Of Traveling Toymakers and Missing Children

Of Traveling Toymakers and Missing Children

Postby Treadwell » Mon Dec 22, 2014 5:35 am

Morning of the twenty-second day of the twelfth month.

Dawn.

Tready's Toys.


A rapid tap-tap-tap-tapping echoes off the back door of the toy shop in Myrken Wood. Jack Alldale--town crier, faithful Tubbian, and occasional messenger for Lord Steward Treadwell--stands there bundled up warmly enough in a furry robe outgrown ages ago by his patron and donated for warmth, knocking furiously. To his left, Pinky rouses herself in her pen, her final litter (a parting gift, of sorts, from her Three-Hooves before the Tubbians left at Treadwell's request) starting to stir around her, prompting a series of quizzical oinks and horronks as she makes for the slop trough.

"Tready! Wake up! Importan' news from Rod'ric, sir!"

More rapping of gloved fist on wooden door. And then?

Squeeeeeak of door sets porcine ears wiggling and voices grunting. There in the doorway stands a very sleepy Aloisius, wearing only eyeglasses, his yellow pajama jumper, and a barely tied green bathrobe.

"Oh, what is it, mmph mmph? It's too blamed early to be awake, Jack!"

"It's news, Counc'lor! News! From Rod'ric!" A letter, already opened, is flapped out, brushing against Treadwell's stomach and setting him to quivering. Horribly ticklish.

"Well, get in here. You don't need to freeze out there, and I'm not standing here catching cold!"

It's a short trip through antechamber through the bathroom and into the bedroom, where Aloisius sinks back onto his bed, lying down and bundling again in his warm covers, and where Jack Alldale eases into a bedside couch.

"You already opened it. Do you make it a habit to read other men's mail, sir, hrm hrm?"

"The wax was already frozen and cracked, so I couldn't help it. But. . . Oooooh, Tready! Just read it!"

"Hmph."

= = = = = = = = = =

To Aloisius Treadwell, Tready's Toys, Myrkentown

Aloisius,

I write you from Geilston, near Ghreu Fenn, which, I'm sure you know, is about as far north in Myrken Wood as you can go without leaving it. It's not a very large town by most standards, but it's comfortable enough, though a little tricky to get to thanks to the trails here being somewhat poor at this time of year. It's certainly a little ways off the North Passage Down, and the ground up here is a snowy slush at the moment.

I have been selling and donating toys throughout the region per our discussion before I left. My last bit of business here in Geilston has been to visit the local orphanage. You and I have very large soft spots in us for children, and with winter's being here and these children having no parents, I thought it would be pleasant to talk to the owner of the place--a jolly, round fellow about my age named Reginald Granger (Reginald! Splendid name! My father's name, actually)--and to see what I could do for the little ones here.

His charges, though, concern me.

He has two new arrivals here, Aloisius, barely here a week. They are ten years old: one boy, one girl. Both are sandy haired. Both are intelligent. Both are as round as they could possibly be, about Gideon's size. Both are utterly miserable at the recent passing of their mother. I am doing my best to get to know them and console them.

Both answer to Treadwell: he Nicholas, she Arella. Lovely names. Names that match those of the two missing children you've mentioned on numerous occasions. Aloisius, I reckon the last you saw of these children is from when they were but a year old or so.

Get yourself here as quickly as you can and see if these are your children.

Roderic
Writing on the night of the twentieth to send out in the morning

= = = = = = = = =

"Jack!"

"Tready? Is it what I'm thinkin' it is?"

"Jack! Jack! Fetch me something! Anything! I need some proper clothes, mmph mmph, and get in the kitchen and fix us up something to eat and take with us! We can make Geilston by the early afternoon, or tonight at worst, if we go!"

"We, Tready?"

"We! You're coming with me! Arnold's in one of the stables up the street, with the carriage parked beside, but I sent Gregory home for the night, and I'm not waiting on him to get here, mmph mmph. Go! Shoo!"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: Of Traveling Toymakers and Missing Children

Postby Treadwell » Mon Dec 22, 2014 2:54 pm

Night of the twenty-second day of the twelfth month.

The township of Geilston.


"This must be Geilston. At least, that's what the sign back there read, mmph mmph."

"Tready?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"I thought you said we'd get here by the early afternoon?"

"Well, Jack, Arnold's slow, mmph mmph, having to pull the carriage and us with it."

"And there was lunch that we stopped for."

"Well. . . . You didn't expect me to not eat something, did you?"

From ahead, a flash of a lantern aimed at horse and driver.

"Whooooaaaaa! What business do you gents have out at this time o' night?"

"Stop the coach, Jack, and wave him around, mmph mmph."

"Err, beggin' y'pardon, sir, but the fella in the coach would do the talkin'."

A grunt. A nod. A swing of lantern on pole around to the side of the carriage, revealing the sleepy Treadwell within.

"I'm here to speak with the owner of the orphanage, one Mister Granger. Apparently, my two children might just be in his custody at this very moment, mmph mmph."

"Reginald's done asleep, knowing him. And he hasn't any children there old enough for you to have sired, sir--"

"Tut tut! Shush! There are two children in there, aged ten years, named Treadwell, who were taken from me by my former wife some years ago, mmph mmph!"

"Treadwell? Were you the Mister Treadwell the Missus was always going on 'bout?"

"If you mean Raylan, mmph, yes. Aloisius Treadwell, sir. Now, do show us where this orphanage is? The sooner I can see the children, the sooner I can see if they are indeed mine as I suspect."

"But she said you weren't a real person, that you was a fairy."

Lantern taps against the side of the carriage.

"Are you sure you're not a fairy?"

"Quite certain, lad. That's a very long, long story, though, and I'd like--"

"And wait a mom't! You're that Lord Stuart fella, too, who's calling out for council folks!"

"Lord Steward, but yes, and I'd quite like--"

"You've done passed Reginald's place, leastways."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Just on the outside of town, first building back there on your right."

"Oh, I humbly thank you, lad, and--"

"But don't expect to find him awake."

"If he is not already, hmph, I shall see to it that he is. Jack! Turn Arnold and the coach around, mmph mmph, and let's go back!"

A slow rounding about of carriage, a dissatisfied whinnying of horse, and creaking of wheels.

"This looks like the place, Counc'lor."

"Hmph. 'Orphanage. Reginald Granger, Overseer.' That sounds simple enough. Well, Jack, pull the coach to the door, hm?"

Soon enough, Aloisius Treadwell is creakily, stiffly wobbling out of the carriage in his black, ermine-lined robe, cloak, and hat. Black-gloved hand lifts his cane to rap-rap-rap at the door of the two-floor building. Squeaking of floorboards signals the arrival of someone within, and soon, another lamp shines in Treadwell's fluffy-bearded face.

"Mister Granger, I presume?"

"Begging y'pardon, but visiting hours ended at supper time, sir. Come back in--"

"My name is Aloisius Horatio Treadwell, Lord Steward of Myrken Wood, mmph, and I am not leaving until I see whether the two Treadwells in your custody, sir, are my long-missing children."

"You're Missus Raylan's husban'?"

"Yes. . . ."

"The fairy king?"

"Oh, by Tubbius's great, blubbery gut! Who didn't hear that rot in this town?"

"You mean you're not a fairy, then?"

"Good, merciful heavens!" Another whack of cane to doorframe. "Of course I'm not! Raylan was deceived by the fairy king in question, and he held me prisoner for a year and some, and--and--and why am I bothering to tell you aught of this, mmph mmph?"

"Umm. . . well, Mister Lord Steward Treadwell, sir, come into the waitin' room, 'ere, and I'll be for fetching the boy and girl."

"Nicholas and Arella."

"You know their names already?"

"I ought to! I named them after Raylan birthed them, mmph mmph!"

"Oh. Quite right. Well. Step inside, sit yourself down on one o' the chairs, and I'll fetch 'em."

The front room of the orphanage is small, tight, sparsely furnished, and, presently, dark save for the lamp that the proprietor leaves behind on a sign-in desk. Treadwell settles himself into a seat as directed, letting out a quiet yawn. In a few minutes, though, Mr. Granger returns with two children in question, both well-dressed, both round-bodied, both sandy-haired, and both peering past him in anticipation, in fear.

"Children, he says he's your father."

"Lights, good master, lights!"

"I can't leave you 'lone with 'em, sir. Policy."

"Bother your policies, mmph mmph!"

"Arella? Listen!" The boy's eyes widen. He then creeps forward, reaching out a pudgy-fingered hand for the old man in black. "Do that again?"

"Hmph hmph? What?"

"Arella! It is him! It is! Mother always said he--he--he did that!" And then, Nicholas emulates his father's grunting, bursting into merry laughter. "And that he was so fat!" Hands clap against the boy's own paunch, a visible inheritance from his stout parents.

"Nicholas! Arella! Both of you! Let your old father get a look?"

The boy rushes forward, wrapping what he can of the old man in his arms; the girl is a bit more hesitant, at first, stopping after a few steps, just short of the chair.

"Mother said he was a fairy, Nicholas. Just three inches high, and pink!"

"He ain't no fairy, Arella! Look at him! There's no fairy like this!"

The hugging, though, is brought to a stop as wet-eyed Treadwell gently pushes Nicholas back to arm's length, studying his face in the light. A shaking, trembling hand goes up to brush at the sandy hair atop his head, and a warm smile comes to the Lord Steward's face.

"So like your brother, Gideon, mmph. So like him, and so like me when I was your age! And mercy! You got my nose!"

A tap-tap of plump finger to Nicholas's bulb of a snout, setting him a-giggle.

"And ticklish, too, I see!"

"But Nicholas?" from the girl, as Granger, having left in silence and broken his policy, comes back with another two lanterns, lit, showing a smile from his own face. "What do we do?"

"Hug him, sis, and kiss him!"

"Begging your pardon, Mister Treadwell, but I've fees to collect if you're to take them with you tonight. . . ."

"Fees! You would charge me for my own children, sir?"

"Well. . . . Food, sir, and upkeep of their room this past week."

"Fine, fine!" An arm goes out, wiggling to beckon Arella over and then to wrap her against Treadwell's great middle. "Just. . . give me a few moments with them, and I'll pay your fee, and we'll be going, mmph mmph."

"Going tonight, sir?"

"You've an inn here, I know. I was here some time ago helping you all see to your new councilor. We will stay there tonight and leave out in the morning, mmph, after I've seen where Raylan was buried."

A gasp. "You're that Treadwell, too? The King's man?"

A huff of a sigh. A nod of the head. He hasn't the energy or breath to argue or explain right now. Treadwell is at the heart of a warm, sob-wet embrace of three people together, a reunion long awaited, and he hasn't the time for less important things.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: Of Traveling Toymakers and Missing Children

Postby Treadwell » Tue Dec 23, 2014 5:20 am

Around noon of the twenty-third day of the twelfth month.

"Jack! Where are we, old boy, mmph mmph?"

"Well, Tready, we got a late start, having breakfas' and getting all the stuff from Raylan's 'ouse and lettin' y'see her grave an' such--"

"Yes, yes, yes, but where are we?"

"I think we're some'ere north o' Stonebrook, so 'bout 'alfway or better."

"Splendid! Did you hear that, children? We're about halfway home, mmph mmph!"

"Tell us about it?" pipes the girl as she leans to peek through one of the side window shutters.

"Home? Our house?"

"Yes!" giddily squeals the boy while he wriggles into his father's robe and squooshy side, prompting a wrapping of arms around bodies.

"Well, it's large, mmph mmph, certainly larger than what you're used to, with two big floors full of rooms, a great garden all 'round the front, mmph, a stable for Arnold and this carriage, and, sometimes, out back, hrm hrm, in her lot, my Pinky and her piglets."

"You have a pig?"

"Indeed, son, though at the moment she's in her pen behind my toy shop."

"Nicholas! He has a toy shop!" Over scurries Arella, smushing herself into Treadwell's other side. There goes his other arm, around her.

"I do, and the two of you are more than welcome there whenever you like, hrm hrm! That is. . . when you're not playing with your brothers and sisters at home, perhaps?"

"Brothers?"

"Sisters?"

A merry chuckle from the father as he nudges his glasses up on his nose.

"Many of them, my darlings, mmph. Seven all told that live with me and Alice--your new mother, mmph, who's a bit like Raylan, I admit, old and very plump--and from oldest to youngest? There's Gideon, who's just a little older than you, by about a year. He looks a great deal like Nicholas here, and, hm hm, he's training to be a baker! Egbert and Gwendolyn are six years old, mmph, twins, and quite active. They love to run about the house, rushing and stomping feet where they go, hrm hrm! Frederick is three, four next month, and he has a secret." A wag of pudgy finger follows as children's faces light up.

"A secret, Father?" echoes from either side of Treadwell's stomach.

"Yes, and it's something that your aunt, my sister Elizia, the skinny old woman at the house, doesn't know about! He has a pink, little pig's tail behind him!"

Giggling ensues all about.

"But keep any word of it shushed! Your uncle Langley knows, and the rest of the servants, but Elizia, mmph, I fear how she would take it if she ever found out about it, mmph mmph."

Great grins sneak across little faces.

"You said there were seven?" Arella interrupts. "That's only four!" Little fingers poke upward, counting.

"Of course! Gabriel and Gertrude are just now two, a month ago, another pair of twins of me and Alice, mmph, and then?"

"There's another one, Father?" Nicholas bursts.

"One last whom you'll get to see! Little Harvell is only five, nearly six, months old! Alice keeps very good watch and care of him, mmph mmph."

"A baby!" Arella squeaks.

"Yes, love, a baby," Treadwell follows with a kiss to her forehead. "And you may help your new mother take care of her, hrm hrm?"

And from outside, "Tready! We're a-nearin' Stonebrook! How're ye all a-doin' for lunch? Who's hungry in 'ere?"

An explosive chorus of "Lunch!" and "Meeeeeeee!" rolls from within the carriage: a family of Treadwells, indeed!
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: Of Traveling Toymakers and Missing Children

Postby Treadwell » Wed Dec 24, 2014 10:21 am

Early afternoon of the twenty-fourth of the twelfth month.

The Treadwell home, Myrken Wood.


"Alice! Darling!"

"My lord, Treadwell! Wait! Wait! When I said--"

"Aloisius!" comes the shushing hiss of a mother caught in the act of gently rocking her just-fed, snoozing, infant son.

"My lord, when I said she was in your bedroom, I didn't mean for you to make such haste to see her."

A reddening Aloisius Treadwell "Hrmph"s to his butler, then slowly creeps inside the bedroom he and his wife and baby Harvell share, easing into the bedside couch near the rocker that Alice fills in her purple gown. Husband's voice drops to a gruff squeak, a hushed piping. "Darling!"

"Where have you been, Aloisius? Jack came by and said something about you needing to go to an orphanage in Geilston?" Equally soft, though a squinty hardness in the eyes watches both babe and father. Hands flutter nervously at the sides of the father's stomach; that stomach's owner finally manages a huffed, single word, "Children!"

"Of course, Aloisius. You can find them at an orphanage. We have seven already."

"Nine!"

"Seven, Aloisius. We're both past child bearing, or at least I am."

"Nine! Nicholas and Arella, love. . . I found 'em."

"The two that have been missing all these years?" Alice carefully shifts the sleeping Harvell in her arms, then reaches out to give him to his father. In moments, the little boy gives a contented snort in his sleep as a little fist tugs on Treadwell's beard.

"The same, dearest. Raylan passed recently, or so folks said, and I found the two of them--oh!" A glance down at the infant and a smile despite the painful jerk. "They are but a year younger than Gideon, or close to it. Gregory has 'em a room downstairs, hrm, and he should be moving their clothes and stuff in with them from the carriage."

A pause.

"We have been at the toy shop all day. I wanted them to ease into things before I brought them home, mmph mmph."

"Mind the grunting and wheezing, Aloisius. Harvell's trying to sleep." A quiet warning is accompanied by a wag of a finger at the infant in Treadwell's arms.

"He sees perfectly fit to keep me awake at night, dearest, mmph."

"Shush!"

Treadwell smiles, wiggling a little in search of comfort, and then warbles out a soft yawn.

"I suppose they want to meet their new mother?"

"Mmph mmph," acknowledges the gradually dozing old gentleman. A quilt is brought from the bed to the father and baby, covering most of both of them, and out the door Alice Treadwell goes in search of her two newest children.
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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