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!"