Moltin Gold
© 2024 by Walter Reimer and E.O. Costello
A continuation of Cleanup Crew and Cleaning Up

Thumbnail art by  tegerio, color and Serfpro logo by  marmelmm

One.


Two months after the cleanup job at Lord Ruther’s lakeside estate, the phone rang.

The first notice of the fire was from one of the people in the building, who raced to a public telephone and summoned the fire brigade even as alarm bells began ringing. The fire brigade arrived, assessed the situation, and immediately called for a member of the town’s Mage Council for assistance.

Now, part of the roof of the one-story building was missing, while another part was intact, and a third part was on fire. The smoke billowing from the hole in the roof was white, with streaks of red that somehow failed to combine to create pink. The smoke also inexplicably smelled of cinnamon. There wasn't an intact window or door in sight, the result of the alchemical explosion that had occurred an hour before the SerfPro wagon pulled to a stop behind the perimeter established by the fire brigade.

Marissa, a gray tabby, stared at the building while the firefighters were discussing courses of action with one of the town's mages. "Are we paid enough to help put that out?"

Her supervisor, a cervine doe named Marjorie, shook her head. "Not on your life. We leave that for the mage and the fire brigade.” She sat back. “Pity. I liked that coffee shop.”

“Coffee shop?” the third member of the crew and an arctic fox vixen, asked. She waved a paw at the intact part of the building. “Kinda big for a coffee shop.”

“Half of it was a skittles hall,” Marjorie said, pointing at the sign reading PERKS AND RECREATION, now hanging slightly askew.

“Why do we need a mage to deal with this?” Marissa asked, jerking a thumb toward the rabbit doe standing beside the fire brigade’s supervisor. The rabbit was wearing a red robe over her green velvet dress.

Marjorie replied, “Take a sniff of the air.”

The vixen and the tabby complied. “Cinnamon,” Alys said judiciously, “with . . . anise? And . . . caramel.”

“So what?” Marissa asked.

“Someone was using magic, probably alchemy,” the deer said, tapping a hoof against the floor of the wagon. “A lot of mage students work at places like this between classes, and,” she shrugged, “mistakes happen.” Ears went flat and all three femmes flinched as, with a sharp report, a puff of multicolored smoke rose from the opening in the roof. The smoke was accompanied by a mixture of odors reminiscent of chocolate, bubble gum, and old socks.

“Pee-yew,” Marissa remarked, holding her nose.

“Like I said, accidents,” Marjorie said. The doe’s ears swiveled. “Ah! Looks like they’re going to do something.”

The rabbit femme had dropped to one knee, and now raised both her paws toward the still-burning building. Her fingers traced an intricate pattern, each fingertip leaving small trails of fading light behind them. The pattern completed, the rabbit clapped her paws.

There was a flash of light inside the burning building, and the smoke coming from the structure turned into the dirty grayish-black that was to be expected of a fire. Part of the firefighting crew started working the pump on their wagon, while others aimed their hoses to extinguish the blaze. The watching crowd cheered before laughing as the mage advanced on the hapless student who had started it all. Seizing the fox by one ear, the rabbit started dragging him up the street toward the Mage Council’s headquarters.

“Well, show’s over,” Alys said.

Marjorie nodded. “As soon as the fire’s out and they say it’s safe, that’s where we come in.”

An hour later, the fire brigade’s supervisor walked over to the wagon. “All clear, ladies,” the burly Dalmatian said, ignoring Alys’ look at him. “It’s all yours.” He turned and left as a pair of constables cordoned off the area. After some good-natured joking, the firefighters drained and coiled up the hoses, got the truck’s mainspring wound, and the fire engine trundled off.

“All right,” Marjorie said, and she got down from her driver’s seat and opened a cabinet in the body of the wagon. “Our job’s going to be isolating and removing any magical or dangerous residues left in the building.” She pulled out three masks made of leather and shaped to look vaguely like a bird’s beak. Glass goggles were part of the mask. “Here,” and she gave one each to the arctic vixen and the gray tabby, “we have to put these on before we go in.”

“What are they?” Alys asked. Marissa was already fitting hers to her face and tightening the straps at the back of the mask to ensure a snug fit.

“Filters, mainly,” the doe told her. “The glass in the goggles has been imbued with a spell that detects magic or poison. Any spots that are dangerous will show up as red in your goggles, got it?”

“Got it,” Marissa said. She looked at Alys and laughed. “You look like a buzzard!” she said, her voice muffled by the mask.

Alys had just finished putting hers on. She lunged at the gray tabby, catching the end of the mask in her paws and deforming the leather. “And you look like a duck!”

“Knock it off, you two,” Marjorie said. “Let’s get to work.”


***


The city’s clock was chiming five in the afternoon as the three SerfPro employees parked their wagon at the shop, offloaded and put the cans of recovered dangerous materials into the secure storage for later disposal, and staggered into the office.

All three looked much the worse for wear. Their white blouses and green skirts were smudged with soot, and their brown leather aprons, while also sooty, bore stains of a half-dozen different colors. Their fur was disarrayed, stank of smoke, and their headfur was askew.

Alys slumped into a chair, pulling off her once-white mob-cap and fanning herself with it. “Good grief, I thought we’d never get that all done.”

Marissa nodded in agreement. “But at least we got all the pumpkin spice secured. Who the hell uses that?”

“Great job, both of you,” Marjorie said. “Now you know why it’s company policy that you have a change of clothes, right?” The gray tabby and the arctic vixen nodded. “Go get cleaned up, and don’t hog the hot water, please.”

“You coming?” Marissa asked.

“Yeah,” the doe replied. “I want to get the mail,” and while her fellow employees headed for the showers at the back of the shop, Marjorie headed in the opposite direction to fetch the mail.

There were a few advertisements and one letter from the Head Office describing a policy change in the handling of certain magical substances. The cervine set this aside to check the manual the next day to see where the changes were. When she reached the bottom of the short stack of envelopes, she frowned.

The envelopes were very high-quality, creamy white paper, and each was inscribed with the first names of each of the shop’s employees. The script was in a beautiful, flowing paw.

One corner of one envelope was already smudged with soot that smelled vaguely of coffee, and Marjorie set the three letters aside. “Not touching them again until I get cleaned up,” she muttered to herself, and after locking the door she headed back to the showers.

It was after closing time when all three, now clean and wearing street clothes, met in the front office. “We had some mail,” Marjorie said. “One for each of us,” and she gave Marissa and Alys theirs.

Alys arched an eyebrow as she turned the letter over in her paws. “No address, no postmark,” she remarked, before breaking the seal on the envelope and taking out a stiff piece of paper, almost as stiff as a card. She started reading it, and her eyes went wide.

“What is it, Alys?” Marissa asked.

“Listen to this,” Alys said. “’You are cordially invited to attend a party to celebrate Sybil Windsoarer’s third molting,’” and the others’ eyes widened. They started reading their own invitations as the vixen continued, “’At the Mount Sho lodge of the Lord Alcibiades Ruther, on the sixth day of the next month at the second hour following sunset. Formal attire is suggested. Transportation and victuals will be provided. Please reply to Lord Ruther’s steward in his residence at Worthington Lake.’” She flicked her snow-white brush. “Wow.”

“Can we go?” Marissa asked. “The sixth is – what, twenty days from now?”

Marjorie’s ears swiveled. “Close enough. I’ll have to call the Head Office,” and she glanced at the clock, “and they’re closed for the night. But I’m sure they’ll agree.”

“Why?” Alys asked.

Marjorie’s grin grew a little wider, making her look slightly more like a predator than a deer. “It’s great public relations for the company, and it keeps them in Lord Ruther’s good graces, and by extension – “

“The rest of the nobility, too,” Marissa finished.

“Right.”





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