Web of Blessings: Chapter 6
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Summary: Sier is surprised to find an enormous arachne, Vanelope, hiding out in his greenhouse. She intends to raise her clutch of spiderlings inside over the cold winter, but they have to elude detection first.
Chapter 6
While Agnes slept, there were night owls who found themselves to be the most productive during the late hours of the night. There was no rest for the wicked, even those getting on in their golden years. A mustachio'd man wandered the streets along, towards the more affluent side of town. He approached an impressive iron gate, buzzing himself in; he was soon greeted to an opulent, winding path that stretched on for what must've been a hundred feet towards an impressive estate.
The Morrison Estate, owned by one Mackley J. Morrison—if he wasn't the richest man in Agnes, he sure liked to act like it. So much land dedicated solely to the front entrance... it may have been charming, perhaps refreshing, like a walk in the park, if the older, suited gentleman wasn't here on business.
Of course, the walkway probably could've done without the statues of Mr. Morrison himself lined up the hill—proud, chest out, standing as monuments to the greatest moments in his life; when he was born, when he signed the lease to his distillery, when he hit the winning homerun for the pendant in little league... y'know, the usual defining moments of life that demanded statues be erected to immortalize their memories.
The gentleman sighed, hurrying along; he was expected.
Up the trail, into the stately mansion, into a stately foyer lined with artifacts, memorabilia, and portraits of the big man himself, so sure faced and confident, and perhaps a bit muscular. The gentleman huffed as he ascended the stairwell to the second floor. And then the third floor.
And then, finally, he reached Mr. Morrison's office proper. Complicated, thick, imposing-looking books lined the walls on complicated subject matter. There didn't seem to be a common theme to their subject matter other than the fact that the titles simply sounded long, complex, and ultimately fairly pretentious.
A thin layer of dust covered all of them. It didn't appear that Mr. Morrison did much reading. There was a heaviness in the air of the room, thick with acrid smoke that wafted through the room; the gentleman's nose twitched with the pungent aroma of tobacco, but said nothing. His eyes stared ahead to the room's sole occupant.
A portulant, large man sat alone in a yet larger chair, enjoying a cigar along with the finest brandy, having a laugh as he looked over what appeared to be some kind of ledger. The way that his flaps of fat rolled in waves as he chortled indicated that he was one for overindulgence.
"Caruthers! Ya got lead in them there boots? What took you so long??" A portly man at the desk in the middle of the room, waving his cigar around willynilly.
"Apologies, Master Morrison. I had to travel far on foot, but I will endeavour to redouble my pace forthwith." Caruthers muttered with a potent stiff upperlip. "If I may speak out of turn, though... is it wise to be brandishing a lit cigar in a room full of books?"
"Eh? You callin' me stupid, Caruthers? I dun pay you to think, I pay you to work!" He blustered. "Nobody insults Mackley J. Morrison, 'specially mah own staff!"
"My apologies, sir. It appears that I have misspoken." Caruthers bowed. "This is your estate, and you are its master. I only wish to be of service." Despite the gaudy qualities of his estate and the expensive things he surrounded himself with, he made little secret of his country rawl.
"...Ahhh, awright, Caruthers. Yer a hard worker, I know. And ya caught me in a right good mood, too, ihihi! The new bar I set up on Gaines Street is rakin' in the dough, hahaha!"
Mackley swung his head back with a boisterous guffaw, causing the entire room to tremble slightly. Still, Caruthers stood pat, an unreadable expression on his face.
"I am pleased that you are pleased." Caruthers nodded. "Now, if you recall the phonecall I made to you earlier..."
"Eh? Oh..." Mackley lowered the ledger. "Somethin' about the greenhouse, huh? S'went in one ear, out the other."
"...I beg your pardon, sir?" Caruthers tilted his head.
"Aw, hell, you know how I am, Caruthers! I need charts, diagrams, pictures! If it can't be summed up in a cute lil' black line tickin' upwards, I ain't much interested..." Mackley blubbered, tapping some of the ashes from his cigar. "C'mon, don't stand there so slackjawed; gimme the lowdown.
Caruther' mouth flattened, hiding his disappointment; he had already given a very thorough rundown over the phone, and Mackely was excited to get a plan settled. He sighed, and began to recap the night's events.
"As you recall, I was investigating the property you wished to expand your business ventures out to. The park shy of the industrial district."
"Ahaha, yup! My proper business acumen sees a right gold opportunity what we can nab if we just work the land a bit! Plop a bar right there, pedal some of the finest booze we got, and them thirsty workers will form a conga line just to get in! Foolproof, innit!?" Mackely cheered.
"Quite. There was the one wrinkle, however. There's a greenhouse centered nearby that already occupies the land."
"Tch, what do we need greenhouses for!? We got farms outside the country, we got airplanes, and ships... and airships too! S'far as I'm concerned that greenhouse's just an eyesore we'd be better off scrapping and turnin' into wine glasses! HAH!"
Mackley laughed at his own venomous quip, taking an exaggerated drag of his cigar.
"Yes, well... the locals have become somewhat enamoured with the place. I am to understand that couples and families have enjoyed the gardens for decades now." Caruthers explained. "You must understand that uprooting an Agnes cultural landmark would cause some repercussions to your own business and-"
"Repercussions schmepercussions! I got the entire city council and the police in my back pocket! If they wanna march around with protest signs, I'm sure the boys in blue will give 'em the proper chance to shove those up where the sun don't shine!" Mackley cackled.
"...And you are sure that such a... heavy-handed method wouldn't result in damage to your brand?" Caruthers tilted his head.
"Look, Caruthers, lemme lay this on ya since you ain't no business savant like me: you gotta be heavy-handed if you're gonna be a business heavy-hitter, and we gotta keep pushin', expanding, strikin' while the iron's hot! If we sit still, them investors are gonna bark and bark and bark like yappy mutts!" He waved his cigar around, his face getting red with anger. "I don't need that kind of stress in my life! My doctor says it's bad for me!"
Caruthers considered pointing out that the cigars and half a bottle of brandy a night would likely be worse for his health, but he held his tongue.
"Of course. Strike fast and strike hard." Caruthers nodded. "I wanted to bring a curious development to your attention."
"Eh? What? Don't be coy, man, spit it out." Now he had Mackley's undivided attention.
"I overheard an argument between two of their kids late at night." Caruthers explained. "I've noted that the boy—one Sier Fleurs—has been going to and from the greenhouse at increasingly late hours. And he's been agitated."
"What would a kid be doin' workin' at that dump at a late hour anyway? Wait a tic..." Mackley tapped his chin.
"It was quite an argument. There is certainly something suspicious going on in that greenhouse. Something like-" "THEY'RE DOIN' SECRET DRUG DEALS IN THEIR GREENHOUSE!" Mackley slammed his hand on one of his chair's arms, his face getting yet redder. "I knew them shifty Fleur folks were up to such unbecomin' business propositions! Growin' the mary jane and the spooky sprouts and the black olives where nobody sees and peddlin' them to unsuspectin' youths!"
"...That could be it." Caruthers grimaced.
"What kinda heartless bloke would do that? Trick people into consumin' all that stuff that's bad to them!? WHO!?"
Caruthers thought about pointing out how Mackerel owned the distillery that contributed, to some degree, to some of the drunken recklessness that plagued the streets of Agnes at night. And that the wine had failed an inspection just last month and made some housewives particularly sick. But, again, he held his tongue.
"When I do it, I'm at least above board about it!" Mackley exclaimed.
Oh thank goodness, Mackley pointed it out himself. He did have some self-awareness. Caruthers smiled slightly.
"I suppose whatever they're doing in that greenhouse would warrant further investigation. Even if we have the support of the police, we can't trust that they would be able to act without sufficient evidence."
"Nuts to that! I'm Mackley J. Morrison, and I can go wherever I damn well please!"
He shot up from his seat, pointing to the door.
"I'll tell you what's what! We'll barge right through their front door and tear the place apart until we find the dr- AUGH MY HERNIA!"
Mackley winced in pain, before flopping back into his seat. It teetered back against his weight precariously, before clanging against the hardwood floor. He clutched his side as searing pain shot through his lower-body; this was Caruthers' time to hurry forward to Mackley's aid.
"M-Master Morrison, sir, please calm down...!" Caruthers reassured him. "I mirror your enthusiasm, b, but it is terrible late, and you have your body to consider! We must handle this matter with care and discretion..."
"Mrghrh... a-alright. I'm fine. I'm calm." Mackley hissed through grit teeth. "Juuuust gonna sit here and drink my tea." He reached for the brandy.
"P-perhaps actual tea would be better for your blood circulation?" Caruthers cautious raised a hand. " I could get on a pot right-"
"I know what I want, Caruthers! And I don't stop until I get it, y'hear!?" He barked, pounding back his current glass. "You worry about makin' my quarters presentable for bed, and leave me to kanoodlin' my thinkin' noodle!"
"...Of course, sir. As you wish." Caruthers had gotten used to Mackley's specific brand of colloquialisms and had learned how to parse them long ago. He paced to the door with purpose.
"Once that dinky greenhouse is properly scrapped, there'll be more than enough room for a bar and grill just on the outskirts of the industrial district." Mackley grinned to himself, leaning back in his chair; he swirled his glass in his hand, watching the golden fluid swirl.
"It'll be perfect. We'll fit entire factories within. Make a pipeline straight to the distillery to fuel the bar taps. Hell, I bet I could fit an entire carnival in the back, just to get the kids started nice and early. Kids gotta grow up quickly, and you gotta nurture their taste for sophisticated stuff~"
He chuckled to himself, pounding back the rest of his beverage.
"It pays to invest in the youth, yeah. They'll be the next generation of drunks lining up to get a taste of my finest wares! A bar, a grill—a family grill!—and a whole slew of rides to get them in the gate. Maybe free samples? Once they get a taste, they ain't gonna wanna back off..."
Mackley wasn't above encouraging underage drinking to get what he wanted. He seemed to delight in it; he only saw dollar signs pursuing this golden opportunity. All that was left was to deal with the remaining annoyances in his back.
"That Fleurs... some old coot still runs the place, huh? Maybe he could do us all a favour and just roll over dead all on his own."
He clicked his tongue, taking a long drag from his cigar.
"Whatever. When I'm done with his dinky lil' greenhouse, I'll make him wish he was dead. Heheh..."
