Plagium (Keepers Book 1)

Chapter 14 - In Which The Clock Counts Down

"Cozy?" Harriet offered.

"Cluttered," Bentam sniffed.

"Messy," Charlied said, which rewarded himself a pinch from Harriet.

"Yes, sorry 'bout the mess!" Mittie said with a nonchalant laugh as she took up a few books and wedged them into a nearby shelf. "It's usually not this messy; I've been busy doing some research. Now, Trace!" she said with an enthusiastic clap to her hands. "Let's have a look at this paper, shall we?"

Tracey held the paper in front of herself, examined the seal once more, then broke the document open. "Let's see what we have here," she said as she unfolded the paper.

Across the top of the paper was a scrawled message that she could barely make out. She recognized it as being Mr. Porter's own writing: Highly suspicious. Check this, William?

Below, Tracey read the contents in question. "It appears to be a copy of a deposit record page...?" she said, examining the paper closer. "I see several withdrawals...and all of them appear to be some theatres?"

"May I see?" Mittie asked. She took the offered paper. "Strange...I've heard that Jon Starr's performed at all of these locations before? Huh. And the play names, too. Pretty sure that these are his. Beyond the Starry Sky, An Event of Regret, even And Then the Summer's Eve Cried."

"That's hardly remarkable," Bentam said from his seat by the window. "I'm sure Jon has many admirers that follow his plays."

"I'm sure there's something wrong with it if it's marked as 'highly suspicious'," Mittie said. She scanned the paper once more before handing it back to Tracey. "But what's so suspicious about this? Nothin's wrong with someone goin' to all o' his performances."

"Perhaps it's not as much as why they're going as it is who's going," Tracey said. "Look at the client's name: Corsetta Pinot."

Everyone stirred.

"Mrs. Pinot's not suspicious!" Harriet cried.

"I thought that she has a bone ta pick with Jon Starr?" Charlie said.

"That's what I thought, too," Bentam murmured. "Let me see the document."

Bentam tensely took the paper from Tracey, muttered a strained "thank you" and returned to his seat. He then took out a device of some sort from his pocket. It appeared to be a tube with black paper wrapped around it. Bentam unfurled the tube and began pushing buttons along its top. It made a whirring noise as its miniature gears clacked to life. Soon enough, the black of the paper began to shift and form letters.

"Gears! Look at that!" Charlie said as he rushed behind Bentam to get a clearer look. "What's that? How'd it do that?"

"I can't always carry papers with me," he replied. "So we use these portable documents. I just type the motor mail coordinates of my needed document, and this paper will form the black into letters. It's really all just a matter of electromagnetics."

"Electr...what?" Charlie blankly echoed.

"Don't worry about it," Bentam said with a wave. "Now, if my theory is correct..." He trailed off, lost in scanning the document. "Hm," he grunted. "I'm afraid my theory is correct."

"What's the theory?" Mittie asked, leaning against her desk.

"Every one of these performances that Mrs. Pinot had attended match the location and name of the false performances that Ms. Halpin is advertising."

"Ms. Halpin..." Tracey echoed, thinking back to the gruff woman who had suspiciously been following them the past few days. "I wonder why."

"Maybe Mrs. Pinot is just very unfortunate in her choices of performances?" Harriet offered.

"But that wouldn't explain why she chose his performances in the first place, especially if they have an ongoing feud," Mittie replied. "Plus, she had told us that she goes to bed promptly at 9 o'clock. Jon's performances end well past then. If she lied to us on that, what else has she lied to us about?"

Harriet squirmed. "I...I suppose she was lying as well when she said she didn't see Mr. Porter that night. I'm quite certain I saw him go in there."

The air hung heavy in the room.

"So what's the next step?" Mittie asked.

"I think Mr. Porter may indeed be at Mrs. Pinot's," Bentam said. "So I suggest that we investigate her home ourselves. Tomorrow night will be the performance that Ms. Halpin invited us to, correct?"

"Yes," Tracey confirmed, ignoring the sharp glance from Bentam.

"It's likely that she'll be at the fraudulent performance. To be safe, we can go to the performance and see for ourselves, then go to her home."

"What of the tickets that Jon Starr gave us?" Tracey reminded.

"Oh, yes. I suppose it would look strange if we didn't take his offer." Bentam frowned.

"How about we go long enough for Jon to see us," Mittie suggested, "then a few o' us—not me, mind you—slip 'way and check if Mrs. Pinot's at the fraudulent one?"

"That could work...," Bentam said, slowly nodding. "But why not you?"

"There's no way I'm missing a VIP front-row performance of Jon Starr himself!"

"I understand, it's alright," Tracey graciously said. "I could go and check with one other person. If she is there, we can go to her home and find Mr. Porter!"

"Very plausible," Bentam agreed. "There's only one problem. How will we communicate quickly enough? This is a relatively small timeframe that we're working with, and it is too large of a distance for us to be traversing back and forth."

"Leave that to me!" Mittie cheerfully said. "I have steamgear to communicate, and steamweapons to protect ourselves."

"Weapons?" Tracey gasped. "I hardly think that would be necessary."

"Oh no, just one or two of us."

"She's right," Bentam joined. "Someone capable of kidnapping is likely capable of far worse. Besides," he added, "they even managed to get a hold of combustible paper. I don't think I need to elaborate on which sort of people are in possession of combustible paper nowadays."

"Come, follow me," Mittie said, striding to the door. "I'll give ya a quick walkthrough of the things before we go tomorrow."

The group gathered themselves and followed her. Tracey bit back a smile of anticipation. Things were finally looking up, and they might very well find Mr. Porter at long last.