The Geppetto Codex: Beaumont and Beasley, #5

By Kyle Robert Shultz

The puppets have cut their strings…
 

Timid faun Gareth Llewellyn and hot-tempered dryad Sylvia Kirke are not exactly the most skilled or valued agents of Beaumont and Beasley Investigations. So, when an opportunity arises for them to finally prove their worth to their employers, they jump at the chance.

 

The citizens of the city of Vetri are turning into wooden statues, and no one can determine the cause. Gareth and Sylvia trace the threat to an abandoned monastery; home to a family of living, evil puppets.

 

It's all right, though. They can handle this. Can't they?

 

Perhaps not. When a crucial mistake turns the entire situation on its head, Gareth and Sylvia must decide whether to stand and fight against impossible odds…or accept a dark bargain from an old enemy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kyle Robert Shultz
• Release date: Jan 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9798215619872

Book preview

PROLOGUE

To: Nicholas Beasley

From: Lady Cordelia Beaumont

Re: Possible Incident in Vetri & Performance Appraisals

Dear Mr. Beasley,

I’ve enclosed a newspaper clipping regarding a recent incident in the city of Vetri, Turchesa, that we may want to look into. It appears to be an investigation suited to the unique talents of our employees—in particular, the faun Gareth Llewellyn and the dryad Sylvia Kirke of the Botanical Department.

However, before we discuss whether or not we should dispatch Gareth and Sylvia on this investigation, you should complete the performance appraisals on these two employees—which, I may mention, I requested from you nearly three weeks ago. I would like to see these documents on my desk at your earliest convenience.

And speaking of things being overdue, please remember that the deadline for you to address the matter we discussed after the Duville incident is in just two days. I would prefer not to have to take this issue in hand myself.

Regards,

Lady Cordelia Beaumont

To: You

From: Me

Re: Stuff

Your Most Esteemed Ladyship of Beaumont,

What’s with all the formality? Is this you being mad at me? It is, isn’t it? Hard to tell in writing, but I know what you’re doing. You could have talked to me face-to-face instead of slipping an envelope under the door of my office.

Thanks a lot for the clipping. Granted, it’s in Turchesan, and I don’t speak Turchesan, so it’s not going to do me much good. And given that we spent heaven-knows-how-many years trapped in a Vetrian castle, and you never heard me speaking anything besides Logrish to everybody there, I’m guessing YOU ALREADY KNEW I didn’t speak Turchesan.

Anyway, despite that, I think I’ve figured out what the headline says. Something about people getting turned to wood. It’s our sort of case, I suppose, but a little outside our jurisdiction. We’ve got enough problems in Talesend without venturing that far afield. So no, I don’t think we should go there or send anyone else there, at least not right now. I’m sure the Turchesans have their own people to handle things like that.

I don’t have to fill out some long form about Gareth and Sylvia; I can sum up their performance very quickly and simply. They’re good kids, but Gareth’s too skittish and Sylvia’s too…Sylvia. You know what I mean. She’s got anger-management problems. They both mean well, but I don’t believe they’re ready for really important investigations yet. And sending them abroad somewhere would be a terrible idea. Let’s keep them confined to the simple stuff here in the city, shall we?

Also, do we really have to call them the Botanical Department? I mean, this detective agency of ours doesn’t even have any other departments. I know we’re trying to build up their self-esteem, but still, it seems a bit silly.

Finally, yes, I know perfectly well that your little deadline is coming up in two days. Thank you so much for reminding me. (Just to be clear, that last sentence is meant to be read in a very sarcastic tone.) And yes, I will deal with it. I don’t need any help, or any reminders. I’m just trying to pick the right moment, and since we talked, I’ve been occupied with another very important matter. Plus, I’ve got to find Crispin first, haven’t I? And that’s proved downright impossible so far. I think Molly might know where he is; she hasn’t admitted it, but I’m pretty sure she’s spoken with him since he left. I can’t get her to tell me anything. She’s been acting a little odd and distracted lately.

I really hope it’s not because of…well, you know.

Look, we’ve barely said two words to each other since that argument. Can’t we talk about this? I won’t try to change your mind about telling Crispin and Molly the truth; I promise.

I just miss you.

Confabulations or whatever,

Nick

CHAPTER 1

KNEEL BEFORE EDITH

The United Kingdom of Camelot

The City of Talesend

1923 E.A.

GARETH

Italk to plants. Might as well get that out in the open right away.

In fact, my fiancée Sylvia Kirke sort of is a plant. We’re hoping to get married next spring. She’s a dryad, which means she’s basically a non-corporeal being in a symbiotic relationship with a tree. A birch, usually, though she sometimes inhabits other varieties of tree.

Oh, and I’m a faun. Not the baby deer kind; that’s spelled with a w. I’m the kind that looks partly human but with goat legs and ears and hooves and a tail.

Still there? Good. I haven’t scared you off, then. Some people are sensitive about all this magic stuff that’s been happening recently. Ever since my boss, Nick Beasley, revealed to the city of Talesend that magic is real, everyone’s been in a tizzy about it.

Mr. Beasley is the head of Beaumont and Beasley Magical Investigations. Well, one of the heads. Lady Cordelia Beaumont is the other one. I work in the botanical department, alongside Sylvia.

My name’s Gareth, by the way. Gareth Llewellyn. Very nice to meet you.

I realize that botanical department doesn’t sound very exciting. But trust me, it’s far more eventful than you might expect. Look through any book of old stories—practically all of which are true—and you’ll see what I mean. You’ve got your enchanted hedges of thorns, your apples of endless sleep, your cabbages that turn people into donkeys...

And then there’s the Clawthorn Rose, which got Beaumont and Beasley started in the first place by turning Nick into a big hairy monster. He’s still got a pretty nice personality, though. Most of the time.

Together, Sylvia and I work to make sure that magical plants from days of yore don’t cause any difficulties in the modern day. You can’t have cabbages changing people into donkeys in 1923, after all. We’re not the most famous or accomplished members of Beaumont and Beasley. That said, we can’t all be cursed monsters or time-twisting rabbit-people. And Sylvia and I are quite good at what we do.

Once in a while, however, a situation crops up that we don’t exactly have a contingency plan for.

Like when people fall in love with themselves en masse.

I really am a wonderful person.

It’s always hard to know what to say when people are truly, completely, mind-bogglingly egotistical. Especially when, like me, you don’t think that highly of yourself and can’t wrap your mind around the idea of telling everyone you’re amazing.

Yes. I don’t think I sounded very convincing, but the woman who had buttonholed me to talk about her many excellent qualities didn’t seem to notice.

Utterly magnificent, you might say. She had a deep, throaty voice, and spoke with an unconvincing attempt at a posh accent.

I’m...sure you are, I added. Could you excuse me for a moment? I tried pulling my arm free from the woman’s grip, but had to admit defeat. She didn’t look particularly strong, and she was a few inches shorter than me, but she had a grip like a stevedore. The fact that she was currently under the influence of a magical flower probably had something to do with that. I settled for just turning my head and shouting. "Sylvia! I could really use some help over here!" I flipped back the hood of my jacket so I could see better. Even though there wasn’t much point in hiding my horns these days, I still tended to do it from force of habit. Which was stupid, since the trousers I was wearing only came down to mid-calf and didn’t hide my hooves anyway.

Bit busy! Sylvia called back. Manage!

"I can’t manage!" I exclaimed.

Do your best! I’ll be there as soon as I can! Sylvia used her wooden quarterstaff to beat back another of the narcissus flowers as it tried to wrap around her wrist. Like all dryads, Sylvia was able to manipulate wood, causing it to grow, shrink, or change shape in any fashion she pleased. This came in very handy for combat, as she could alter the weight and length of her staff at will. At the moment, she was compelling one end of the staff to grow into a sharp point so she could stab at the plants. She had rooted herself to the ground to keep from getting dragged into the morass of tendrils. And I mean literally rooted, by turning her feet into actual roots.

In the past, Sylvia had been a little less precise in her style of fighting. She had usually contented herself with growing big wooden clubs from her hands and bashing her foes over the head with them. Since then, she’d been studying combat techniques with a kitsune monk named Saburo, whom Nick had hired to train all employees of Beaumont and Beasley (after grumbling at length about the high price of the fox-creature’s services). She had also altered her wardrobe to make fighting a bit easier. While she had previously grown dresses for herself that were obviously made from leaves and bark, she now wore blouses and skirts which looked like fabric at first glance, but were actually woven from plant fibers.

The city park where we stood was choked with weird yellow flowers. They wrapped around every bench, every statue, every tree. Their enormous blooms were so bright-yellow that I had to shade my eyes with my hand. Aside from their size and their odd behavior, they were exactly like daffodils. In fact, they were a type of daffodil—but not the kind you’d want to plant in your garden come springtime. They were a strain which most arcanobotanists thought (or at least, hoped) had died out a long time ago.

Die, weeds! Sylvia shouted as she twirled her staff. (For a dryad, weed was practically a derogatory epithet.) The particular blossoms she was fighting with were different from the majority of the blooms. Circling the trumpet-shaped bit in the middle of the flowers near Sylvia, there were rows and rows of sharp teeth. The blooms were actually mouths, like those of lampreys or leeches. These blossoms branched off from another, much larger flower. Its bloom was the size of a human head, and its stem as large as a human body.

This was because the blossom and the stem had been both those things just a few minutes before.

A few of these toothed flowers had latched on to the arms and legs of the lady who was currently clinging to me. Still more of the blossoms were getting worryingly close to me. They hadn’t sprouted teeth yet, but I figured it was only a matter of time.

But don’t you agree, the bewitched woman said, steel creeping into her voice, that I’m absolutely, unquestionably marvelous? She gave a deranged giggle that sounded like a horse nickering, and I felt her grip on my arm grow tighter.

Oh, definitely! I said, my voice quavering a little. Er...what was your name again?

The woman’s eyebrows drew together in a furious line, and her lips curled back from her teeth. Edith! she shrieked.

Ah! I said brightly. Yes! Edith! Lovely name!

This seemed to annoy her. "It is more than lovely, churlish goat-man! she spat. It is the most perfect name that has ever been spoken by mortal lips! You are not even worthy to speak it!"

Ohhh dear. I made another cautious attempt to pull free from her grip.

Her hands only tightened on my arm, beginning to cut off the circulation. ALL SHALL KNEEL BEFORE EDITH!

Sylvia! I yelled. Help!

Be there in two ticks, Gareth! She swung her staff at another flower and reduced it to a pile of petals, leaves, and green slime.

"Pretty sure I’ll be dead in one tick! I shouted back, over the sound of Edith loudly extolling her own virtues. I think we’ve discovered a new psychological disorder! Homicidal narcissism! I paused. Come to think of it, that’s a very apt description of Headmaster Blackfire…"

Well, these are magical narcissus flowers, said Sylvia. So narcissism fits.

Oh good. Our impending deaths make sense. I’m so happy.

"Basssk in my majesty, miserable worm," Edith hissed directly in my ear.

I twitched the ear away from her. Eep, I whimpered.

"Few are allowed to stand this closssse to the Grrrreat Edith." As she spoke, I noticed that her grey hair, which had moments ago been tied back into a severe bun, was now flaring out behind her head and transforming into yellow petals. Also, there were far too many teeth in her mouth.

I’d had enough. I’m a very patient person...well, to be more accurate, I generally let people walk all over me and offer to shine their shoes while they do it...but even I have limits. I tore myself away from the rapidly transforming Edith. She bellowed with anger as she finished becoming yet another one of the monstrous flowers throughout the park. At least she was rooted in one place now, and unlike Sylvia, she didn’t appear to be capable of turning her roots back into feet.

Edith had been the last remotely human person in the park when we arrived. The rest had already been consumed by the effects of the narcissus. The more they wallowed in their own adoration of themselves, the faster they became part of the disturbing garden.

My cloven hooves slipped and skidded on the damp grass as I ran over to Sylvia. It was a little after eight in the morning, and there was still dew everywhere. The day was extraordinarily free of fog for Talesend, allowing the sun to shine down unimpeded upon the city for the first time in weeks. And, naturally, this was the day that somebody picked to set off yet another magical crisis. Life, I mused bitterly as I made my way closer to Sylvia, was unfair. This would have been the perfect day for a nice, quiet picnic with her.

How are you doing? I asked Sylvia, as she whacked another flower.

Having the time of my life, she said, grinning. Sweat glistened on her dark skin, and her frizzy hair was threatening to come undone from the little piece of vine she’d used to tie it back behind her head.

"I meant, how are you doing at actually stopping all of this?" I dodged a flower before it could make a go at my left leg.

I thought that was your area, she said. You sort out the boring part, I get to beat things up with sticks.

No! I exclaimed. "That’s not my area! We don’t even have ‘areas’! There’s supposed to be more give and take in our partnership. If we’re too rigid about our roles, this isn’t going to work out."

She shot a suspicious look at me. Are you trying to break off our engagement?

"No! I was talking about our work relationship."

Good, because you can’t take back your proposal. She tugged at a string around her neck. And I’m not giving back your ring. Or your compromising love letters.

I blushed all the way up to my horns. I haven’t written you any compromising love letters!

I know. She looked wistful as she swung the staff behind her to dispatch a flower that had been trying to sneak up on her. "It’s a pity. I wish sometimes that you’d be more