Finding Plinkerton’s Journal

Edmund considered this as he finished threading the pulley. It made sense. If Plinkerton had foolishly squandered the estate without telling his son, the suddenly vanishing money would be a cause of grave concern to the seemingly paranoid Rotchild. Plinkerton had probably been ashamed of his foolish investments, and made sure no one knew what caused the sudden lost of money.

“Did you enjoy it?” Edmund asked, climbing down again. “Working for Patron Rotchild, I mean?” Tayatra thought long and loudly.

“I did what my Patron asked.” she said, finally. “It is what must be done.”

Edmund decided not to press the point as he tied the string to the loop on the statue’s left wrist.

“Did anyone else ever ask you to do anything? Or was it just Rotchild?”

“Others used to speak to me quite often,” she said. “Patron Plinkerton gave me math problems to solve in front of his guests, while others gave me books and letters to read aloud. When Patron Rotchild became Patron, the others began to disappear, until it was only Patron Rotchild that spoke with me.”

“And you never asked him why?” Edmund stood with two pieces of thread in his hands. The idea that she had never thought to try and find out what was happening was confusing to him.

“I do not ask questions of my Patron,” she intoned. It sounded almost like a prayer. “It is what must never be done.”

“Well, he’s not my Patron,” Edmund said as he started to braid another thread, “and I’d like to know more about him. Did he have a journal or diary? Anything I could read?”

“Patron Rotchild would not appreciate his privacy being violated,” Tayatra said, her voice sounding almost reproachful.

“Patron Rotchild isn’t Patron any more,” Edmund countered, “and he’s dead. He doesn’t have privacy anymore.”

Tayatra thought again, very loudly, and then fell silent. For several minutes, Edmund continued to braid thread in silence, until he sighed and gave up.

“Oh alright then, what about Patron Plinkerton? Do you know anything about him?” There was a brief whine, and Tayatra spoke again.

“Patron Plinkerton kept a journal that he sometimes asked me to read, or write his words in. If it is no longer on Tayatra’s desk, than he has moved it somewhere else. I do not know where.”

Edmund looked at her desk. There was a small stack of books next to her outstretched hands that looked promising. Leaving the thread, he poked about through the books until he found what looked to be an ancient journal. This was confirmed when Edmund opened to the first page where it said, in brilliant calligraphy, ‘Plinkerton’s journal.’ He probably mentioned his son somewhere in his writings, so Edmund would just have to find it. The book was fairly large–too big for Edmund’s pockets–so he shoved it through the tapestry to read later.

Satisfied, he let that subject drop too, and continued to wind the threads back and forth around the alcove while talking with Tayatra about everything he could think of.


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