The Colors of Madeleine 01: Corner of White (30 page)

11.

I
n the Sheriff’s station, Hector was typing. Every few clatters, he’d stop and press the heels of his hands against the desk so that his chair rolled backward. Out in the open, he’d spin from side to side, chewing gum, thinking. Then he’d smile, propel himself back with his feet, and type again.

At his own desk, Jimmy sipped coffee, humming and leafing through papers.

The sun shone hard through the windows, picking up the dust and cheerful mood.

One final clatter, then Hector wound the paper from the machine, adding it to the small pile on his desk.

He swung his chair sideways now, sidling up to Jimmy and handing him the whole set.

“Feast your eyes,” he recommended, and leaned back, smiling.

“
This
is what you’ve been doing?” Jimmy shook his head, leafing through the pages. “It goes on forever, Hector. You sure there’s not any stray Reds caught up in your shirtsleeves?”

Hector ignored him.

“Read it,” he said. “It’s a letter.”

“I can see that.” Jimmy could be dry as bark sometimes. He sighed and began to read.

To the Right Hon. Splendid and Harmonious

Royal Tour Selection Committee

Dear Sirs and Madams,

Now, it’s true that there are only a few short weeks left in the Princess Sisters’ Tour of the Kingdom.

It’s also true that what I’m about to ask is unorthodox in the extreme.

However, here I am, asking it.

What if the Princess Sisters
skipped
part of their tour in Jagged Edge and, as a substitute, headed back to the Farms, to visit another town here??

The town I would suggest for this honor is:

Bonfire.

Incidentally, Bonfire is my town.

Now, you might recognize its name, on account of we already applied for selection. You might also recall that you didn’t get a chance to stop here, since a fifth-level Gray arrived just as you did.

But I think you should return and think again!

The reasons I’m suggesting this are compelling. They are:

1. Now, no offense, but the Jagged-Edgians can be downright derisive about the Royal Family. That’s not just Hostiles I’m talking about; there’s a whole lot of people in JE who think they’re better than the Royals, even people who are otherwise quite nice. No disrespect to the Edgians, but they’re a bit overeducated, and it does their heads in.

2. Therefore, why put the Princess Sisters in line of that sort of attitude? Why not just do a small part of the official itinerary there, by which time I’m sure their royal sweethearts will have had it up to HERE with the mockery — then head over to the Farms to visit us!

3. Now, as charming as Applecart is, there’s not a chance in heck that anyone in Bonfire would burn a sweet-potato pie. When I heard that’d happened when the Royals went to Applecart, I just about lay down for a week. (I didn’t, though.) Seems to me that the Farms deserves a chance to redeem itself. (Might seem a bit much, to call a burnt piecrust a catastrophe, but here in the Farms there’s not much we hold in higher esteem than baking.) (Other than farming, I suppose.) (And the Royal Family. But that goes without saying.)

4. The Princess Sisters were keen to see our pyramid of pumpkins! I read it in their Royal column!

5. Now, it is true that our pyramid of pumpkins has since been dismantled (weather conditions; the usual decaying ways of nature, etc.); however, we have something else here now, and some might say it’s even better. I will give it a new number.

6. The Butterfly Child!

7. Yes, as you may have heard in the newspapers and so on, the Butterfly Child is RIGHT HERE in Bonfire.

8. Our Butterfly Child was caught in her jar by a local resident, name of Elliot Baranski.

9. Why do I mention this? Well, because Elliot Baranski may be only fifteen years old, but he’s a legend in these parts, and some might say that HE is an additional reason for the Princess Sisters to visit.

10. Here is what Elliot has already achieved, despite his young years, aside from being known as very fine-looking, and with a
kind heart but no nonsense about him, and a good sense of humor, and one of the best pecan-pie and blueberry-muffin bakers in the province — what else has he achieved? Well, he has been captain of the local deftball team, taking them all the way to the provincial championships this year (which, however, they did not win, but you can’t blame Elliot for that); his grades, I hear, are very good to excellent with occasional slips into average, but those can be forgiven. Also, he has suffered a serious personal tragedy a year ago, in that he lost his uncle and his father (along with the high-school physics teacher — although I should say that I don’t think that Mischka Tegan was actually Elliot’s teacher, she taught the senior grades; however, the loss of ANY teacher at a school has a ripple-down effect) in an attack by a third-level Purple, yet he has continued to be a very nice kid; and, as I just mentioned, he caught the Butterfly Child, but I did not yet mention that he broke his own ankle in making sure he caught her, which just goes to show. The sort of personal sacrifice Elliot Baranski will make if need be, is what I mean.

11. It therefore seems to me that the Princess Sisters might like to meet him and give him a medal, or at least pat him on the back for good Cellianship. The best way to do that would, of course, be to come to Bonfire.

The above eleven points strike me as excellent.

The facts are: We are a fine, neat, clean-living town of humble and hardworking folk; we’ve had it tough this last year, what with the crops failing (as have most of the Farms, it’s true, but I get the sense that Bonfire’s had it especially tough — and the Butterfly Child has not yet reversed that problem, which is strange, but we are all being very quiet and patient about that, and despite her excessive sleepiness and slowness re: the crop effect, the Princess Sisters will LOVE her!).

Finally, you might have heard that I myself was caught in that fifth-level Gray attack that prevented you from stopping in our town, but I assure you that it has not hindered my capacity to function as Sheriff, and that things have not slipped in any way in Bonfire as a result. On the contrary, it has only served to heighten my awareness of danger, which, when you think about it, is a good thing in a sheriff.

Well, thank you for your time in reading this.

I look forward to your answer.

Yours with great affection and hope,

Hector Samuels,

County Sheriff

Bonfire, The Farms

Jimmy looked up from the letter in the manner of somebody gazing over the tops of their spectacles at a well-meaning but difficult child.

“That’ll persuade them, eh?!” Hector said.

“No,” said Jimmy. “I doubt it.”

He ignored Hector’s cries of protest, running his eyes over the pages again. Eventually he looked up.

“It’s a good letter, Hector,” he said, “although I don’t know that ‘their royal sweethearts’ is the technical term.” He scratched the back of his head. “And you think maybe you should leave out the bit about Elliot? It’s not … kind of taking advantage of him?”

“Nah.” Hector retrieved the letter and rolled his chair back to his desk. “Elliot’s gonna
love
it when the royals come to town!”

Jimmy laughed and turned back to his own work. He reached for a mandarin and dug his nails in to start peeling.

“You know what I’m working on again?” he said to Hector. “Those five missing persons reports. The ones that Central Intelligence sent through. Still got me stumped. All five of them.”

“Huh.” Hector grew thoughtful. “Me writing letters to royal tour committees, you doing missing persons for Central Intelligence. Makes you wonder how we ever get any
real
police work done around here, doesn’t it?”

Jimmy paused and spat out a mandarin seed, looking equally thoughtful.

“I guess it is a Saturday,” he began, but at that moment the door jangled open and they both straightened up in their seats.

“Here we go,” Hector said, rubbing his hands together. “Police work.”

But it was just the Twicklehams, come to apply for some money from the Red Wave Damage Fund.

The signage out the front of their shop had been scorched when the second-level Red (grade 2(b)) came through, they said, and two windows had broken when passersby, enraged by the fourth-level Red (grade 8(a)), had hurled hammers at each other and missed.

Hector began talking through details with the adult Twicklehams, while Derrin sat down on the carpet. She always wore a leather pouch on her shoulder, stenciled with a butterfly, and now she flipped this open, drawing out a pencil case. It had a row of little plastic windows spelling out her name: D E R R I N, and was otherwise decorated with butterfly stickers. She took out a notebook and green marker and began to draw.

The application was done in a few minutes, and Hector added it to the pile, and moved from behind the desk to say his good-byes. Jimmy also stood, politely.

“Either Jimmy or I will swing by in the next day or two to check out the damage,” Hector said, “but seems fairly cut-and-dry to me. How are you finding Bonfire these days anyhow? Apart from the flying flames and hurling hammers, I mean!”

The Twicklehams laughed, and Derrin looked up from her drawing.

“Oh, well, and if it isn’t the picture of a town!” exclaimed Mrs. Twickleham.

“The square is of excellent proportions,” agreed her husband. “And the Gardens are a tissue to the soul.”

“Folks here treating you right?” continued Hector. “Given you a proper Bonfire welcome?”

“Indeed and they are!” began Mrs. Twickleham. “We often partake of tea with Derrin’s grade-school teacher! Olivia Hattoway, she is a dove! Perhaps you have seen us together in the square? As to a —”

“If you will know it,” Mr. Twickleham said at the same time, his voice gruff, “the town has not —” His wife touched his shoulder.

“Now, then,” she murmured gently. “Shall we not bother these good folk with such things?”

Derrin continued drawing. Her picture was entirely in green: a green wind blowing across a green field, a green man and green woman, each with green tears and sad green mouths.

“People here
aren’t
treating you right?” ventured Jimmy.

“Ah, you warned us,” sighed Mr. Twickleham. “It is the young people, the friends of Elliot Baranski. They find ways to jib at us — nothing we can
actually
complain to — but at least a dozen occasions we’ve seen them accost customers about to enter our store.”

“And the leaflets we make,” added Mrs. Twickleham, glancing at her husband. “To advertise our specials and such? We put them under screenwipers on cars, but each time, within half an hour, they are gone again. Snatched by the breeze, I thought at first, and was unplussed, but then I saw one of those young people — I think it was Cody — gathering them up and throwing them away!”

“It’s such things,” nodded Mr. Twickleham. “A hundred examples we could give, but we seem petty! As to that poor young Elliot Baranski — why, there he is now!”

He pointed toward the window, and both Hector and Jimmy startled. Then they all looked across the road to the schoolyard. It was empty, being a Saturday, but there, indeed, was Elliot Baranski.

“What is that odd and disastrous contraption he investigates?” exclaimed Mr. Twickleham.

“That’s a sculpture.” Jimmy smiled. “Cody made it. That’s my old TV on top there. It was broken, so Cody used it for his sculpture.”

“A broken televisual machine,” sighed Mrs. Twickleham. “
We
could have fixed that for you, Jimmy. We’re good with electronics, you know. As to a —” But her voice drifted away and she turned her attention to Derrin, still on the floor.

“Of course you’re good with electronics,” Hector agreed heartily. “That’s why you’ve got an electronics shop!”

“Ah, my little Derrin.” Mrs. Twickleham was crouching. “We’re not so sad as your picture depicts, my sweetsnail. We’ll be all right, I promise.”

Derrin pushed her hair behind her ears. In her elfin face, her eyes were large and unblinking. She shifted these around the room, from person to person, then settled on Hector. She handed over the green picture.

“This is for me?” he exclaimed. “Why, it’s so pretty! I’m going to put it right here on the wall. Wait! No, I’m not.” With a flourish, he reached for his own satchel — it was leaning up against his desk — and pointed out a plastic window on its front. “I’ve got a window here, like you’ve got little squares for your name on your pencil case! But mine is the right size for a picture!” He slipped Derrin’s picture into the plastic cover. “Now I can carry your masterpiece everywhere I go!”

Derrin seemed essentially to have forgotten about Hector as he enthused about her artwork and where to put it. She was packing her pencil case into her pouch, standing and adjusting its straps onto her shoulder.

The Twicklehams smiled grateful and embarrassed smiles at both Hector and Jimmy.

“Business will improve,” Mrs. Twickleham said. “There’s that Bonfire Trade Fair coming up, and we’ve plans for a stall, such as we’ll build in the shape of an
appliance
of some kind! Or anyway, we’ll make it very pretty. And we’ll bake little deliciousnesses and give these
away, along with coupons for ‘one free repair.’ The plans we have! It will save us. The fair will save us.”

“The fair will save us,” agreed Mr. Twickleham. “And in the meantime, Jimmy” — he pointed again to the schoolyard and the sculpture; Elliot appeared to be leaning against it — “what if I gathered up your broken TV and fixed it for you?”

Jimmy breathed in through his nose and clicked his tongue.

“You know,” he said, “I feel like maybe that’s
not
the solution to your problems in this town?”

“Ah, the kids’ll get over it,” Hector said. “You just give them time. They’re too loyal, is the problem, but in this case they’ve got their loyalty all in a tangle. I’ll have a word to them on your behalf, is what I’ll do.”