"Minchin better hope she never meets me in a dark alley," I growled softly as I ducked back down below the ridgeline.
"Be at peace, my friend," Ram Dass whispered, laying a hand on my arm. "Justice will come to her in its time," the lascar continued. "Kharma will not be denied."
I turned over and laid back against the slate shingles that made up the roof. "I'm not a patient man, Ram, and I like to see justice served somewhat faster than in the next life. How a woman like that could be allowed to run a school..." I shook my head disbelievingly.
The two of us had crawled up onto the roof of our employer's home, bringing along with us a wide variety of items in an attempt to surprise and delight a sad little girl who worked as a drudge in the school next door. The plan had been to wait until after she'd fallen asleep, then enter her attic room via the large window that looked out onto the spot where we now sat. Once in, we would quickly and quietly redecorate her dark garret around her then vanish back out into the night. The idea, as Ram had proposed to our boss, would be to make it seem as though a magician had bespelled her room and turned it into a wonderland.
Thomas Carrisford would have been just another member of the Victorian British aristocracy had he not been consumed by guilt over the death of his friend and partner Ralph Crewe in India. Worse, Crewe had had a preteen daughter who'd been attending a boarding school somewhere in Europe at the time, and whose name Carrisford had never learned. Still weak from the disease which had briefly put him in coma and had killed his partner, Mr. Carrisford seemed to cling to life solely so that he could find the girl and hand over her half of a vast fortune that he and her father had acquired together.
He was spending a good chunk from his half of that fortune searching for Miss Crewe, and each failure seemed to eat away at him a little bit. The idea of bringing a little joy and magic into the life of the nameless scullery maid next door had animated him like nothing else had in the months I'd worked for him, and he'd eagerly bankrolled the entire crazy idea.
Which had led to Ram Dass and me sitting in the dark with our interior decor supplies as Miss Minchin, the school's headmistress, burst into the little scullion's room and viciously destroyed a get-together she was having with the school's other little drudge and some of the students who had befriended them. As the other girls scattered, I could only hear the most strident of Minchin's imprecations, but what I did hear was ... nasty. No adult should ever treat a child like that.
I hazarded another glimpse over the top of the roof to see the girl burrowed under her threadbare covers. "There's no excuse for Minchin's behavior, Ram," I continued. "But even if I reported her to the police, the class differences alone..."
"Indeed," he rumbled. Oh, yeah, Ram had heard his fill of my disgust at the less pleasant aspects of Victorian England.
Laughing at myself under my breath, I nodded to him. "Right. Anyway, I think our little beneficiary has finally nodded off. You ready?"
He nodded. "I am. Let us do this." And a moment later he was opening the latch on the window with a slender blade inserted between the sashes. As I made ready to hand him the first bundle of furnishings, I checked to make sure my personal additions to the project were still there. The idea was to make her think a magician had refitted her room. What better way than to leave her a couple gifts of genuine magic?
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
"Be at peace, my friend," Ram Dass whispered, laying a hand on my arm. "Justice will come to her in its time," the lascar continued. "Kharma will not be denied."
I turned over and laid back against the slate shingles that made up the roof. "I'm not a patient man, Ram, and I like to see justice served somewhat faster than in the next life. How a woman like that could be allowed to run a school..." I shook my head disbelievingly.
The two of us had crawled up onto the roof of our employer's home, bringing along with us a wide variety of items in an attempt to surprise and delight a sad little girl who worked as a drudge in the school next door. The plan had been to wait until after she'd fallen asleep, then enter her attic room via the large window that looked out onto the spot where we now sat. Once in, we would quickly and quietly redecorate her dark garret around her then vanish back out into the night. The idea, as Ram had proposed to our boss, would be to make it seem as though a magician had bespelled her room and turned it into a wonderland.
Thomas Carrisford would have been just another member of the Victorian British aristocracy had he not been consumed by guilt over the death of his friend and partner Ralph Crewe in India. Worse, Crewe had had a preteen daughter who'd been attending a boarding school somewhere in Europe at the time, and whose name Carrisford had never learned. Still weak from the disease which had briefly put him in coma and had killed his partner, Mr. Carrisford seemed to cling to life solely so that he could find the girl and hand over her half of a vast fortune that he and her father had acquired together.
He was spending a good chunk from his half of that fortune searching for Miss Crewe, and each failure seemed to eat away at him a little bit. The idea of bringing a little joy and magic into the life of the nameless scullery maid next door had animated him like nothing else had in the months I'd worked for him, and he'd eagerly bankrolled the entire crazy idea.
Which had led to Ram Dass and me sitting in the dark with our interior decor supplies as Miss Minchin, the school's headmistress, burst into the little scullion's room and viciously destroyed a get-together she was having with the school's other little drudge and some of the students who had befriended them. As the other girls scattered, I could only hear the most strident of Minchin's imprecations, but what I did hear was ... nasty. No adult should ever treat a child like that.
I hazarded another glimpse over the top of the roof to see the girl burrowed under her threadbare covers. "There's no excuse for Minchin's behavior, Ram," I continued. "But even if I reported her to the police, the class differences alone..."
"Indeed," he rumbled. Oh, yeah, Ram had heard his fill of my disgust at the less pleasant aspects of Victorian England.
Laughing at myself under my breath, I nodded to him. "Right. Anyway, I think our little beneficiary has finally nodded off. You ready?"
He nodded. "I am. Let us do this." And a moment later he was opening the latch on the window with a slender blade inserted between the sashes. As I made ready to hand him the first bundle of furnishings, I checked to make sure my personal additions to the project were still there. The idea was to make her think a magician had refitted her room. What better way than to leave her a couple gifts of genuine magic?
![[+]](/images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
Spoiler-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.