Things snowball!

[Treadwell]

Blackmailed!

Aloisius left the Broken Dagger last night feeling a bit sick and queasy. It turns out that one Lady Arryngton knows the magical truth about Treadwell, and she's not above sharing it--or worse--should he not hand over possession of his toy shop, which is something he just can't do for any number of reasons--loss of magical powers, life and limb, and such foremost among them. In short, if he were to freely give up his work as a toymaker, things would not bode well at all for Myrken's Father Winter--or Mother, or their two infants or lemur, for that matter.

Add in a former accomplice in the saltier, spicier side of life--one Captain Khesley of Treadwell's hometown of Westenford, Amasynia--showing up at the same time.

Treadwell needs help.

A year ago, he would have had the guts--the gumption!--and the freedom to stand up to Lady Arryngton. Now, he can't do very much at all without running the risk of damaging his reputation. He needs someone who can help.

Thus, before going to bed last night, Treadwell left a note on the front door of his toy shop, hoping that it would receive a swift answer from an unlikely source--a watcher, a scoundrel. . . and now, a mercenary?

His own note is missing when he arrives to the shop. It seems he's gotten his reply by morning--a reply greedily snatched off the door by Treadwell and hastily read in the comfort of a rocking chair by his toy store's fireplace.

= = = = = = = = = =
My Good Magistrate Treadwell!

Fancy you coming to me for help! I seem to recall you and I having our share of disagreements back home, old boy. But, since I like you well enough--and since I'd rather not have coal left in a sock for me this year, Father--we've but to discuss the details. Here, tonight, you, me. No one else. Oh. . . and show up properly attired, good man.

Your "Old Fox"
R. Volpone
= = = = = = = = = =

[channe]

And why *was* the Lady Arryngton so concerned with the doings of the fat, food-greedy taxman, anyway?

The former Charlotte Hensley -- an heiress herself, married now to old-money William Arryngton, a titular lord -- had a history of ignoring her taxes in favor of more important matters, such as the numerous parties held in her estate's large, rambling gardens and vaulting halls. But is that really enough, now -- enough to do what she's threatening to do?

It was all rather incomprehensible.

[Treadwell]

Reynard Volpone has to recognize one thing about Treadwell: he knows what he wants when he wants it. Right now, what Treadwell wants is an answer--or, at least, a good bit of surveillance. So, with a good fifty shillings having changed hands and a call for absolute secrecy from the rogue, Treadwell's managed to set that up. The sneaky, sly, red-headed young gent in the brown fox fur cloak now goes to set himself up a nice hidey-hole of a spot somewhere on the Arryngton estate. He'll be poking his head into the house soon enough to see what he can see.

And, meanwhile, one white-robed Aloisius Treadwell sits in his toy shop, rocking, smoking, and absently stuffing an already round little doll of himself.