It was roughly 5 in the morning. The tradesmen of the city had started to go about their rounds delivering the stock and parcels of the day. At the port, a small group of folks was gathered around a makeshift table made up with a few crates. At the lead of this table, was Mornington.
“So lads, these are the parts of Wheatstone i want you do do the surverying at…”
The rest of the lads, apprentices of the Land Survey lead, Mr Simmons, looked at the large plots of land that they were to be let loose on.
“Remember lads, this is the FULL survey, including drilling into the bedrock to find the depth, drilling down into the bottom layers of the bedrock to find the table depth and water table testing.”
The lads looked around to Mornington with a confused look…
“…but.. Mista M sur… dat means a lot ‘o drillin…an whitstane has a load ‘o folks living there, especially close to da Piermon…”
Mornington grinned…
“Yes lads thats right.. and make sure you drill WAY WAY into the late hours of the evening and start drillin in the VERY early morning…on those plots closest to that row of houses next to the piermont…”
Again.. the lads looked quizzically to Mornington…
“Buuut… why sur?”
Mornington grinned… “Because Emerson lives there….”
In the early morning sunlight, Bookworm sat up in bed abruptly as a hideous noise lanced through her open window, piercing ear and sleep alike. “What in the nine circles of Dante’s inferno is that?!” she yelped. She struggled out of her bed sheets, and the bed, and plunged toward the door, grabbing up her robe from the foot of the bed as she passed.
In the hallway, she met Mariah, who, for once, looked fully as rattled as Bookworm felt. “I looked out the window,” she said over the continuing noise. “I think I saw some workmen down near Mr. Emerson’s house.”
“We’ll see about that.” Without even shoving her feet into boots, Bookworm quickly unlocked the back door and stormed through it, fabric from nightgown and robe billowing around her.
She hurried toward the group of men gathered by Mr. Lighthouse’s home. As was apparently usual with such endeavors, only one man was actually working, operating a machine that was drilling down into the pavement. The others were grouped around watching, yelling cheerfully at each other and sipping from steaming mugs.
They all had their backs to her, and she could have had her pick of any of them to question. She went, of course, for the one operating the machine. Unheard by any of them, she came up behind the man and clapped her hand on his shoulder. He jumped, letting out a startled oath and, more importantly, taking his hands from the controls of the machine, which immediately powered down. The burly man whirled around, but whatever he meant to say went unsaid as he took in the sight of the sleep-disheveled, obviously infuriated Miss Hienrichs.
“What is going on here?” she asked emphatically.
The man’s gaze flicked from her to the back end of Mr. Lighthouse’s home. But then it carried past that to the building beyond, and his eyes suddenly widened. He returned his gaze to Bookworm, looking distinctly sheepish. “Erm, survey work, mum,” he said. “We’re authorized ta conduct a full survey ‘ere, both surface an’ subterranian.”
“And who authorized that?” Bookworm inquired indignantly.
“Erm… it were Mr. Mornin’ton, mum.”
Bookworm’s eyes flicked to the side, and then back. “I see,” she said, her tone suddenly mild, even polite. “Thank you for the information, sir.” She turned and walked back to her home, her pace carefully unhurried. Walking through the still-open door, she closed it behind her–quietly.
Mariah was waiting for her by the staircase. “Well?”
“Mr. Mornington,” Bookworm replied, her voice still mild, but coming through clenched teeth, “in his continuing feud with Mr. Lighthouse, has apparently forgotten–or chosen to forget–that others besides Mr. Lighthouse live here. I think,” she continued as she started up the stairs, “I’d best remind him of that.”
((What, you weren’t expecting her to be happy about this, were you? *grin*))
“What a beautiful late spring morning, Mr. Lighthouse,” said Junie, taking a sip of coffee. She and Emerson had set up garden chairs on the roof of the Wheatstone house looking out over the Peral Canal.
“Indeed it is,” replied Emerson looking up from the crossword in the backpages of the morning paper. “So peaceful in this part of the city.”
“Mr. Lighthouse, I’ve been worried about something,” Junie put her coffee mug down on the little table between them. “Do you think Victor might be upset that we maxed out his credit card while on our trip to Falun… not to mention associating his name with a major felony.”
‘Nah,” replied Emerson, suddenly noticing a gathering of workmen down by the canal. “Victor and I are like BFFs. Trust me, he’s over it.”
“DO IT! DO IT! DO IT NOW! QUICK!!” Emerson lay on his side across his desk as Junie straddled him with a lit candle in hand. “I CAN”T TAKE ANOTHER SECOND OF THAT INCESSANT NOISE!”
“ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS!” Junie shouted.
“WHAT!” Emerson shouted back, trying to be heard above the drilling.
“I SAID, ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THIS? I AM NOT A DOCTOR! I DON’T KNOW IF POURING CANDLE WAX IN YOUR EARS IS THE RIGHT SOLUTION!”
“YES! THAT IS CORRECT! I AM A DOCTOR!”
Junie shrugged and tipped the candle.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I really really needed this laugh today
*suspects that she did not use the proper ear candling technique*
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Well…no. I’m guessing it didn’t.
Tepic was woken from a deep slumber by some of the other urchins residing at the Sneaky Vole, worried about a new rumbling and grumbling sound from the direction of the Piermount. The younger ones were worried it might be some unknown danger, and tears were close to breaking out. The young fox resigned himself to another sleepless night and climbed up to the top of the Warrens, leaning out over the edge of the roof to catch the sounds better.
Shortly after he bounded back to the small group and excitedly started organising his troops. The older boys were sent to ready the Sneaky Vole cart, loading up with spirits and beer, while the lasses gathered the younger ones, ensuring baskets of posies were available, snotty noses made snottier, eyes were prepped for crying, and the usual preperations were made.
As they arrived at the work site, Tepic saw Miss Book vanishing into the gloom and the workmen begining to get back to their tasks. In a matter of moments, a brisk trade was set up, for though workmen love their tea, they loved tea with a drop of strengthening in it even more, and there is nothing better for a dusty throat than a cellar cool fresh beer!
The youngest were doing the rounds of the woken residents, wailing how they had been woken by the awful noise, and how frightened and scared they were. Pockets were patted by the adults, a suprising number of whom seemed to keep supplies of sweets secreted in their nightwear, and youngsters comforted by a liberal donation of the candies.
This was followed up by the older girls offering scented posies to the gentlemen, to give to their ladies, to ward away the foul aromas rising from the diggings. Young lads were offering flasks of spirits to the menfolk, to keep away the chill of the evening, offering to nip back to the chap’s lodgings to bring back their wallets to pay for their treats. This was conducted with absolute honesty, which almost always resulted in a tip along with the payment, and an exclamation of how good the lads were!
The trade was good, new people turning up from further afield, and the group were kept busy until the early hours, when with empty baskets, full pockets and a much lighter cart, they headed back to the Vole. One man’s disturbed night, was another urchin’s opportunity!
Mornington sat back in his big old oak chair looking at the reports from the Urchins.
The fall out from the first day of drlling had been a lot more…bigger than expected. Already a letter of complaint from Ms Heinrichs, and reports of loud screaming from the home of Emerson…that part made him smile.
He instructed Nonny, the only bar staff that Brunel Hall had, to tell the delivery boys to send extra barrels of stout and ale to the Sneaky as recompense to the noise the Urchins would have to suffer, along with some sturdy ear plugs made for small ears.
On that same evening, a brown envelope with a well written letter of apology was hand delivered by Mornington himself to the Bookworm residence, along with a selection of finest Ravilla wine.
…Morningtons plan had now begun.
“Thank you, Lisa,” Dr. Solsen held out over half-a-dozen letters to the growing young woman, all of them addressed to Mr. Mornington. While many steps had been taken to limit and muffle noise that got in or out of the asylum, the doctors and patients at the hospital were not so lucky.
“BERT,” Emerson shouted across the bar of the Gangplank.. “I’M A WELL RESPECTED BUSINESSMAN CORRECT?”
“You’re a man of high position, esteemed by your peers,” the old screever winked.
“HOW MANY EMPLOYEES DO WE HAVE AT THE GANGPLANK NOW?”
“Can’t rightly say I know for difinitive, Guv’ner,” Bert replied, running his fingers through his white hair. “But generally I’d say ‘bout a half dozen of us.”
“AND DO YOU KNOW WHY WE HAVE SO MANY EMPLOYEES?”
”Cause we’re all looking for a place to chat with our mates?” Bert shrugged.
“BECAUSE WE ARE ALWAYS HAPPY!” Emerson slammed his hand down on the bar. “THAT’S WHY.”
“Never was there a more happier crew, than them what swigs the Gangplank’s new brew.” sang Bert.
“YOU SEEM THE TRUSTWORTHY SORT, BERT,” Emerson yelled.
“Thankee, Sir Sir.” Bert always had a great smile.
“I WANT YOU TO DO SOMETHING FOR ME.” Emerson rubbed his ear and winced. “FIND OUT WHAT MORNINGTON IS UP TO.”