Note to Molly

[Treadwell]

A note written in a familiar sloppy, heavy-handed script--one belonging to a long-absent Councilor Treadwell?--would find its way onto the bar in the Broken Dagger, left quietly by a pair of blue-winged messenger fairies. There's another scroll tied to the first, and both of those are tied to a very fat, heavy pouch.

It's addressed, simply, to. . . .

= = = = =

To Molly, of the Broken Dagger,
From. . . .

Well.

It's a very long story, my dear. Rest assured I don't know that I fully understand everything about it, and my head still aches and my vision still spins with all the information I'm taking in. You've seen me around the Dagger recently, yes: the little fat purple fairy king named Richard.

I'll keep this as short as I might. It hurts to focus right now.

Attached is a copy of a note I wrote to myself ages ago explaining something very complicated.

The short version is that the man you know as Aloisius Treadwell is/was in reality little more than a test for the abovementioned fairy king: a very big costume, so to speak, for a very little fairy wanting to learn what it's like to be one of the big folks. He was a very cleverly crafted deception that fooled the folks of not one but two and maybe three towns. Mr. Treadwell most likely won't be back as you or anyone else in Myrken Wood knows him, and for that, I'm terribly sorry.

Send my humblest apologies and, yes, love to Raylan, Nicholas, and Ariella Treadwell, Babette Treadwell, and, yes, even my sister Elizia, if she's still around anywhere. I might never see any of them again face to face, and it might be best that way. As tax collector in Myrken Wood, I do believe my powers include(d?) approving and nullifying marriages. Should this be necessary, then let me know, and I'll try to have the appropriate documents drawn. . . if I can recall that much. Have. . . what's his name? Haar? my head burns. I think that's right. Have him take care of my pet lemurs.

At present, I seem to be in a mess with the Council--Suede in particular--and Lt. Kilborn, again in particular, about the previous paragraph and. . . well, the presence of my kingdom of New Hibera. I've had no response from. . . Am--An--Ar. . . Altias or any others after writing them recently. We all need to talk. I want to help them, not to be held a villain and scoundrel. Now that my head's on as straight as it gets, I want to end any of this messiness as easily as possible.

You'll also find, in the accompanying pouch, calculated payment in Myrken Shillings for the feed and care of my horse, Arnold, who should have been in the stable these three months, and payment for my long-since-empty room upstairs. I've sent another note on to Jonathan Lincoln, Westenford, arranging for Arnold's being taken off your hands. You'll find the key to my rented room in this pouch, as well.

Finally, the last bit of business I wish to address. . . .

There's a mouse hole in the southwestern corner of the Broken Dagger, about three and a half inches square. I wish to see about installing a door there for ease of my entrance; being a fairy, I can't rightly get in and out through the door that big folks use on the porch. Further payment for this privilege can be taken, of course, but I can have my own men install it and pay for materials from my own pocket to my own carpenters at my palace in New Hibera.

Right now, you might be wondering, "Why would he write me?"

I don't honestly know. You seem to be a central character here. . . .

And do consider this a way of apology in itself. Again, I don't recall everything, but it's slowly coming to me. . . and I must say I am truly sorry for past grief I might have caused.

Your small and humble servant,
Richard Andrew Aengus, New Hibera
Once Aloisius Horatio Treadwell, Westenford
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(This post references "Twelve o'clock and all is Treadwell," post 87: Revelation; a copy of the letter from that post is included, attached to the above note.)