"Sure, hop in."
✧˖°.✧˖˚▹ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ༺༄ؘ 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 12 ༄ؘ༻ₓ˚ .୧ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୭˚▹ₓ˚.✧˖°.✧
I glanced at the books that he was sitting on. They looked like they were from the library, and some of them I admired very much.
"Are you really sure that you're old enough to drive?" I asked.
"Are you really sure that you're old enough to go to the edge of town by yourself?" Éto replied. "Come on, get in."
I got in as Squeak hit the gas. Éto steered the car expertly through the crumbly, half-deserted blocks of Murthorn Marine and I looked out the window to spot a grocery store, empty but open, and a department store with mannequins in the window that wanted to go home. The sun was beginning to set behind the tall tower in the shape of a pen. I tried to think of the statue of the Bloodcurdling Beast, but my mind wandered, first to the caves that I had seen, where frightened octopi were giving up their ink, and then to a bigger, deeper hole back in the city. I told myself to stop thinking about things I couldn't do anything about and looked out the window as the taxi passed the Trey mansion and continued up the hill.
"Has your father ever driven Ms. Trey anywhere?" I asked.
"I don't think so," Éto replied. "When the Trey family was in town, they had their own private chauffeur."
"Are they in town now?"
"Not that we know of," Squeak said from the floor of the car.
After a few minutes, we passed the small white cottage, and Squeak brought the taxi to a perfect stop in front of the lighthouse door.
"Would you like us to stay here so we can drive you back in town?"
"No thank you," I replied.
"Well, hopefully, you know what you're doing," Éto told me, "it seems quite foolish coming out here without a way to get back. How 'bout a tip?"
"Here's a tip," I said. "Next time you listen to music, listen to 𝘓𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘛𝘪𝘮𝘦."
"Be specific."
"By Playboi Carti," I replied.
"That's the kind of tip we can use." Squeak's smile started to grow exponentially, the corners of his mouth growing more and more wicked. "We like to listen to music between fares."
I shut the door behind me and gave the window of the cab a careful knock good-bye. I didn't want to shatter the already cracked window. Éto waved, and the taxi drove off. I waited until the sound of the engine had faded, and then stood for a moment looking up at the lighthouse. I hoped that the same thing that the two substitute drivers of Fergistein Taxi hoped. That I knew what I was doing. I doubted it. I listened to the eerie rustle of the wind through the seaweed of the Forst of Seaweed, far below me, and then in front of me the more ordinary sound of a door opening.
"Ravon Corlorown," a voice said.
I did a 180° to see the girl who had spoken. "What's the news, Riley?"
"You tell me," she replied, "you're the one who appeared at my door."
I squinted into the dim sky until I could see the faint, thick line of the hawser stretched out above me and angling down the hill. Why not, I thought, and turned back to Riley Wahalian.
"I'd like to extend an invitation," I told her.
She gave me a small smile. "Really? For what?"
"For a burglary taking place this evening at your house," I answered as I walked through the door.
তততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত
"That's a very kind invitation, Corlorown," Riley told me, "however, I'm not sure if it counts as a burglary if the item being stolen ain't treasured by its owner."
"Explain in other words...?" I replied.
Riley blinked at me under her blue beanie. "You know exactly what I mean, Ravon. You's here to steal the Bloodcudling Best, ain't that right?"
"How'd you know?"
Riley walked to her typewriter that sat on its usual spot on the stairway, with a sheet of paper still rolled into it. She scanned the paper to reread what she had typed earlier.
"A stranger knocked on my door," she read, "with an older woman who briefly pretended to be his wife. The stranger asked to see a particular item and was clearly surprised that I showed it to him." Riley looked up from the paper to look at me. "And here you are, talking about burglary. So?"
"You're a very good journalist," I said to her.
"Flattery bores me, Ravon. Are you here to steal the statue or not?"
"Of course," I decided to say. "Do you mind terribly?"
Her smile got bigger. "Not at all," she replied while leaning against the open door of the lighthouse. She adjusted a knob on her typewriter and then looked me straight in the eye. She wasn't any taller than I was, but I still had to look up to meet her gaze, as I had been taught never to do.
"Ravon Corlorown, I think it's about time you tell me exactly what's going on."
"Are you really writing this up for the newspaper?" I asked. "I thought 𝘔𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘔𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺 was out of business."
"I'm practicing as a journalist," she told me. "Then when I leave this town, I'll be ready to join a newspaper."
"When your mother sends for you," I added.
"Stop stalling, Ravon. Tell me precisely what's going on."
I sighed, and told her.
"There is someone who has taken an interest in the statue of the Bloodcurdling Beast," I started, protecting the name of my client, as I had been instructed to do. "This person told me that the statue is theirs and is worth a whole lotta money. However, I can't find that to be true because if it were a whole lotta money, then it wouldn't be covered in a sheet with a bunch of dusty, forgotten items. I find that the statue has been in possession of your family for a very long time, since the days of Lady Wahalian. But it doesn't matter what I find to be true, so I'm gonna stay here 'til midnight, and when my associate arrives, we will take the Bloodcurdling Beast and escape down the hill on the hawser, and my assignment will be done."