Snippet: A.J. Pendlebolt - The Signmaker

“We’re investigating a murder,” Dede explained, giving the stacked planks only a passing glance to ensure none of them were ready to topple over before following her partner up to the counter.  “Constable Thaddock said that you found a singed bit of dyed parchment outside your stop yesterday morning, is that right?”

“That’s right,” the signmaker replied, a bright smile shining through his mottle gray beard.  “Spotted ‘em out in the street, all circled about.  Knew something was amiss, so I gave one of her boys the parchment.  Only,” he added, the smile fading from his face, “the constable didn’t seem to think it was related…”

“The constable was wrong,” A.J. told him, stooping to inspect one of the signs jutting out from the bottom of a nearby pile.  He could barely make out the letters H-A-M-O-N before he realized that it was meant to hang over a portion of Hammond’s Walk.  The absent ‘m’ remained a mystery, as did the missing apostrophe near the end of ‘Hammond’s.’  “Where did you find the menu?”

“The parchment?” the signmaker asked, lifting up a portion of the counter to slip out into the shop, wiping his large hands on a stained rag that already bore several different shades of paint, as did his hands and much of the arms to which they were attached.  “It was in the street just there,” he said, gesturing towards the door, “right by the curb.  I spotted it when I went to sweep the stoop.”

“Was it already singed when you found it?” Dede asked, ignoring the click of disapproval from A.J.  What she didn’t realize was that the gnome’s disappointment was actual in finding another typo in a sign at the top of a shorter stack on the opposite side of the narrow corridor:  “Legal Liaisons” spelled without the second ‘i,’ a mistake he might have been willing to ignore were it not for the superfluous apostrophe at the end of ‘liaisons,’ clearing an immigrant from the miswritten Hammond’s Walk sign.

“Oh, very much so,” the signmaker answered, “though the fire had gone out of it by then.  There was just the one little trail of smoke coming off the corner, and I stomped that out but good when I found it.”

“Were there any other pages with it?” Dede pressed him, hoping for a clue to the whereabouts of the proposal at last.  The menu and even the murder itself were largely supplemental to the greater issue of a law that might never come to pass.  Even if they managed to catch the murderers, if the proposal bearing the late councilwoman’s last signature were to be destroyed, the proposal might never see its way into law.

The signmaker paused to consider the question, running over the previous morning in his mind.  He started to pace in the office a bit, trying to retrace his steps before finally shaking his head to the woman.  “No, mum,” he explained, staring at the floor with his palms open.  “Least, not as far as I can remember.”

“Unconscionable,” A.J. muttered, shaking his head in disapproval.

“I am sorry, gov,” the signmaker said dejectedly.

“As well you should be,” the gnome intoned, largely speaking to himself.

“Oh, come now, A.J.,” Dede objected.  “It isn’t his fault the proposal wasn’t there.  The thieves would have been much more invested in its destruction than some dinner menu.”

“Hm?” A.J. said, looking up from his latest discovery:  a smithy’s sign that bore little resemblance to proper language at all.  “Oh, that,” he added a moment later, realizing at last what she had meant.  He pointed to the sign at his feet.  “I was talking about the ‘Blokesmith’s Sloppe,’” he explained, “which really does bring to mind all manner of terrible imagery.  A man who fashions blokes is one thing, but to sell the slop was wares?”  He shook his head at the thought, returning his attention to the sign.  “It positively boggles the mind.”