“So this is embarrassing, but I just realized when I saw Haewon’s notes at the front desk. Your last name is Tuor. I just thought you worked there; I didn’t realize it was your family’s business,” Moira says, returning to the coffee table with two cat mugs of tea and looking at the mystery sitting on her couch. Now that she is breathing steadily again, the past few minutes replay in her mind, springing into focus in crystal-clear fragments of a shattered sense of cool. But somehow, I have managed to get this strange and beautiful vision here, at home. Just us, where I can just… look at her? As much as I want, maybe?  And she’s going to tell me something? A secret? If I ask questions, will she answer them? Worried that her inner monologue is showing itself outwardly in the guise of an excited hyena, she schools her face.

Nyrun, in her own self-conjured storm of nerves, sweeps her hair up into a long loop instead of pulling it entirely through the elastic band on the third twist. The action takes less time than she’d hoped. “Yeah, it never really comes up, so it’s not something you would’ve known.”

“So ‘Boss’ is… a relative? Like an aunt?” Moira asks in a way only she would describe as boldly.

Nyrun smiles and absently runs her thumb across the raised outline of white whiskers against the black mug. “Boss—Tuor—and Kika are like… well, they raised me.”

Moira settles on the end of the sofa and cradles her mug in both hands, “I’ve been meaning to stop in so I can thank her,” she says.

“Thank Tuor?” Nyrun lowers her mug and tilts her head.

Nodding, Moira answers, “Yeah, I wouldn’t have chosen Melitown if it hadn’t been for her recommendation.”

“You-you’ve met her?” Nyrun sets her tea down with more force than intended, sending a little splash of tea dripping down the ceramic cat’s nose.

Moira blinks and nods again, “We happened to sit next to each other at a conference. I guess I wasn’t doing a great job of disguising my disagreement with the blowhard panelists, and she struck up a conversation with me afterward. Invited me for tea to continue our discussion.” She smiles down into her tea, remembering how much calmer she felt after speaking with the older woman who genuinely seemed to understand her frustration. She’d probably kept her from losing her cool at the forum and from making a mess of things for her mentor.

“Tuor went to a conference? When was this?” Nyrun asks, knees gripped tightly and looking at her with wide, round eyes.

“Oh, um, let’s see… I was still assisting the professor… so about eight years ago?”

“Eight years…” Nyrun struggles to convert this to moons and decides to file it for later. “She was out, alone?”

Tipping her head to the side, Moira considers the question. “It was just the two of us, yes. Oh, perhaps something has happened since then, and she travels with an assistant?”

“Ah, no, she … rarely leaves the shop without Kika. At least as long as I remember. Eight years…” She pauses, coming back to this thought once more. “She recommended Melitown? Eight years ago?”

“Oh, no, she recommended it a couple of months before I moved here,” Moira says.

Mouth gaping, Nyrun asks, “You saw her not long before we met?” Her eyes are rounder still and blacker than the bottom of an inkwell.

Moira stands, “She wrote me a letter—I’m going to get it since you seem… curious?” Desperate, she thought, looking down at her puzzle, more like deeply alarmed. Nyrun nods as she steps away to an open doorway under a shelf of figural animals sculpted in only as much detail as needed to make them recognizable. A rabbit, a frog, a crow, and before Nyrun gets a good look at the rest, Moira has her full attention, crossing the room back to her. In her hand is a familiar dark blue envelope embossed with the golden tower adorned with a single eye.

“It was perfect timing, honestly. She wrote to me just as I was beginning to seriously consider striking out on my own,” she passes the envelope to the hands that had quickly reached for it in surprise but have retracted a few times in an unsure repetition.

Nyrun slides out the familiar cream-colored vellum and reads:

My young friend, Dr McGough, it’s been many moons since our fortuitous meeting, and I hope I have found you at an opportune time to sway you to my cause.  My community is in need of veterinary services, and I would like to make a proposal I believe all will find mutually beneficial. If you are interested in a change of scenery, please contact my counsel at the number enclosed.

I’m looking forward to ameliorating any concerns or fears you may have.

Sincerely,
Mme. Tuor

Nyrun huffs. What have you done, Boss? “Do you have the card that was enclosed still?”

“For Mr. Smith? Sure, but I’m sure you also have his number?” Moira frowns as she heads to the bulletin board in her office, stepping back under the wooden menagerie: a chameleon, a deer, and a bear. “I like Mr. Smith a great deal. He’s been so helpful, guiding me through all the red tape of paperwork and permits. He even helped me find my staff,” she says, returning with the business card. Nyrun skims the front’s copperplate lettering reading, “Law Office of J Smith, Esq.”

“Number 23 Baines Street,” she mumbles, squinting as she counts the buildings up Baines from Tuor’s Antiquary at #6 in her mind. Flipping the card, she sees the flash of the spelled heavy stock as the details surface in ink Moira wouldn’t have seen. It reads, “Solicitor of the Tower” on a banner under Tuor’s emblem—a royal-less warrant of appointment.

“I know the shop keeps irregular hours. Is there a time you think I could see her? I would love to look inside, too,” Moira asks, startling herself.

“Hrm? Oh, the shop?”

Moira nods, “Yes, I’ve seen Mr. Smith fairly often since I moved to Melitown but haven’t been able to make an appointment to give her a proper thank you. I did send flowers, and I did receive a thank you.”

There was a time when a basket of colorful spring flowers and greenery had appeared on the kitchen counter for a few weeks, Nyrun recalls. She’d assumed they were from a client but had thought it a bit odd Kika had dried them and moved them to a vase in Tuor’s study. Of course Kika would send a thank you note.

“I… well. Yes. I can bring you to the shop, but let me air it out and make sure there are no little spiders,” she says, focusing on the mug she’s picked back up.

Moira gasps out a laugh and holds a hand to her chest, mouth open in feigned outrage. “It was not a little spider! Please also keep an eye out for the not-so-little spiders, too, Nyr!”