Cruncher wasn’t the only one pacing now. Azriah snaked a path around the table. Root might’ve joined him—the antsiness was contagious—but her stomach had sent out a memo that even the slightest bit of dizziness was a mutiny-inciting offense. So she sat.
Anjeanette sat across from her, now in attendance. Root tried to make eye contact with her a normal amount. Brian, too, had arrived. Saly was back—on a break from selling raincoats after Root, Azriah, and the king had reemerged from the tunnels and summoned him for the emergency meeting. Only Vit and Squeej—already at their posts, already inside, already working the heist—were missing.
There was a new piece in play—something they hadn’t accounted for. And how could they? How were they to have known that David had a tracking dog?
Azriah cleared his throat. “Probably—hopefully—this isn’t going to matter. After all, the halo is going right from the display case into the hidden tunnels, from the tunnels straight out of the palace. We can get clear of it undetected.”
“Unless he brings the dog out earlier,” said Root. “When we first start messing with his head, when we make the halo ‘disappear’ with the fata pomorgranate.”
“But the halo will still be in the case,” countered Saly. “So, well, it shouldn’t matter, isn’t that right? The dog… er, what did you say her name was again?”
“Lucky,” said Azriah, still pacing.
“Yes. Lucky—she’ll just go to the case, indicate that that’s where the crown is.”
“And if David opts for that reassurance in place of opening the lid?” asked Root.
“He won’t,” said the king. “Trust me. Not the first time, at least.”
“What about the second?”
“That… is a concern.”
“It is,” agreed Azriah with a nod. “But more pressing still is after we get the halo. How good is this dog’s nose? Can it follow along in the halls, parallel to the tunnels?”
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” said Saly.
Cruncher raised his hand. “But we don’t know it’s not how it works. The halo is magic, after all.”
“Well, yes, but the dog is not…”
“They might also release it to cover the grounds,” said Azriah. “Circle the palace, make sure the halo doesn’t leave the building. We have a way out of the palace, but it still relies on making it through the district—and the gate, and the rest of the city—without catching any attention.”
“Do you think it’s a scary dog?” asked Beel. “Like, did Vit say how big?”
The king made a quiet sound of fright. “This is a good point. I wouldn’t like to come face-to-face with something like that.”
Root leaned forward. “Listen, I don’t think these details matter. Right?”
“Well—” started Cruncher.
“No, I just mean—well, it’s too much we can’t account for. We can’t plan around it, at least not when we already have the plan in motion. So we don’t plan for all contingencies, we just neutralize the… y’know. The thing.” Root slumped back in her chair. She’d felt pretty good about herself after nailing the word “contingencies,” at least until she’d failed to stick the landing of impressive diction with a fall onto the cushioning safety of the word “thing.” She glanced at Anjeanette.
“The variable,” said Saly, cocking his head.
Root waved her hand. “Sure.”
“Action-oriented,” said Brian, nodding at her. “A strong trait.”
“You’re going to kill it?” asked Beel. His face contorted in horror and disgust.
“No. No, that’s not what I’m saying. We just… I don’t know. Dognap it?”
“So a third heist?” asked Cruncher, who seemed to be fidgeting more and more as the meeting went on. His huge fingers were working to a crescendo as they pulled sweat-soaked bits from a paper napkin in his hands.
“Well… hm…”
“Put it to sleep?” suggested Anjeanette.
Beel turned to her, the same expression as before returning to his face. “You’re going to kill it?”
Root groaned. “No—like, a pill or something.”
“You think you can slip it a pill? And it will eat it?”
“Wrap it in some sliced ham?”
Beel rolled his eyes. “This is supposed to be a smart dog with a sharp nose. It’s not going to fall for that.”
“You did when you wouldn’t take the medicine for that rash a few weeks back.”
“…! What?”
“It’s possible,” said Azriah, pinching his scruff.
“Did you guys put medicine in my food?”
Azriah ignored him. “Still, we would need to sneak into wherever the dog is being held.”
Beel hmphed. “Just don’t let either of these two do it. No mystery what they saw in each other.”
Root’s face burned. Anjeanette looked about ready to dive for the nearest hiding place.
“Anyway,” said Root quickly. Thankfully, the king picked the conversation back up off the floor, dusted it off, and found a new angle to assess it from.
“What if we remove the hound from the building?” he suggested. “You know… people do that with their beasts, right?”
“A walk?” asked Beel.
“Yes. Perhaps… No, all of our operatives will be busy at that time. We may need another specialist, but on such a short deadline…”
Root and Azriah shared a look. It was so ridiculous, Root nearly laughed.
“Do you think…?” started Azriah.
Root shrugged. “Best we’ve got, right?”
“What’s this?” asked Saly.
Azriah turned to the king. “We know someone, actually.”
Cruncher perked up. “Really? Well, wow, that’s a m—”
“No!” said the others in unison.
Cruncher looked startled. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”
Azriah checked the time. “Well, I need to go—it’s nearly time for me to report to the palace.”
“I can go handle the recruitment,” offered Root.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said flatly.
“Well, we’d better hurry,” said the king. “And hope that your specialist can make this work on a tight turnaround. We’ll need them in place in just a few hours.”
“Same with the rest of us,” added Azriah. He turned to Root and gave her a long, only mildly infuriating look. “Good luck. We’re counting on you.”
Root pushed herself up from the table despite the aching, throbbing, churning protests of her limbs and head and stomach. Even still, she couldn’t stop the sigh from leaving her lips. “I’ll get it taken care of.”
The walk through Urk was exasperating enough on a leisurely timeline. The stop-and-go of passing through each district, subdistrict, and subsubdistrict, halting every few minutes to wait at another gate to have the guards check your rainbow collage of inked stamps, made a terrible environment for anyone trying to take an evening stroll after dinner or even the most glacial jogger. Fortunately, going out into the street was not a leisure activity in Urk. It was rather more equivalent to traversing a battlefield, at least in the attitudes of the locals. Nevertheless, the urgency of Root’s errand made it all the more hair-rippingly tense. And her queasiness didn’t help matters.
She’d tried to think about breakfast, but she’d been quite asleep, and tried again to think about lunch, but found even the thinking to be much too filling, and so she’d choked down a few crackers and a bit of peanut butter and made do. Do, it turned out, was not a very nourishing meal.
The clenching feeling in her stomach was in good company now, as the anxiety of this hiccup in their plan had joined it quite comfortably. In fact, it felt like they were getting a little too cozy in there, and Root was adamantly opposed to the notion of their burgeoning relationship and family.
Thankfully, clearing the last gate and entering outer-Urk with a hair more time to spare than she’d hoped started quashing the anxiety underfoot. She had a job to do.
She tried the unabandoned courtyard where they’d met Penny before, but as most people are inclined to do, she’d wandered away from that spot in the day since.
Fortunately, Tohlog pointed Root in the right direction when she visited him in his shed. And as much as she didn’t want to stick around and chat, she also couldn’t, thanks to the errand, and so in harmonious relief, circumstances permitted her to be just a little bit rude. She left the shadow of his teetering structure in a hurry and knocked on a door several streets away.
Penny answered, brow furrowed at first as she looked at Root. Then her expression brightened.
“You—” she started.
“We reconsidered. Sort of,” said Root. “Are you free tonight?”
“Well, I’m supposed to go to a party at Trinsha’s, but she and Kenlee just had this big falling out last week because Trinsha kissed Lyle Dornan, so—”
“Yeah, I think Trinsha will understand. Or—not about all that. I don’t care. Uh, we’ll pay you.”
“And you’re—I mean, you have something planned, right? Against the church?”
Penny looked at Root with big, devious eyes. Fuck, thought Root, what are we getting this girl into? Her expression—there was none of the seriousness there, none of the weight that had flashed across the features of Anjeanette or Squeej or the others as they assessed the situation. It was as if she was hearing the stakes in a game of cards. She was just a kid.
But it was too late. Things were in motion now, and they needed—for fuck’s sake—a dog walker, of all things.
“We… do,” said Root slowly. “We don’t have much to ask of you, just a quick job. Easy. But you’ll get the same cut of the prize when all’s said and done.”
“You robbing them or something?”
“Are you in?”
“Are you kidding? Yes I’m in. I hate those stupid bastards.”
Root put up a hand. “All right. Well, here’s what we need. The Grand Priest, David—he has a dog. We need you to take it for a walk.”
A confused look crossed Penny’s face, but then something else faded in. “And then we’re gonna hold it for ransom.”
“No—”
She stuck a hand on her hip. “So then what?”
“Then you bring the dog back. And then you leave. The rest of us will take care of everything else.”
Penny rolled this around. “Do I get a cool code name?”
“You—” Root paused. “What’s on your ID? The fake?”
“Sarfransa Grebbinguile. Twenty-three,” said Penny, standing up straighter.
“Right. I forgot—Tohlog made it.” Root composed herself, brushing away the laughter that might’ve made its way into being if she hadn’t recalled her own Tohlog-assigned moniker. “Well, your choice. You can be Penny, or you can be Sassafras.”
“I’ll be Sarfransa. Do you have a fake name, too?”
“No,” Root lied.
“Wait, what’s your real name?”
“The less you know, kid, the better,” said Root as she pulled out one of the surplus papers from Tohlog. Carefully, she filled it out. “Can you spell Sar… the name?”
She addressed the document, outfitting Penny with what she’d need.
“This will get you inside,” she said, handing it over. “Go around to the east side, northeast corner near the villa. You know it? Good. Present this—it says you were hired as a dog walker. They’ll probably want your ID, too. And dress nice. Not too nice, just… I don’t know, what do professional dog walkers wear? Dog’s name is Lucky. Get there at eight o’clock. Eight exactly. Take the dog for a full hour. Or a little longer—maybe they’ll give you a tip or something, I don’t know. Then bring her back. Then—you know Herb and Apple? It’s a brunch spot. No? Uh, it’s by… shit. Here, I’ll write down the address, but don’t bring this paper with you, understand? All right. Any questions?”
“Yeah. What are you guys actually doing?”
Root tapped the address. “Come and chat after. And we’ll have your payment.”
“You’ve got it, boss.” She cracked a grin.
“Now, I’ve got to run, unfortunately. And actually, speaking of—you might want to leave plenty early. That paper will get you through the gates, but… well, you know how it is.”
Penny nodded. “You can count on Sarfransa.”
Root arrived back at the basement with an hour to spare. Cruncher, Anjeanette, and the king were all gathering their things to head out. Root stopped Cruncher by the door.
“Hold up. Hey there,” she said, trying to put on her stuffiest voice, “I’m Grand Priest David Mammona. And you are?”
Sweat beaded off Cruncher’s brow. His eyes flicked around. It was as if he’d been asked where he’d stowed a body.
“I’m…” he started. The others watched anxiously. “I’m T… oolip.”
“There you go,” said Root, patting him on the back. “You’ve got this. Just a haircut and you’re out of there. Doesn’t even have to be any good. In fact, it’d be kind of funny if he showed up to the event all lopsided…”
“Polished final results are something to take pride in,” said Brian, shaking his head.
Root shot Cruncher a look. “Whatever happens, though, right?”
The trio set out, Anjeanette carrying the king. Root sat down. She gave herself ten minutes, just to rest after running across Urk and back. But she didn’t dare close her eyes.
All too soon, the ten minutes was up, and begrudgingly, so was Root. It was her turn to get ready.
Cruncher wrung his hands as he stood outside the door. Just a haircut—that wasn’t so hard. He gave haircuts every day.
One of the guards waved him forward and held out a hand expectantly. Cruncher nearly tripped as he stepped up and placed his work summons in the guard’s hand. His very, very fake work summons. Forged. Fraudulent. What had he gotten roped into?
No, no—this was good. If this was what it took—a haircut—to loosen the iron grip the Children had on his home, then he would do it. It mattered.
It was also too late to turn back. But he didn’t like to think about that.
The guard handed the paper back to Cruncher and waved him inside without a second glance. Cruncher nearly cried out in relief.
Inside, he was ushered through security—his razors garnering scrutiny, of course, but he couldn’t very well work without them. The guards handed his bag back to him and one escorted him deeper into the palace.
In all his thousands of years in Urk, Cruncher had never been inside the Eternal Palace. Perhaps that wasn’t all that surprising, as he was, after all, just Cruncher. And during his early years as a resident, there hadn’t been an Eternal Palace. He marveled at the halls as he strode through them, clutching his barber’s bag like it might jump up and run off to start a competing business on its own.
The halls, of course, were stunning. He found them quite a beautiful sight to be surrounded by while having an outright panic attack.
“Are you all right, there?” asked his escort.
Cruncher jumped. “What? Oh, yes, of course, sorry, I just—er, just an honor, that’s all.”
The guard chuckled but said nothing.
Up and up through the halls they went, climbing staircases, until at last they arrived at a large door. Guards stood to either side. They opened the door as the pair approached.
Inside, Cruncher found the most ornate living quarters he’d ever seen. Everything glittered, everything glinted. Things Cruncher had never even considered should—or could—be crafted from gold or crystal had been assembled just so. In another room, a dog yapped excessively.
“Here you are,” said the guard, and waved Cruncher to a gaudy golden chair with plush magenta cushions and an accompanying side table that seemed to be made of solid crystal. Cruncher placed his bag gingerly atop it.
His stomach turned, and not just with the wringing of his nerves now. In his religion—the old ways—there had been such an emphasis on living simply, on charity. Even the Children continued that tradition in their own way. Charity, of course, was all about giving, and the church leadership did much to inspire their followers to give, just the same as a schoolyard bully inspired the scrawnier kids to charitably donate their lunch money. This decor… it didn’t just make Cruncher sad, it made him angry.
Anger, as it turned out, was a great antidote for nerves.
“This is the chair for the trim?” Cruncher asked the guard.
“Yep. Is there a problem?”
“Well, see, the thing ‘bout haircuts is that there are a lot of, you know, little bits of hair that come off. And this chair looks like a tremendous pain to clean… although, I’m sure the staff—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” said the guard with a wave of his hand. “The Grand Priest hates those little hairs that get stuck everywhere, so after the haircut we just throw away the chair and bring in a new one.”
Cruncher tightened his fist. It was not a nervous fidget.
“I see. Thank you. I will get set up now.”
“The Grand Priest will be in momentarily.”
Cruncher laid out his things in a perfect, orderly array and waited. David didn’t keep him waiting long.
When the Grand Priest entered, he looked taken aback. He hovered by the door as if in fright.
“You’re not Hambie.”
“That’s correct, Your Holiness.”
“I wasn’t aware we had hired someone new. Someone so… large.”
“I was told there was need for a substitute for the evening, and my services were solicited by your staff.”
David still hung back, but after a moment, he nodded and took his seat. Cruncher draped a cape around his shoulders.
“And you are?” asked David.
Cruncher’s heart thundered. He bit his tongue as it nearly betrayed him. Everyone called him Cruncher—everyone. But apparently that simply wasn’t professional.
“I’m…” he started. This was it. “C—”
Cruncher coughed into his elbow, a joint like the crux of two thick logs.
“Excuse me. I’m… Toolip.” Thank Kiril, I’ve done it! Phew. It’s a—
No! Cried a second voice in his mind, loud enough to silence the first. Right. Two in one day—he was just too on edge.
“Nice to meet you, Toolip.”
Cruncher set to work, abandoning much of his usual chattiness for fear of what he might say—incriminating or judgmental or both. He tilted David’s head gently one way and then the other as he shaved his neck.
Now, it has to be said that Cruncher was a spirit of solid morals, at least by his own assessment. And yet it cannot be understated that certain thoughts did bloom in his mind, passing through if only for an instant, as his razor glided across the skin of David’s exposed neck.
Cruncher wiped the blade. Then he went in for another pass.
“Ah!” snapped David as he jumped. A bead of blood blossomed from his wrinkled skin.
“Oh, I—I’m terribly sorry, Your Holiness. It seems you moved just as I—”
“I didn’t move an inch you inept oaf!”
“Of course. Here…” Cruncher unfolded a handkerchief and dabbed at the blood as the bead swelled, dark garnet-red. It stained the handkerchief when Cruncher wiped it away. He pocketed the soiled fabric.
“I would never have such amateurish treatment from Hambie…” muttered David. “And right before an appearance. Going down there looking like I can’t shave…”
Cruncher nodded deeply. “My ‘pologies. I’m sure the success of the event will distract from a small cut.”
David hummed a curt response but said nothing as Cruncher went back to work.
Anjeanette nodded to the guard by the small rear door. The guard gave her ID a half glance as she flashed it, then returned his eyes to his novel.
Her pulse hammered in her ears as she slipped through the door and into the staff rooms beyond. Shit! She’d nearly blown her cover there. She couldn’t afford a screwup like that; if she got herself stopped, had her bag checked, they’d find Brock inside for sure, and then what? Would they believe she’d just sought a bit more realism from the pet rock industry? Thank Eu the guard had been so absorbed in his book, or he might’ve noticed how suspicious she’d been.
In all her weeks of interning there, she’d never once acknowledged the guard outside the door with a nod. It’d nearly been disastrous.
Hmm, thought Ogan as he lowered his eyes back to the pages of his book. That intern girl—Janette, was it?—she seemed more confident today.
He shrugged to himself. Good for her; must’ve gotten laid.