shifty-looking creeps that were also staying the night. That man was perhaps one of the few trustworthy men that Trisha had ever met outside Dunberg.

I hate smelly people, she grumbled, and opened the chest they had given her (“'Cuz a lady needs a place to keep her things,” the slimy innkeeper had said, and handed her a key with a toothless grin. She tried not to punch him.) She ruffled through her various things, looking for her the heavy traveling cloak that Aunt Nancy had given her for her last birthday. Under the gray cloak was the bag that Hector had given her in the library, to be taken to New Poliston's Central Library. Just to be safe, she opened the bag and counted the books.

Let's see... Anthropology of New Hume Cultures, check. Treatise on Precolonial Native Societies, check. Derrick Geribald's Tovish-Humish Dictionary, check. Herbology and Natural Cures, check. Man, I'm sure glad the gypsies didn't know I had that one on me, or I never would have had any alone time. So we've gone one, two, three, four... Wait, hold on. One, two, three, four... where's the fifth one?

Trisha counted again, but the fifth book was not in the bag. With increasing worry she pushed aside her various packs and articles of clothing, and finally resorted to throwing everything out onto the floor, but to no avail: that last book wasn't hidden in the clothing.

Her thoughts flew back to last night's events. I got off the gypsy wagon, and I was one hundred percent sure I had everything I left Dunberg with. Then I went into the inn, checked out a room, and decided to eat before going upstairs. I didn't leave anything anywhere. I went to the restaurant, ordered my food, the boss told me where I could sit, and I sat at that table and didn't get up until I was finished...

But wait, one of the men started talking to me. I thought he was just trying to look good in front of his friends, but... hmm. He was asking me about where I came from, where I was going, what I was doing with so much stuff... I didn't tell him anything specific...

Trisha ran her hands through her hair nervously. Her palms were sweaty. She distinctly remembered holding conversations with two people: the innkeeper and the restaurant manager. The first was a slimy character, but didn't seem like he would steal from his customers. The manager was nice, and he even said that he had personally broken the noses of the men that had advanced upon his own three daughters, so he was out of the question. So who could not only have the desire to steal a book, but also have access to her room?

Inspiration struck her mind, and she snapped her fingers and stood up. The waitress, Clarissa! She was asking way too many questions. She also showed me to my room! We started talking, and I think I told her a little too much. She said she was from some small hick town, and I said I came from Dunberg, and she got this excited look in her eye but she tried to hide it... I'd better talk with the restaurant manager about this.

Quickly putting on her traveling gear, Trisha locked everything else up and tucked the key safely into her pocket before leaving the room. She bounded down the stairs and entered the dining area.

It was empty, except for a couple caravan members who were there for breakfast. Trisha approached the nearest waitress and demanded to see the manager.

“He's not here right now, he had some important business to take care of at home,” said the girl as she swept the floor. “But he'll be here in a coupla hours.”

“Thanks,” Trisha grunted. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the wooden counter top, thinking as fast as she could. “Hey, is Clarissa here?”

The girl looked up. “Clarissa? She's in the back washing the dishes, but you're not allowed back there. Wha'd you want to talk to her about, anyhow?”

“I just need to talk to Clarissa,” Trisha said, and glared the girl into submission. “Go get her, please.”

“I can't,” said the sweeper, eyes wide with indignation.

“Well, why not?”

“I just can't.” She kept sweeping. Trisha started getting suspicious, and she didn't like that feeling.

“What do you mean, you can't? Can't I just ask Clarissa a quick question?”

The sweeper girl leaned on her broom and looked down her nose at Trisha. “Look, I don't know who you think you are, but you don't run things around here. You can't just do whatever you want. Besides, Clarissa's real busy, and she wanted to be alone for a while.”

Trisha seized her by the apron and whispered fiercely into her face.

“Look here, little miss, I'm really impatient right now! Somebody took something of mine, and I have good reason to believe it was Clarissa. Did she tell you not to let me see her?”

The girl looked around frantically. “Please don't hurt me! I'm sorry, I didn't-- I didn't wanna-- Okay, yes, Clarissa said not to let you see her, 'cuz she wanted to read that book she borrowed from you when you weren't looking!”

“Borrowed?” Trisha hissed incredulously. She realized that the caravan members were staring strangely at her, so she released the girl and picked up her broom. “Here. Why did Clarissa take my book? I seriously doubt she wanted to read it. Tell me, or I'll make you wish you told me. What's your name?”

The girl looked panicked. “Um. Stacy. Um, er... I can't tell you...” However, she saw the look in Trisha's eyes, and she spoke quickly. “Okay, I'll tell you! Clarissa got the book because some men paid her to do it. They paid her a lot of money to take your book. Those men have been sitting around the inn for a long time, and they always eat here every night and look at all the people that come in. But this was the first time that they talked to us, and they paid Clarissa enough money to start her own inn just so she would bring them that book you've got!”

Trisha was confused, but Stacy seemed truthful enough. “And who were these strange men? Did you talk to them, or just Clarissa?”

“I was there too,” whispered the girl, looking around frantically to make sure nobody was hearing. “Um, that's why Clarissa said I shouldn't let anyone see her, and she said she'd give me some of the money. I don't know who they were. They were old guys, they had dark clothes and mean eyes.”

“Did they tell you why they wanted my book?”

“No... they just were very specific 'bout it, and they said that Clarissa had to bring it to them without any pages missin', or they wouldn't pay her. She was gonna give it to them this morning, and-- eep!” Stacy suddenly shut her mouth and froze, looking past Trisha's shoulder toward the counter. Trisha whipped around just in time to see Clarissa peeking in from the kitchen doorway. The waitress gasped and vanished.

“Get back here!” Trisha bellowed, and leaped over the counter. She slammed the kitchen door open, terrifying the cooks, but she caught sight of Clarissa's apron disappearing out the back door. Trisha barged through, leaping over fallen pots and ladles and rushing to catch the girl. She shoved the back door open and ran out into the street, where Clarissa was running at full speed to get away from the inn as fast as possible.

(Graphic 3.8: Trisha takes off after Clarissa, who is clearly clutching something in her arms. Trisha catches up with her and tackles her to the ground. A book flies from Clarissa's arms and lands in the street.)

“Get off me!” Clarissa struggled fiercely, but Trisha was used to wrestling with delinquents, and she pinned the waitress's arms to her back.

“Clarissa? Miss Trisha? What is going on here?” The bearded restaurant manager suddenly appeared in a nearby doorway, his face full of confusion and concern.

Trisha hoisted the pouting Clarissa to her feet. “Your waitress, sir, stole a book from me and I was getting it back. Apparently she was bribed into doing it. Just ask Stacy, she'll tell you everything.”

The manager looked mortified. “Clarissa? Is this true?”

She grumbled under her breath, but didn't defend herself. The manager sadly shook his head and wrapped a hairy arm around her shoulders. “Come along, miss, we have some talking to do. Miss Trisha, I am so very sorry this happened. If your book has suffered any damage, I'll gladly pay for--”

“No, you're fine, it looks all right,” said Trisha, retrieving the book from the dust and brushing it off. She flipped through the pages curiously. “Yes, everything's... all right...” she trailed off. Something was strange about this book, and she couldn't take her eyes from those pages. Meanwhile, the manager apologized again and moved to take Clarissa away, but Trisha hardly noticed.

(Graphic 3.9: Trisha takes a close look at the book. It has no words on its cover, just some strange markings. She flips open the pages and sees strange diagrams and spidery text.)

“What kind of book did you give me, Hector Blithe?” she whispered to herself.