All hat, no dragon

      Some of the Neovians in the more elaborate costumes had edged over to the dragon, whose head and neck still blocked the only door into the banquet hall.

      "I am certain that we delivered her invitation!" a member of the bakers' guild was telling all who would listen.

      Penelope was tapping a very frazzled Prudence gently on the hand. "There, there, dear. She's only the downstairs neighbour, remember."

      "Listen closely, little critters, for I will not repeat myself. At a quarter to midnight, I exited my lair to assist the bakers' guild in some last-minute muffin manoeuvres." The said bakers nodded vigorously to confirm the dragon's words.

      "At five to midnight," Lady Cecilia continued, "I returned to my lair and found that my most precious, one-of-a-kind, golden filigreed Chomberge Negg was missing from where I had left it. I inspected all of the surrounding corridors and smelled nothing corporeal. Whoever stole my Negg brought it to this room, and whoever committed this theft will not exit."

      "Lady Cecilia," begged a bespectacled Bori, "if only some of us could investigate the scene of the crime -"

      "No!" growled the dragon. "So that you might sneak out with my treasure? I will let that happen when the Faerie Queen abdicates."

      With that, she retreated to the doorway where she settled just beyond the frame, her glowing yellow eyes peering into the room from the gloom beyond.

      The assembly burst into chatter.

      "Where is the Tarla Tracking Troupe? Nosy as they are, they will have hunted down that Negg in an instant!"

      "This is perfectly scandalous, and whoever dared ruin our evening and trap us here in such an undignified fashion must face consequences!"

      "They might if you actually did something about it for once, Karen!"

      "It's obvious what happened. The Non-Circle of the Gelatinous Non-Cube must have thrown the Negg into their Blobikins to divine tomorrow's weather forecast again."

      A modestly-dressed Kyrii stepped up to the organ. "If everyone could begin by remaining calm," he said in a mellow voice, "we can sort through what we know in an orderly fashion and collectively solve this puzzle." He pulled out a pen and clipboard. "I would like everyone to start by thinking back to the past minutes while they are still fresh in our minds. Did you notice anything strange? Anything at all?"

      The Neovians looked hesitantly around at the catacombs, the batterflies fluttering about, the stains left by Globilols, zombies and Fyora knew what else, the hissing dishes emitting oddly coloured fumes on the banquet tables, and the glowing eyes of the dragon blocking their door.

      Gustave Cheltenham the Quiggle removed his monocle to mop his brow. "This situation is highly irregular, even for the Vaults. We must find a way to alert the constable. Surely they will be able to identify the culprit and properly prove their guilt."

      "Oh, to Darigan with the constable, Gustave," retorted Penelope. "The one interrogating us is an angry dragon, and it is her that we must provide with answers before she decides whether to roast us, fry us or flambé us all."

      "Aunt Penny, please. Any insights from your spirit friends? Now would be a most excellent time for a session."

      Penelope set a hand on Pamela's shoulder. The small Acara was trembling, blinking furiously to contain the tears welling in the corners of her eyes.

      "Now seems like a good time to tell us what you were trying earlier, does it not? We can tell Mr Wickham there. He won't make a fuss of it."

      The girl squared her shoulders, blew out a breath and nodded.

      Together they approached the Kyrii with the clipboard.

      "Since Lady Cecilia was kind enough to give us the time at which the robbery was committed, we need only list which of us were still outside the room right before Lady Eaves came in. Those would be the people who might have seen the culprit," he added hurriedly. "Who came in last?" The Kyrii patted his own chest. "I know that I, for one, was one of the last few still roaming the corridors near the time of the crime."

      "You came in right ahead of me," said a bespectacled Bori with her hair in a tight bun. She was a secretary for the town's construction firm. "The two of us were inside the storage room until five to midnight, at which time we rushed to make it here."

      "Quite right, Margaret. And I thought that we might be late! So that is us accounted for. Now, did anyone else come in after us?"

      There was a choked little sob and Pamela raised a trembling hand. "I did. And I saw something."

      Wickham gave her an encouraging smile. "Yes, I saw you in the corridors myself. You were not far behind us, and not on the way to Lady Cecilia's vault at any point. Please, go on. Nothing wrong with being honest."

      Pamela Hayward had no real flair for the dramatic, no interest in the twists and turns of fortune or the art of divining the future. She lived her life day by day and hardly ever wondered what lay ahead. In truth, she had mainly joined the Non-Circle of the Gelatinous Non-Cube because her parents urged her to acquire more of a social life, and because she was rather fond of Petpets.

      Glorpy, as she affectionately nicknamed the Gelatinous Non-Cube that the Non-Circle followed, required no conversation. Pamela was content to toss the items selected by the Circle at Glorpy and to watch the translucent mass's reaction, noting down which items got rejected and what was digested. The elaborate predictions based on this system were discussed by her Non-Circle-mates.

      When she took out the bin of prediction items as usual, how was she to have guessed that a member of the Knights of Nox had dropped a priceless empty tin of moustache wax once used by Nox himself into it? Glorpy had swallowed it like any other piece of rubbish. That was another thing Pamela appreciated about Glorpy. It did not place any undue importance on small things.

      Unlike all of the Neovians eyeing her presently. Pamela focused on Auntie Penny, who had taken her under her wing from her arrival in the Catacombs, and on Mr Wickham, the clerk who worked for the town solicitors.

      "In the cloakroom," she began, "when I was catching my breath after rushing up here, I saw something. Someone I didn't recognise. They were lurking near the Non-Circle's bin of prediction items. I really didn't want... another misunderstanding, so I kept watching." She took a deep breath. "The other thing that I noticed was that the person had opened Lady Eaves' hatbox."

      There was a silence and a holding of breath.

      "The nerve," someone huffed.

      "Nerve indeed," Wickham said, raising his palms, "but any lead could be vital to us in our situation, could it not?" He turned to Lady Eaves, who was still seated imperturbably on her music bench. "Dear Lady, I do hope you understand how it pains us to make such an undignified request of you, but, given the present circumstances, surely you would suffer to let us examine your hatbox."

      The ghostly-pale Gelert fluttered her smoky eyelashes. "It was fated to be opened tonight, one way or another."

      The hatbox was brought to a table in the middle of the room. Wickham did the honours, delicately lifting the lid of the box, then an enormous hat on which several live Spyders burst into a tap-dancing number among elaborately sculpted black lace. They were met with earnest applause. Wickham deposited the headpiece gingerly atop the organ.

      He rummaged through the hatbox once more. From its depths, like a magician reaching into a hat, he pulled something rounded and shiny. Margaret the Bori let out a tiny gasp.

      It was a collectable, magical Negg, shining jewel-bright under the candlelight.

      "So it was here!"

      "Quick, bring it to the dragon!" cried a voice.

      Before Wickham could react, several members of the Knights of Nox, of the Xandra Truthers, and one skeleton rushed out to pull the Negg from his grip. The head of the Xandra Truthers presented it through the doorway, arms outstretched.

      Lady Cecilia lifted her scaly head, frowning, and sniffed at the Negg. One snort blew out enough smoke to make the entire group start coughing. The dragon let out another roar that made the entire room quiver; small bits of rubble rained from the ceiling.

      "A fake? You dare present me with a fake? I cannot decide whether to be angered or to pity your foolishness. If you try such a trick one more time, your tea party shall become a barbecue party."

      Wickham thoughtfully replaced the Negg on the table once it had been brought back to him.

      "I... I think that came from the Non-Circle's pile of predictive items," Pamela blurted out, wringing her hands. "I saw it in the pile this morning!"

      "Of course," Margaret said softly. "A swap."

     To be continued…