The Owl's Nest

Doctor Antigone ‘Alti’ Foxglove had left the last package delivered to her small but well-appointed manor for last. On the walls hung long-lost antiquities and pieces of puzzles and long-lost languages that she was currently deciphering. She had received several relics from her last trip to Iran wrapped specially for her but the last box was from an address she didn’t recognize.

The Dean of Varunkirk University’s Archeology and Antiquities department had set the ancient tablets on one of her many desks next to a few of her reference books on the ancient Elamites and other remnants of their civilization that she had ‘acquired’ during her travels. 

It wasn’t from her chess opponent, either. Alti was worried about him: he usually responded to her chess moves within a week. Her chess board was set up ready for the next move in the far corner of her library.

The young and slender archeologist circled the box. It was too light to be an artifact that she had forgotten to catalog - although that hadn’t happened in years. The sun’s final rays were dropping and Dr. Foxglove lit a candle so she could better study the mysterious delivery.

Opening the box she made a curious discovery: a wooden fox mask - gilded with orange and white feathers - and a glossy black envelope: An invitation “to an interesting dinner of which it would behoove you to attend.”

Alti didn’t like that. Instead of a signature or any sign of who sent the mysterious message, she turned the matte black card over and saw a symbol of a gold-embossed six-fingered hand.

Dr. Foxglove’s stomach dropped. Did they know? She ran to the ancient Bolivian mask in her library - above her chess set - tilted it aside, revealing the safe, spun the dial and opened it. She immediately caught her breath as she gazed on the mummified, severed, six-fingered hand.

“Good,” she said, feeling the relief washing over her. She checked the invitation again for a date of the “interesting dinner” but only found a series of symbols at the bottom of the back of the fashionable invite.

“Eight characters long,” she said to herself. “A date.”

With the first, fourth, and fifth characters matching, she figured that that was a ‘one’.

“It is October, after all. Musn’t dilly-dally,” she said, hoping she was imitating her mysterious host. “Halloween, then?” She guessed.

10/31/193-

She filled in the two blanks for the current year. If it was another year she could wait. No time. 

“Address?” She said to herself. “Where are you?” She asked the mysterious host. Alti was fascinated with hidden codes and ciphers and followed her first instinct: holding the card up to the slowly dying fire in her small fireplace. Another code revealed itself.

“Ahh,” she said, quickly writing down the symbols. She stopped midway through... Persian Cuneiform. She laboriously deciphered the phonemes of the dead language and read it aloud. It was indeed an address: a manor on the north side of Varunkirk, North Carolina. She wasn’t exactly familiar with it but she had a terrible feeling of what was to come.

Thousands of miles away, a pilot named Tex yelled over the noises of a spanner and a few other machines that another man, Sphinx, was using to fix an engine.

“Package! SPHINX! PACKAGE!”

The young pilot cleaned his grease-stained fingers before standing and running them through his brown hair. “Oh?”

“Myrtle said she received this this afternoon,” Tex said, his voice returning to a normal volume as the work stopped. He was carrying a somewhat ornate wooden box. “Kinda heavy, Sphinx. Fancy wood too.” The Texan pilot stomped over to Sphinx and thrust it in his arms. “Open it and give us all a look-see.”

The young pilot grunted. “I certainly didn’t order anything from SEARS.”

Who would send him such a box? A crazy ex like Rouge? Someone wanting to get his attention? ...A new admirer?

He hesitantly opened the box. Within it was a wooden mask embroidered with feathers to make it look like a bobcat and a matte black card. 

“What is this kitsch?” Sphinx asked as he went from the mask to the card.    

Hello mr. Sphinx, it began.

Included in this package is a mask befitting your personality I believe. You are invited to an interesting dinner at... at this point, it gave an address in North Carolina.

Well that was certainly strange. And theatrical.

The letter continued.

I cannot as yet reveal my identity. I hope you do not think it too suspicious. A family mystery and a mystery that envelopes the town might draw your curiosity. We hope to see you on this coming Halloween.

Sincerely,

Mr. Owl

Enclosed with the invitation was fifty dollars.

Attend or not, here is a token of our appreciation.

“Whatcha think?” Tex asked, his curiosity piqued. 

“Probably some rich socialite wanting to spice up their party.” Sphinx replied as he held the mask up to his face. It was a perfect fit. 

“You going?” Tex asked. 

“With the price of everything these days, yeah. I’m interested in seeing how ‘Agatha Christie’ this party turns out.”  

Tex sighed. “At least pack an iron, partner. You know your track record.”  

Halloween was a couple weeks away, and so - when the date drew near - he got in the PBY with Tex and said goodbye to Amara and the rest of the crew.

“Haven’t you ever heard of curiosity killing the cat?” Amara asked, clutching his arm through his open window. She herself was a beastial - a leopard from a mad scientist’s genetic experiment.

“Killing cats is nearly impossible my dear,” Sphinx said smiling, leaning down to kiss her wet black nose as Tex began preflight checks.

“You sure this is worth it, James?” Tex asked. The devil-may-care pilot rarely used his squadron leader’s first name. 

Sphinx shrugged as he popped a stick of Beeman’s in his mouth. “We won’t know till we try.” 

It was a long flight, with the two taking turns, each wondered if they should have brought more crew. Finally though they landed by the boatdocks, the fishermen ogled the new arrival. Seaplanes were still a commodity. 

It was a quaint town with a beautiful university and a few well-to-do homes. Finding lodging wasn’t hard, it was the next day that Sphinx was worried about. The bed and breakfast was run by a nice older woman who knew how to make an old fashioned breakfast. It was dark and overcast outside, and the tall trees bent in the foreboding wind.

“Nice breakfast,” Tex commented. “Shame about the weather... and the reason for the visit.”

“It’s good atmosphere for All-Hallows, or Samhein as the Celts called it.” 

Tex chuckled. “Always about the folktales. You upset anyone recently, James?” Tex said, sipping his coffee.

Sphinx shrugged. “It’s an invite to a party, Tex. Who's to say I upset someone?”

“Look just be careful alright? If you’re not back at a good time I’m charging in.” 

The day passed into night as Sphinx set out for the party, pulling on his mask and the best suit he could afford. Following directions given by a little kid near the pool hall, Sphinx and Tex found the address. 

The house itself was between a mansion and a manor. In the suburbs and wet Halloween night it loomed like a Hollywood set. Tex waited at the curb in the shadows while Sphinx pulled the cord at the doorstep, letting rip a shrill bell. A few stomps and a menacing creak of the huge oak door later and Sphinx beheld the butler, looking exactly like Boris Karloff. 

“Mr. Bobcat,” he intoned sullenly. “I apologize, but I must search you for... weapons.”

“Right - had a feeling,” Sphinx replied as he handed off a Colt 1908. Wasn’t his usual piece, it was just something he wouldn’t mind parting with. The pat-down was quick but heavy-handed as Boris gestured to the front parlor.

“You will find your compatriots in the dining room, around the left corner.”

Sphinx expected to hear voices or some other sign of life but could only hear the ticking of a nearby grandfather clock.

At the head of the table set with food that Sphinx had rarely been treated to, was a man in an owl mask and double-breasted suit. The three other guests were also wearing animal masks: a woman with red hair in a scarlet dress wearing a fox mask, a slightly overweight man in a pinstripe suit wearing a badger mask, and a man in a business suit wearing a rabbit mask.

Sphinx suddenly felt underdressed.

“Have a seat, Mr. Bobcat,” the owl man said, gesturing to a seat next to Ms. Fox. “Go ahead and converse for a bit. Enjoy the food and wine.”

“Sure thing.” Sphinx replied as he looked at the other guests. They were all reluctant to touch the food or wine - possibly for the same reason he was. “March Hare,” he said, nodding to the man in the rabbit mask who looked at him nervously. “...Not a book lover, I take it.” 

Ms. Fox smiled and offered her hand. “I appreciate your reference, Mr. Bobcat,” she said elegantly. “You have some... grease on your undershirt’s collar. A mechanic?”

“No ma’am, I’m a pilot,” he replied. “And you are… a scholar? You still have some chalk on your fingers.”  

“Perhaps I mine chalk in my free time,” she said smirking.

Sphinx chuckled. “An, interesting profession if that’s true then.” 

Ms. Fox returned the chuckle warmly. An outburst.

“What is this?!” The badger sputtered, slamming his hand on the table and causing the rabbit next to him to cower along with the clatter of silverware. “Tell us what we’re doing here or I’ll call the police!”

The owl calmly set down his wine. “I noticed none of you are drinking or eating. I assure you I have no interest in poisoning you. I’ll drink as well if you’re worried about being... off balance. Please, indulge. The night is young.”

“I’m just curious why we’re here.” Sphinx grunted, “You sure you didn’t get the wrong address?”

The owl took another sip of his wine. “I gave three of you a very good reason to be here, emblazoned on your very invitations. Now the fourth one... why they are here I happen to understand on a deeper level.”

Sphinx merely observed. The owl man had a deep voice and crisp tone. He was very calm and reserved. Sphinx looked at the other guests: The badger and hare were avoiding each others’ gaze while ms. Fox smiled at him mischievously. Soon the group returned to hushed conversations. Ms. Fox, her shining red hair a short mane of flame around her face, sniffed her wine.

“A pilot? ...I have the feeling that this is a business venture.”

“Not a bad guess, hell of a sales pitch.”

“May I ask what induced you to appear here, Mr. Pilot?” Ms. Fox asked, taking another sip of wine.

“Intrigue, I suppose, and a chunk of dough. How about you, Ms. Fox?”

A slight pause. “Intrigue was good enough for me,” she said mysteriously.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Sphinx replied. Ms. Fox chuckled once more.

“Are you the Cheshire cat, Mr. Bobcat? Or merely wearing his smile?”

“I’m good at disappearing.” 

“And how about you, Mr. Badger?” Ms. Fox asked across the table, leaning suggestively. “What brings you here?”

“I’m not a badger and you’re not a fox,” Mr. Badger said. “Stop playing this... idiot’s game.”

“So who are you then?” Sphinx prodded him.

“I’m nobody! Sh-shut up!” Mr. Badger said, gulping down a glass. “Who are you, kitty cat?” He said, pointing back.

As mature as Sphinx was, he was still young and he couldn’t resist. “I’m the Cheshire cat of course.”

Ms. Fox laughed behind her sleeve as Mr. Badger’s jowls turned red.

“You child...” the man grumbled. 

“How about you March hare?” Ms. Fox asked.

“Wh-what? Wh-me?” He asked, nervously taking a sip of his wine. “I-I’m an open book, heh. Whatdyawanna know?”

“How about profession? Or do you have one?” Sphinx asked.

“Do you two know each other?” The badger interrupted, pointing a slightly fat, drunken finger at the other side of the table. “You two seem to be thick as thieves.”

“I don’t know, we’re wearing masks.” Sphinx replied. Ms. Fox chortled before reigning in her laughter.

Mr. Badger, once again defeated, mumbled something and Sphinx caught the word ‘station’. The Hare, nearly forgotten, seemed to relax before Ms. Fox leaned forward again.

“Mr. Cat asked you a question, rabbit: what kind of occupation do you hold?”

Mr. Hare’s eyes rolled behind his mask in a distracted, fearful fashion. “A pencil pusher is all.”

“Bookkeeper perhaps?” 

Their conversation was interrupted by the reverberating clang of silver on glass as Mr. Owl stood, tapping his wine glass with his fork. “All very entertaining, but unfortunately I cannot keep you here... forever.” He looked around at the guests.

Sphinx folded his arms.

“As I mentioned before, three of you have been invited here... coerced here... by means of your own indiscretions. One of you is here of your own volition: a sense of duty or intrigue.”

Again, with a sense of drama, he looked around the table.

“One of you has used their family’s ill-gotten wealth, including the death of a scion of the city, to create a highly lucrative international smuggling ring.”

The guests all looked at each other. Mr. Badger seemed especially interested, leaning in and examining Sphinx and Ms. Fox.

“This really is an Agatha Criste novel,” Sphinx whispered.

Ms. Fox lightly giggled and laid her delicate hand on his forearm.

“Another of you is a government drone to most... but a talented forger to some. You’ve hidden your talents for a long, long time... it’s time to use your talents for a greater use.”

The rabbit-mask wrung his hands.

“...And another of you is the head of a large, local law enforcement agency. You’ve gotten your paws very, very dirty indeed, and you will grease our wheels in the endeavor that I am about to propose to you.”

The badger man suddenly sat stock still.

Sphinx looked from one to the next. Reading reactions, he had one figured already. 

“The fourth one, whatever their motive for being here, knows how to disappear in one place and reappear in another. This time, with crates of relics... or perhaps more?”

Sphinx leaned back. “So, are you intending to blackmail everyone into working for you or something?” 

The owl man nodded to the bobcat. “If you want to paint it that way,” he said in his smooth tone. “However I believe that this meeting could blossom into something much more lucrative for us all.”

The three other guests seemed to slump into their chairs while the hare’s slump was followed by a little, continuous shiver.

Alti had thought about everything that had gotten her to that point. She liked Mr. Bobcat but was a little put off by how clever he was. Her life of schemes had come back and now Mr. Owl - whom she suspected was a colleague of hers at the university that she had only heard of - was using her colorful past to build some kind of smuggling empire.

But perhaps it could be fun.

The owl continued.

“You all know that I know you, and now you all know each other’s... if not the specific misdeeds, the broad outline of them. I strongly recommend you do not reveal your identities to each other. However, with my guidance, I believe this new venture could be extremely... interesting.”

The badger set his wine roughly on the table. “All right. I’m in.”

“M-me too,” the hare said, knowing he was trapped.

Ms. Fox was more reticent. She held her wine glass up to her discerning eye before finally speaking.

“...I’m in if Mr. Bobcat is.”

With that, the other four turned to Sphinx. He had no intention of furthering some criminal agenda, but he wasn’t an idiot. Time to play them.  

“Sure, it could be fun.”