Read Online Boots for the Gentleman by Augusta Li & Eon de Beaumont - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Augusta Li & Eon de Beaumont
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dissolution of our virtuous women and the corruption and kidnap of our children. I call upon all of you now to ratify an act giving these inhabitants one month’s time to vacate these premises and remove any evidence of their presence. If they are unwilling to comply, I call upon each of you to, as our noble ancestors have done so many times in the past, take up arms to defend this kingdom!’
“Debate continued past the noon hour regarding the feasibility of Lord Thimbleroy’s proposal. Thimbleroy indicated some privately funded research that might be able to aid his worthy cause, while Duchess Lisine, who several years prior gained notoriety as the first woman to demand entrance to the house, but who remains a favorite of the queen mother, called for an alternative to violence, citing the Empire’s already thinly spread military resources. Debate is expected to continue. The Grande Chancellor did, however, gain a small victory when House members agreed to the measure of having Royal and city guards remove any person not able to provide proof of citizenship to the area known as Neroche.”
“I’m glad I’m not one of those guards,” Querry said.
“What’s this Neroche place?” the doll asked.
“It’s nowhere you’d want to go.”
“How long has it been there?”
“Nobody knows,” Querry said. “Nobody remembers it not being there, not that it’s ever in the same place. Some people will tell you it’s not there at all. Maps still show Hawthorne Street continuing right down to the riverbank. Lord Thimbleroy’s the worst sort of fool if he thinks he can do anything about it, either.”
“I don’t like this Lord Thimbleroy,” the doll said decisively. “Look at his silly, curled-up moustache! And here’s another article! ‘Decadent fey frolic captured by daguerreotype in churchyard near the palace’.”
Querry looked at the blurry image of gamboling sprites, faerie gentlemen, and girls in nightshirts. A long list of suspicious disappearances followed. Below it was an ad for a self-heating hair-curling iron.
“Frolic,” the doll said, as if the word contained layers of mystery and meaning. “Do you think I can be called Frolic?”
Laughing, Querry said, “Really?” Others would have certainly tried to dissuade the doll from this improper choice, but the thief could see no harm. “‘Frolic’ it is.”
The doll smiled, and his eyes returned to the paper. “What’s this laundry powder?”
“Well, you—” Querry began, but just then he saw Reg emerge from the great double doors of the Archives in a hound’s-tooth cape and bowler hat. He stood, tapped Frolic’s shoulder, and went to meet his friend at the foot of the steps. The man who’d been watching them followed their progress. He observed the trio a few moments before melting into the crowd.
At first, Reg looked at Frolic with terror. Eyes darting back and forth, he hissed, “Querry! What are you doing? You can’t bring a faerie out of Neroche; you’ll be arrested! Haven’t you heard the news?”
“This is Frolic,” Querry said. “He’s not a faerie. Frolic, Reginald Whitney.”
“Hello.”
“Querry, what—” Reg scowled, his intelligence insulted. Querry supposed Frolic did sound a little like a faerie name.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Querry asked.
“There’s a pub around the corner where lots of us who work here like to stop. Or there’s a little coffee shop where we go to play chess.”
“That won’t do,” Querry said. “We need somewhere we can’t possibly be heard.”
Querry and Frolic followed Reg down a corridor between the Archives and the building next to it, across a desolate round courtyard, then finally through an iron gate. Beyond it, a concrete bench sat beneath a birch tree. The backs of the buildings enclosed a little triangle of high grass. Querry brushed the yellow leaves aside and sat down. Frolic sat next to him, the sun through the branches striping his face, but Reg
“Debate continued past the noon hour regarding the feasibility of Lord Thimbleroy’s proposal. Thimbleroy indicated some privately funded research that might be able to aid his worthy cause, while Duchess Lisine, who several years prior gained notoriety as the first woman to demand entrance to the house, but who remains a favorite of the queen mother, called for an alternative to violence, citing the Empire’s already thinly spread military resources. Debate is expected to continue. The Grande Chancellor did, however, gain a small victory when House members agreed to the measure of having Royal and city guards remove any person not able to provide proof of citizenship to the area known as Neroche.”
“I’m glad I’m not one of those guards,” Querry said.
“What’s this Neroche place?” the doll asked.
“It’s nowhere you’d want to go.”
“How long has it been there?”
“Nobody knows,” Querry said. “Nobody remembers it not being there, not that it’s ever in the same place. Some people will tell you it’s not there at all. Maps still show Hawthorne Street continuing right down to the riverbank. Lord Thimbleroy’s the worst sort of fool if he thinks he can do anything about it, either.”
“I don’t like this Lord Thimbleroy,” the doll said decisively. “Look at his silly, curled-up moustache! And here’s another article! ‘Decadent fey frolic captured by daguerreotype in churchyard near the palace’.”
Querry looked at the blurry image of gamboling sprites, faerie gentlemen, and girls in nightshirts. A long list of suspicious disappearances followed. Below it was an ad for a self-heating hair-curling iron.
“Frolic,” the doll said, as if the word contained layers of mystery and meaning. “Do you think I can be called Frolic?”
Laughing, Querry said, “Really?” Others would have certainly tried to dissuade the doll from this improper choice, but the thief could see no harm. “‘Frolic’ it is.”
The doll smiled, and his eyes returned to the paper. “What’s this laundry powder?”
“Well, you—” Querry began, but just then he saw Reg emerge from the great double doors of the Archives in a hound’s-tooth cape and bowler hat. He stood, tapped Frolic’s shoulder, and went to meet his friend at the foot of the steps. The man who’d been watching them followed their progress. He observed the trio a few moments before melting into the crowd.
At first, Reg looked at Frolic with terror. Eyes darting back and forth, he hissed, “Querry! What are you doing? You can’t bring a faerie out of Neroche; you’ll be arrested! Haven’t you heard the news?”
“This is Frolic,” Querry said. “He’s not a faerie. Frolic, Reginald Whitney.”
“Hello.”
“Querry, what—” Reg scowled, his intelligence insulted. Querry supposed Frolic did sound a little like a faerie name.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Querry asked.
“There’s a pub around the corner where lots of us who work here like to stop. Or there’s a little coffee shop where we go to play chess.”
“That won’t do,” Querry said. “We need somewhere we can’t possibly be heard.”
Querry and Frolic followed Reg down a corridor between the Archives and the building next to it, across a desolate round courtyard, then finally through an iron gate. Beyond it, a concrete bench sat beneath a birch tree. The backs of the buildings enclosed a little triangle of high grass. Querry brushed the yellow leaves aside and sat down. Frolic sat next to him, the sun through the branches striping his face, but Reg
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