 |
| Image courtesy of Sandra Hak, Pixabay |
A Tale of Sixpences
A slim, bony hand reached out to pick up the receiver from the pristine white telephone on the desk.
“Frost and Snow Detective Agency, how can I help?” Jack Frost grabbed a pen and notepad with his free hand.
“Mrs McOven ’ere from the palace,” said the gruff voice at the other end of the line. “Mi sixpences for the puddings ’ave been half-inched from the Countin’ ’Ouse, and I need you or Manny Snow over ’ere right away to sort it.”
Jack sat up straight and glanced across at his partner’s desk. The ‘In’ and ‘Out’ trays were overflowing; a scarf was hanging haphazardly on the back of the chair, and a pair of twigs, some chunks of coal, and a carrot were strewn across the leather inlay. Hmm, taking a break in the freezer, thought Jack.
“I see,” said Frost, gazing out the window at the unseasonably warm and wet December weather. “And when did you first notice the sixpences were missing.”
“Twelve minutes ago.”
Jack looked at the cuckoo clock on the wall.
“That’s sixteen-forty-two,” the blue and green wooden bird croaked as it popped out to confirm the current time.
Jack made a note. “And where exactly are these sixpences kept, Mrs McOven?”
“In His Nibs Countin’ ’Ouse like wot I said.”
Jack took a breath. “Yes, Madam. I’ve got that,” he said slowly. “But where is His Majesty’s Counting House?”
Mrs McOven’s irritation manifested itself as a deep sigh followed by a pause from the other end of the line. “Tut! In the Tower, of course.”
A thought passed through Jack’s mind, and he scribbled the words ‘Inside Job’ in his notebook.
“I see,” he said after a moment. “And who has access to the Counting House apart from His Majesty?”
“I don’t know, do I? I’m just the cook. Are you gonna get down ’ere and sort this, or are you gonna keep on wiv these bloody questions?”
“I’m just doing my job, Mrs McOven, and we will be there in thirty minutes,” said Jack before replacing the receiver. We’ll have to get statements from the Warders anyway, he reasoned, as he picked up his notebook and grabbed his hat from the peg by the door. Crossing to Manny’s desk, he scooped up his colleague’s bits and pieces and the scarf and marched to the small kitchen. Along the back wall were a series of upright freezers of various heights. He pulled open the door of the tallest and peered in.
“Wakey, wakey,” he shouted. “We’ve got a case, Manny.” With the final word, he stuck a twig into each side of his colleague’s substantially plump snow-white body.
“Ouch!” Snow shouted. “Do you have to be so harsh?” He levered himself out onto the tiled floor. “Coals and carrot, please.”
As Jack passed over the remaining items, Manny gradually added them to his face and body. With everything in its rightful place, Emmanuel Snow stood tall.
“Ah, that’s better,” he said, smoothing down the coals that lined his chest. “Right, let’s walk, and you can talk me through this new investigation.” Emmanuel Snow, Manny to his friends, grabbed his scarf from his colleague, lumbered across the room into the main office, and out of the door onto the street.
“We need to be discreet,” said Jack, closing the office door. “This is a job for the King.”
“Oh!” Manny raised a sparkling white eyebrow.
“We’re heading to the Tower of London,” said Jack. Sitting astride his ice-blue Vespa, he watched as Manny sculpted himself into the open convertible sidecar.
“Some sixpences have gone missing from the Counting House,” said Jack, switching the ignition into life.
“Inside job, then,” said Manny as he threaded his scarf across his back, pulled it up under his twigs and tied it above his head. Jack Frost was well-known as a speed freak. Manny settled his twigs in his lap and looked ahead. Jack pulled out into the late afternoon traffic with a determined look on his face.
Outside the Tower, a vast flock of blackbirds was mounting a slow and silent protest. The placards carried by every bird shouted loudly and clearly about the injustice done. The space above the sea of black feathers screamed indignation and discontent. As Jack manoeuvred the bike towards the gatehouse, he saw the rows of blackbirds leading the protest had come to a standstill, and many were settled on the ground as if roosting in preparation for sunset. At the front of the throng was an upside-down tea chest with a single blackbird on top.
Leaning on a crutch, his right leg in plaster and a loud hailer to his beak, “It was me!” The thrush took a breath and stared at his audience. Raising his left wing, he spoke again.
“I did it,” he said, his voice a little distorted by the megaphone. “Someone had to take action. These peaceful protests have achieved nothing for decades.” He let his left wing drop and surveyed the crowd.
Jack parked the bike and stood silently, waiting for a reaction. Other than a few murmurs of support, the assembled crowd remained calm.
“What we need is more action. What we need is Mrs McOven sacked.”
“What we need is no more pies,” interjected a female bird in the third row.
“And equal rights with the ravens,” said another voice further back in the crowd.
The injured bird on the soapbox picked up the sentiments. “No more baking,” he bellowed through the loudspeaker. “No more torture by heat exhaustion. No more pies.” The chant initiated; it gradually rippled through row upon row of voices. “No more pies. Equal rights with ravens.”
As the mantra continued and picked up in intensity, Jack and Manny made the rest of the way towards the entrance to the castle on their own ice and snow. As they stepped over the birds, some moved, some jostled their placards in annoyance, but the chant continued with increasing ferocity. As Jack and Manny approached the bridge across the old moat, two warders came out of the gatehouse.
“Frost and Snow?”
“Yes,” said Jack.
“Follow me,” said the more elderly-looking man in uniform as he turned and led them through the gate and towards the interior of the Tower.
“That protest is getting a bit aggressive,” said Jack.
“Yes,” said the Warder. “It’s been getting more aggressive since the maid was attacked in the garden three days ago. But we can handle it.” He turned into a narrow corridor with a single door at the end. The Warder reached for his keys, unlocked and opened the door for Jack and Manny to pass through.
“You’ll be safe from the birds in this part of the castle,” he said as he firmly secured the door behind them. The Warder set off at a brisk march through an arch and into a courtyard.
“Who has access to the Counting House?” Jack asked.
“His Majesty, The Chancellor and the Chief Warder.”
They turned into another corridor of stone and then took some stairs. “We will pass the Chief’s office on the way. Would you like to stop there first?”
“Yes,” said Jack. “Manny, you can interview Mrs McOven, and then we’ll met up and confer.”
Manny tried to nod.
“Scarf!” Jack said, rolling his eyes.
“Oh yes,” said Manny as he removed his temporary headgear and slung the scarf around his neck.
“Chief’s office,” said the Warder as he opened the solid wooden door. “Mr Frost, Sir, to talk about the security arrangements and the missing money, Sir.”
“Thank you, Roberts. Come in, Mr Frost, and take a seat.”
Jack pulled out his notebook. “Your name rank and number,” he said, pen poised.
“Chief Warder Robin Clovis, and we don’t bother with the number thing these days.”
Jack scribbled the details in his notebook and then looked up. “Right.” He took in the broad grin on the Chief Warder’s face and the sparkle in his pale blue eyes. As Jack’s stare hardened, the temperature in the room began to plummet.
“I’m here to get facts, Warder Clovis,” he said. “Let’s just stick with that, shall we?” Jack shifted in his seat. “So, who has keys to the Counting House?”
Warder Clovis shivered. “I do. There’s an emergency set in the vault at the palace which only the Chancellor and the King can access, and there’s a single key for the door to the Strong Room that I keep here for the use of Mrs McOven.”
Jack pursed his lips. “A single key for Mrs McOven to use,” he repeated. “Why?”
“She needs access when she’s making her puddings and cakes.”
“Do all her puddings and cakes include coinage, then?”
“Well, no, I don’t suppose they do, but the King’s children’s birthday cakes, christening cakes, Christmas puddings, and others for special occasions do.”
It’s a wonder royalty have any teeth left, thought Jack as he considered the weight of coinage that might be needed for a whole year.
“So, how many sixpences are there then?”
Warder Clovis shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said. “Mrs McOven’s currency is stored in a blue velvet coin bag which sits on the corner of the small safe in the strong room.”
Jack frowned. “Why not in the safe?”
“Well, they are not legal tender, and the safe is only for the keys to open the interior door to the main treasury where this building’s vault is housed.”
“I see,” said Jack, his mind a complete fog. “I think I’d better take a look.”
The Chief Warder escorted Jack through corridors, up and down stairs and into a vast, dark chamber. No windows were visible, but Jack detected a slight movement of air above his head. His eyes gazed up at the vaulted stone ceiling and around the walls. Not a single chink of light was visible, and yet the movement of air was there.
The Warder held up his keys. “These are for the door over there, and that’s the entrance to the main treasury. I can’t open that door for you. I must have an escort of four other Warders with me, and I must have the appropriate authorisation and paperwork as I am only allowed to access the various boxes that contain whatever is on the list of wanted items.”
Jack nodded. “But Mrs McOven’s coins are kept where?”
“Right here,” said Clovis as he turned towards a small green safe that stood to one side of the open door. He tapped the circular white crocheted mat that sat on the metal. “Mrs McOven’s coin bag is normally here.”
“But now it’s not,” said Jack as he mentally convinced himself further that this was indeed an inside job. “And Mrs McO came in here earlier this afternoon alone, did she?”
“No! No, that is not allowed. Mrs McOven has to arrange with me a time and a day to collect the coins in advance.”
“And when did she do that?”
“Two days ago. We agreed that we would collect the money at sixteen-thirty today.”
“So, tell me what happened, then?”
Warder Clovis sighed. Adopting a military stance and tone, he rattled off the details. “Mrs McOven presented herself at my office at sixteen-twenty precisely. I collected her key from my safe and handed it over. We both marched to the Strong Room and arrived a minute or two shy of our agreed handover time. Mrs McOven used her key to open the outer door. We both entered at the same time. Mrs McOven let out a screech. I noted that the coin bag was open and empty at sixteen-thirty precisely. We secured the room immediately. It was agreed that Mrs McOven would report the theft to you.”
“And where is the coin bag now?”
“Mrs McOven has it.” Warder Clovis relaxed a little. “Will you be bringing in your forensics people now?”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Jack. He walked around the small safe, examining every inch. With a breath, he created a thin film of frost on the top, which showed there were no fingerprints to be found. The floor showed no indication of footprints, either. “Me and Manny have … our methods,” he said, tapping a long finger against a long, thin nose.
“Ah.”
“Right, I’m done here,” said Jack. “Let’s go to the kitchens and see what Manny has found.”
 |
| Image courtesy of Alana Jordan, Pixabay |
“Walk-in freezer, through the arch to the pantry, and it’s the first door on the left,” said Mrs McOven. “He was dripping all over mi floor.”
“Not surprised with this heat,” muttered Jack as he moved towards the arch. There were numerous doors and alcoves. He pulled open the tall metal door on his left and stepped inside. “Manny?”
“Right here, Jack, with the legs of lamb.”
Jack surveyed the various rows of meat on hooks and started down an aisle on his right.
“I thought it was an inside job,” said Manny as his colleague came into view. “But now I’m not so sure.”
“My thoughts, too,” said Jack, taking a deep breath of the ice-filled air. “It would have been easy for Mrs McO to pocket the bag of coins whilst Warder Clovis was entering the room. There were no fingerprints or footprints, but …” He let his thoughts flow away through his mind.
“I know those blackbirds want rid of Mrs McOven, but she comes across to me as someone who is as honest as the day is long. She said that none of the coins in her bag were legal tender. She told me that straight out, adding that she couldn’t understand why anyone would want old coins.”
Jack nodded. “Old they may be, but they could still have a value to a collector,” he said. “And when you consider the current ownership, the provenance, that could be enough for a rich collector to commission the theft for themselves.”
Manny grimaced. “Perhaps,” he said. “But I did find this,” Manny tipped up the coin bag and let a small electric-blue feather float out onto the cold air.
Jack held out his hand and caught the feather in his open palm, and examined it.
“Interesting,” he said. “And there’s something about that Strong Room that bothers me.”
“What?”
“Hmm,” said Jack. “I’m going outside to call up a north wind. You get the Chief Warder, go to the Strong Room and remain at the entrance. Watch what happens.”
Manny stood up and threw his scarf around his neck. “You’ve got a hunch, Jack?”
Frost nodded, turned, and strode out of the freezer.
In the courtyard, Jack took a deep breath. With his head back, he exhaled long and slow. At first, a chill breeze came from the north. In moments, it became a strong, freezing wind and then a lashing gale that hit the corner of the Tower where the Strong Room was located. Jack raised his bony hand, and the wind dissipated, leaving behind a trail of debris on the ground.
Jack moved across to investigate, a spiny forefinger sifting through the stone dust and small pieces of rubble he recognised as parts of the ribbing in the vaulting. He spied another feather. A white one. Looking up at the sky, he heard the calls of various birds disturbed by the wind. But there was one particular voice that he recognised. He grinned and strode back in to meet up with his colleague.
In the Strong Room, at the corner of the Tower, Manny and the Chief Warder gazed up at a small hole in the vaulting that had been partially hidden by the ribbing.
“Just as I thought,” said Jack as he surveyed the damage.
“But no one can get up there,” said Warder Clovis. “This is the inner court, and we have regular patrols, and anyone accessing the tower would have been seen.”
Jack held up the two feathers. “Perhaps,” he said. “But what about the Jays in the nearby canopies of the trees in the outer courtyard or the trees beyond the moat?”
Warder Clovis removed his cap and scratched his head. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” said Jack. “Those pesky Jays will peck a hole in glass to get what they want.”
“Right,” Warder Clovis stared at the floor. “Right,” he said. Donning his cap, he stood to attention. “I’ll marshal the men, and we’ll get those trees searched immediately.”
“Case closed,” said Manny as he settled behind his desk. “All monies recovered from the bird’s nests and Mrs McOven happy.”
“Nice of her to offer us a pudding for Christmas,” said Jack.
“Yes, but you turned it down. I would have gladly accepted.”
Jack sniffed. “And you would have had all the Jays shot rather than getting them re-homed and in rehab to cure them of their thieving ways.”
Manny smiled. “You know me too well, Jack.” He stood and divested himself of his scarf, carrot, coals and twigs. “Time for bed,” he said.
I hope you enjoyed this story. My central characters, Frost and Snow, first appeared in a one-act play recorded for local radio in 2011. I've always known I wasn't finished with these two, so it was great fun to bring them back for this story.
An abridged version of this tale first appeared on the Facebook page of the UK Crime Book Club on December 15th.
