Of miss Soup (Journal January 26)

Journal,

It is difficult to write of this, so I shall be brief.

As I was going about my errands today (my broom, which had mysteriously appeared, has now mysteriously vanished...very vexing) I heard that tell-tail murmuring.

There is a certain way people talk when someone has, to put it politely, passed-on. I remember well from when James...which is besides the point. I discovered that Miss Dizzel Soup had made the unfortunate mistake of tasting some tea which was sent to Mr. Underby and had not survived the experience.

Now, I shall admit, there is no love to be lost between Mr. Underby and myself. I have made no secret of my open loathing for him and those who work for him. In fact, even at our most civil there is a level of hostility between the two of us that would make almost anyone uncomfortable to be in the same room.

Still, having been in a similar position, I couldn't help but take over a bottle of wine (which, I explained to him, was the only thing I ever wanted when I was grieving but which no one ever provided). He had Miss Soup's coffin laid out in the foyer and was relatively docile, except he seems to think she must remain in the house until thaw. So, though he hardly deserves it (and he did, after all, tell me I am a "millstone round his neck" or some-such, that's gratitude for you) I went to town hall to appeal to Mayor Tenk for a way to bury the women.

I am, as one might imagine, distinctly uncomfortable with the notion of Miss Soup remaining unburied for months...

So, I went to see Mr. Tenk.

Let the record show, dear journal, that I haven't the faintest clue what I have done to make Mr. Tenk loathe me to the point that he would not even turn to look at me as we spoke. Honestly, I have given the man his due, I have shown respect, I have told stories on command and we have watched over him as best we can, so why the extraordinary cold shoulder, I haven't the faintest idea. I was half tempted to do something wicked...but decided against it. Instead I was Toady-extraordinare and made the appeal on Mr. Underby's behalf.

He was not pleased (I assume, considering his tone, but, let's be honest, I wasn't pleased to be making the request) but finally suggested that Mr. Underby should build a bonfire and dig beneath it and then told me, in the least polite way possible, to leave immediately.

Honestly, he is so vexing I really should go dump a bucket of seawater in his forge.

I have already sent a note to Mr. Underby telling him what he should do.

What a troublesome day it has been.

I think I had best turn-in for the night, I think I've just heard Pip padding around upstairs.

~S. MacB.