Pressing Matters of the Day

[Glenn]

Myrkentown contained all sorts, civilized and wild, human and otherwise, young and old (though not so many of those perhaps; it was Myrken after all). It made running the place occasionally frustrating. One had to be flexible and yielding. One had to know exactly how to handle any of these various categories. It would have been nice if a polite, if not slightly overlong letter could summon any class or manner of person to one's audience, but that was certainly not the way in a place where more people than not couldn't read or write anything more complicated then their own name. No, sometimes more... draconian methods needed to be employed.

In this case, it came in the form of two neatly-uniformed, if entirely put out Constables, two brothers, as it was, that had been caught drinking and gambling at exactly the wrong time, while they were supposed to be on patrol, by exactly the wrong person, a certain Judiciary Inquisitor, and had been paying for it for the entirety of the week since. And in this case, it came to a madman with a scar, currently digging ditches not far from the Broken Dagger.

"Oi, Come wi" the first man, the younger one, red haired and bearded, thin and a bit taller, shouted. Then the slightly older one, with his brown mustache nudged his brother and took over. "Achem, that is, Catch, MISTER Burnie has instructed us to.. why are you digging holes?" He managed to keep his composure for a little bit longer but the outlandish sight before him brought about a pause. The two Jacobs brothers were brought up to be stout and straightforward. IF you did something, it was generally for a purpose. This didn't seem to be for any purpose at all, which was the definition of madness wasn't it.

Still, the two had been forewarned about something like this. The man was supposed to even be occasionally dangerous. His outbursts were pretty well known in the right crowds, mainly tavern workers and the Constabulary. People talked. They had been told to deliver first the message, and then the man no matter what sort of strange things he was doing.

The older brother recovered and nodded, rubbing his mustache three times before continuing. "Yes, well, nevermind that!" His tone was sharp and dismissive, as if he really did not want to know why Catch was digging ditches. "Mister Burnie has heard about your most recent outburst and has decided that the time has come to listen to act upon your concerns about... Chocolate." The older brother practically yanked his mustache off at the absurdity of all. "He's learned some new information and wants to speak with you further about this. Now. And.." And that was the last bit the poor, bedraggled man could manage while keeping his dignity.

Thankfully, his brother had slightly less of that. He scratched at his beard, that one motion being enough to overcome the friction getting in his way and coughed out the rest. "And if you come peacefully, he has a hat for you at his office." There, between the two of them they'd managed to get out the entire message.

[catch]

It may seem to not have a purpose, it's true. It likely wouldn't be long before the tavern workers, and those that patronized it, would be complaining about the aimless, mostly-shallow holes, hazard to man and horse alike. But it had a purpose, really. Catch must practice his new skill, for one, so that he might not forget it in the rush of the hours, days, decades, whatever matter of time he may perceive it to be. The other was less benign, and it was a secret thing that catch kept in the heart of him. He would make a hole, and he would stuff the Fat Man into it, if the maggot-bearded thing ever squeezed from his head again, and he'd cover him with dirt until his nostrils and mouth were clogged full of it.

It was a good plan. Only, Catch was having trouble finding the most perfect spot, and sometimes his holes were too shallow, or too deep, or too round and not round enough. But he kept trying, with dogged, single-minded purpose, until rough voices pierced his ear. It took awhile. Not until "Mister Burnie" flew in, swift and sure as a stinging fly. Catch faltered, and turned to look at the men. Uniformed men. His eyes twitched in shock, the shovel held in his hand, and as the two question and puffed and blew smoke from their mouths, it was uncertain if Catch could even understand what they were saying.

"... But I'm digging a hole," he finally said, wavering on his feet. Come or go? The uniforms swam in his vision, were all he could see, dripping with run-red Chocolate. Had he given up his promise? Was Ser Glenn going to do something about the Chocolate? Why, yes. That must be it. Ser Glenn was going to allow the Chocolate to be made better. And there was a hat for it, too.

"C-can I take my shovel?" If he could, then he would slouch slinking between the men, going where they will, his shovel clutched to his chest. if not then he would be alone, with only the shovel's haft stuck straight up behind him. Oh, well. That hole was not working, anyway.

[Glenn]

The two brothers had stared at Catch for a while. Then finally the older one nodded. "Sure." Burnie had sent them on this fool errand, so the fool they arrived with would arrive with a shovel. So it was that Catch was paraded through the town, down roads that he probably didn't travel often anymore, though there was nothing secret about them. Quite the opposite really, but they were about as far from the Woods and from nature as one could get in Myrken.

Finally he would arrive to a fairly impressive looking wooden building in the middle of town with just a bit of marble here and a bit of marble there. There seemed to be the beginnings of a statue out front. It might even be the centerpiece for a fountain though work on such a thing had yet to begin. Inside after an anteroom with a rather cheerful young woman sitting and guiding people, the building was nothing but clutter. No space was wasted, or at least, no space was empty. Whether they needed that much paper and ink and files and whatever else was another story. Whatever the case there were long tables and at them were working various clerks, male and female, perhaps twenty-five in all. Glenn had built himself a little empire here and while people looked up as Catch past, none seemed particularly surprised. There was the pointing of an ink covered hand here and there, generally at the man's scar, and maybe a whisper, but everyone knew EXACTLY who this was.

He would be led to a very large office at the end of the room. Burnie had taken a real position in the government, at almost exactly the same time as former governor Bromn had attempted one of his failed attempts at public service one again. The mapmaker's request at the time? A bigger office than Bromn. It had grown even larger still since then.

The doors were opened and the young constable grunted out. "Catch, Mister Burnie."

The office was as cluttered as anything else. There were a number of large maps on the wall, mostly of Myrken Wood or Myrkentown but a few of the greater kingdom and one of Thessaline and its ambitions over the last few years with lines drawn upon it to mark offenses and battles. Also upon the wall was a very stylized and artistic sword shrewn in decorative jewels. There were books everywhere and files strung in a rather chaotic system. Perhaps a madman such as Catch could see a pattern in all of this. Burnie seemed to, navigating between one pile and the next like some crazed bureaucratic acrobat. He was reading one paper and writing in a book at the same time, it seemed, but smiled that usual smile as he looked up at Catch.

Slightly in front of him on the desk was a box. It may have even been a hatbox. "Lean your shovel against the wall, the shovel bit down, if you would, and then take a seat, Catch." The chairs were expertly made and surprisingly comfortable, especially since they were meant to look anything but. They looked professional and expensive but comfort was not sacrificed for the sake of appearance.

[catch]

Catch had taken these twisty-paths before, but that had been long ago, and as he became more recognized it had become more difficult to do his midnight creeping. Constables, much like the two men that flanked him, tended to chase him out of the rich and the hidden places and the stores, even though these places had the best treasures, simply thrown out for want of a little fixing, a little appreciation. It always made Catch sad. The further they went, the more he shrank, until they were on the doorstep and through.

Catch should have been used to the whispers, the points and stares, but he felt the shame creep into his veins, flushing his cheeks, and he lifts a hand to tug the woolen, worn cap further over his scar, and much of the bustle and hustle was lost to him as he kept his eyes on the floor, guided only by the feel of the two men, until they stopped moving and announced him. Catch's face comes upwards to meet Glenn's grinning visage, and his eyes rolled to where the mapmaker pointed. With shuffling, reluctant steps, he carefully set the shovel against the wall with a metal, clicking sound.

"I m-must have upset everyone in your house," Catch said, nervous and shy, and since he hadn't his shovel to grasp he tugged and pulled, twisting the front of his shirt. Even though Glenn bade him, sit, and though Catch took a few, puppet's jerks towards the comfortable chairs, he did not immediately obey. His attention was caught on the maps on the wall, something the addled man had heard much about, but had never seen for himself. He was lost in them, the twisting paths of rivers and bumpy hills and mountains, and only brought himself back with a physical, visible wrench, and then he sat as Ser Glenn had said, all at once in the pretty, military chair, and kept his eyes on the box, mostly so he wouldn't have to look at Glenn.

[Glenn]

The more one was around Catch, the easier it was to understand him, usually, at least. Sometimes there was that other voice with those other expressions and the power but that's not who Burnie saw as the Catch, the real Catch, the one that mattered. Perhaps that would have been a powerful ally, someone who could help further Myrken's interests, but that was never Glenn's desire with the madman. No, he would be the proof that humanity could conquer madness and power both. Except for that the experiment was fraying more and more. That was why he had asked Lamai for assistance, that and other reasons, of course, though Catch was NOT here to talk about that.

So it was that Glenn somewhat understood what he said and laughed accordingly. "You didn't make them upset. You made them curious. They've heard a lot about you and for most of them, this was the first time they were able to actually see you. You're a bit of a celebrity I suppose. And, of course," his tone stayed pleasant as he spoke, but his eyes became more focused. "That means that I tend to hear when you have outbursts. You know what I told you before. Niall comes from a world of fire and pain. That is why I did not want you to bother her about the one thing that seems to bring her real happiness. I did not know you as well then, Catch. I had yet to see the world as you do. I had yet to learn what you may know. Now, well... I want you to try to tell me about the chocolate again, and if what you say agrees with what I found out, I will act accordingly, for the good of all." Patronizing, yes, perhaps a little, but at the same time, with that true and honest concern for his people, for his town, for his everything.

[catch]

"Miss Niall is happy with Ser Elliot," Catch said, the first thing that came into his head came to his lips. And why wouldn't Niall be happy? Was she in fire, now? Did her markings, veins of ice and water, not cool her down? That he was popular mystified him; that they would deign to notice him at all, beside his hideous appearance, was so far outside his experience that he didn't even recognize the words, but as long as Ser Glenn was not upset by it, Catch would accept it.

Catch huddled down as far as he could in the business-like chair, his long legs drawn up and his face gone childishly sullen, and still unwilling to look Ser Glenn in the eye as he wraps his arms around his knees. "She *is* happy," he insisted stubbornly. "She d-doesn't need that maggot-Chocolate, Ser, and - and I didn't tell no one, a-and I didn't even scuff up the table too badly, and the Sky Lady, she brought me back. I-it wasn't like the last times, Ser, I promise."

He paused, and finally his eyes flicker up, hopeful under twitching lids. "Y-you could get the Good Chocolate again, Ser? The kind that used to be so good and thick? It chitters in my head, and I'm afraid it will twist up the Sky Lady and Miss Drache's fires."

[Glenn]

Burnie didn't register much when Catch mentioned the squire. The definition of someone underneath his notice, some fool boy who wanted to play knights and villains. Still, this ploy was coming to an end. If he needed leverage later... well, perhaps the boy wasn't TOTALLY under his notice. Instead... "Sky lady?" He rather assumed that meant the winged woman of a few weeks ago, or perhaps the dragon. It hardly mattered either way and Burnie shook his head.

He'd tap his finger upon the box in front of him. He was tapping with the same exact speed and intensity that he used with his cane, just a steady drone that he smiled along to. Was Catch curious? Well, soon enough. "I wish it was so easy, Catch, I do, but what we've learned, well... that makes it much more dire indeed. You are sure, absolutely sure, that there is something wrong with the chocolate? That it is impure? that there's something in it, perhaps? As if it was a person who was poisoned?" Burnie's eyes stared into Catch very carefully, as carefully as he had phrased all of those questions.

[catch]

The addled man bobs his head, nodding eagerly, lips pulled back in a grimace more than a grin. "She put her hands on my face, and poured an ice storm into my head," he tells Ser Glenn, wanting the mapmaker to know this small, happy nugget of progress, though Catch has little idea that there should be any. "The Sky Lady dresses in the sky, and has stars across her nose and rain in her ears, and her hair's the sun," he went on, losing himself in dreamy reverie for a long, long moment, until his body bit his lip of it's own accord, bringing him back with a start.

Catch had not been so intimidated by the uniformed constables that he didn't remember the hat. Still, his eyes twitched across the box's surface, following Glenn's finger as it tap, tap, tapped at his brains, until his teeth rattled in his skull. He untangled his fingers long enough to reach, hesitant, for the box, but then though better, curling them into his chest.

"It's... black," Catch said, unsure of what Glenn was saying. He knew the mapmaker wanted specifics, wanted the answers he so loved, and Catch thought as hard as he could, striving fruitlessly to give them as he ran the pads of his finger across his pitted brow. "It's... not... *good* anymore. It's hot and cold all at once, and I can't get my lips around it. I know Miss Niall drinks it, a-and I smashed her cup, b-but I'm not there to stop it." He remembered that, at least. The times others had drunk the maggot-Chocolate were clear and stark in his mind, clear as stars. He admits it guiltily, and glances again at the box, thinking that will certainly lose him the gift.

Catch nods, even if it will cost him his hat. "Yes. Yes, I do."

[Glenn]

Had he thought that Glenn was going to be upset at him? Of course. No one liked hearing bad news, after all, and Glenn had been a proponent for Niall's happiness. He had been happy for her, or at least he seemed it, and she was getting the liquid on his tab, as a payment for a healing she once did. He was, in some way, responsible for her.

"She's not the only one that drinks it, Catch." He didn't start to scream or yell. He didn't do anything but smile still, even if it was a bit more reserved than usual. "My people. My people all over Myrken drink it, and they act strangely because of it. We've been gathering information for a time, trying to figure out why this was. It might just be a property of the liquid itself, of the bean become liquid, a natural thing, but there was a difference, as you say, between before and now. No, Now we think someone has poisoned the entire shipment of the chocolate," and he'd pause here so Catch would have some time to really work through what he was saying. The ENTIRE shipment.

"You probably want to know why. It's easy. People who have a little of the chocolate, now find that they need more and more. You can't imagine how much Niall's spent on the stuff," of Burnie's money too, obviously. "It's an addiction, something they cannot help, and the people who are shipping the product to Myrken, they gain more and more and more money off of our people. Our people, Catch." And now there was some anger in his voice, but he calmed as he looked to the madman, seemingly not wanting to panic him further. "But, we have some idea who was behind all of this. All roads, all of the money trails, all of the informants we were able to dig, they all lead to a culprit, and we'll deal with it. For now, however, we're going to have to take some drastic steps. I just wanted to hear from you one more time. I trust you, Catch. And I hope you trust me to handle this for everyone, even if the results will be temporarily unpleasant."

Still throughout all of this, the tapping continued, but NOW, now Catch might realize that the box was full of a reward, not just for coming, but for helping Glenn in this important if unfortunate decision.

[catch]

For a man who thought the Tavern was his head, and the trees his bones, the wide world outside was terribly confusing, so that by the end of Ser Glenn's talk of informants, his people, money-trails (were they like the worm-paths?) and culprits, Catch's head was aching and the bees stung at his ears. But the mapmaker does ask for trust, and Catch gnawed at his now-sore lip as he thought, difficult as it was with all the tapping. He does not ask about the lakeside, or of healing Ser Glenn of the maggot-hole smells, even if it does plug up his nostrils, because some instinct drove him not to, even if it made him feel a little guilty.

"I... I t-trust you, Ser," he said, maybe a little too belated, but perhaps that was just because of the way Catch's face chose to spasm at that moment, drawing out the sentence unnecessarily. "A-and there won't be anymore of the bad chocolate? No one will be hurt?"

[Glenn]

"You needen't worry about that, Catch." Burnie said, finally pushing the box over to Catch, the tapping stopping if only because he no longer had the thing he was tapping. His desk was just a little too nice for such things. "I'll take care of everything. Thank you for your help. You've earned the hat. I thank you and so does everyone else here in Myrken." His tone had become rather dismissive, and he looked down to the paper that had been under the hatbox. "Can you make it back to the Dagger on your own or do you need an escort? Oh and don't forget your shovel."

[catch]

Catch gripped the box without a second's thought, his fingers itching to have gone around it ever since he saw it. It must contain a hat, shouldn't it? Perhaps it was another little Chamberlain, the one he had received last year long gone, released as soon as the spring could make things fat, make things easy. Catch held it to his chest, hastily getting to his feet so fast that he banged the back of his legs against the seat of his chair. Why, he even attempts an awkward, strange little bow, and he grinned from cheek to cheek in happiness, overwhelming tears in his eyes.

"Oh, thank you so much, Ser Glenn. I-I was g-getting so worried a-about the Chocolate, and if it might hurt anyone, and I'm so glad you'll get rid of it! I'm sure I could get back," he adds, hastily, and Catch was already gleefully imagining breaking open the sour stuff and scattering it to the winds. Or, perhaps, he'd put it down a hole. It would be good practice for Treadwell. He hastily snatches up his shovel, box and tool together filling his arms, and it's most assured that Catch would *not* be getting back to the Dagger until late, certain to be distracted.