Stella Bonhomme and the League of Mischief
story by W.R. Smith
artwork by LLen29
Part One
On the window sill of apartment Two-Twelve Turgenev
St., Watson gingerly cleansed his paw.
"How's progress below?" A puff of smoke rose from behind the newspaper
where Stella sat reading. One leg crossed over the other a black boot
wagged lightly.
The cat glanced outside. It was miserably damp and gray, like a
morning without sunrise.
"Understandably the going's slow," was the reply. "Apparently got him stuck
in the door - but what's that now? looks to be break time anyway."
Stella Bonhomme folded the paper, tapped a brier pipe over the ashtray
and joined Watson at the window. In the cobblestone street below, a
yellow cargo truck was parked against the opposite curb. "Allied: We
Move The World!" was emblazoned on the box side. Three men who
belonged to the truck stood nearby. One carelessly waved pedestrians a
detour by way of the street. The other two smoked cigarettes while
leaning against the great gray flank of an elephant they had managed
to get halfway into the apartment lobby door. The elephant's
tail swished.
"They're going to have quite the time getting that beast up the
stairwell." Stella said, dismissing the show, and turned to the refrigerator.
Watson watched one of the men below flick his cigarette into the
street and motion toward his wrist-watch. They reluctantly got behind
the elephant again and pushed.
"Now why on earth," said Watson, "would our newlyweds insist on
keeping an elephant?"
Stella gazed idly in front of the open refrigerator and rubbed the
back of her neck thoughfully. "I understand in his single life the
groom was quite the traveler. Perhaps he desires a memento."
"But how could the young lady ever agree to such an arrangement?"
"I also understand that the bride's mother is to come live with them,"
said Stella, choosing a berry flavored yogurt.
"Ah, yes that must be true," said Watson. "An old woman was the first
thing the movers carried in. What a severe expression she had."
Stella leaned against the counter with her cup of yogurt in one hand and
twirling a spoon in the other. "Now had our men below any smarts, they
would have taken the elephant in first - followed by the old lady."
Watson caressed Stella's leg with a wrap of his tail. “Of course! Then
they could have enlisted her help in pushing.”
“No. I mean they might have, at least, prevented her from obstructing
their work. I have no doubt right now while they sweat and groan
outside pushing that beast, the old woman is inside pushing back.”
“You don't mean so! Why that's that's...”
“Preposterous I know. Hmph! And predictable too, Watson. But let's
clean the slate of this subject. I have something else you will find
much more interesting.”
“Plain or vanilla would suit me.”
Stella licked her spoon but set things aside and unlocked a tall glass
display case. Inside were books book-ended by bleached skulls of
various sizes and orders, among other oddments. From the top shelf she
removed a cardboard box.
“While you were out last night a package came with your name
attached.” Stella set the brown box on the table.
“A package?” Watson jumped on the table. “Who would send me anything?
I am just a cat.”
“This came by private messenger no less. Apparently somebody feels you
are more than just an ordinary cat.”
“Well I do partner up well at cribbage. Open up let's see.”
Stella tentatively kept one hand over the box.
“I should say that you are no ordinary cat in that you room
with me.”
“It's not all tins of tuna but I like it well enough here,” said
Watson.
Stella flipped a square of pasteboard between her fingers and flicked
it under her pearly forebite with a hollow cluck.
“The card that came with it has only your name on one side. Very
interesting - no return address and monogrammed in gold leaf on the
back - these three characters: L.O.M.”
“How observant - now let's see what Lom was kind enough to send me.”
Stella shook her head and lifted the lid. Inside, glittering over a
bed of cotton, lay a mechanical fish carcass finely crafted of brass
and stainless cogs and ribbing. Watson sniffed at it in a sense of
mixed emotions and was silent.
“Watson," said Stella. "Could L.O.M. possibly be an acronym for The
League of Mischief? I wonder.”
[to be
continued]