Cameron To Candy

"Mrs. Elwood?” the man asked. Candy stood and reached for the larger satchel. The man smiled politely. “Dr. Aldric Beastmere. Sorry for the wait.”

“Oh, uh, not at all,” Candy said. “It wasn’t long, and the view is pretty nice.”

Beastmere glanced past her toward the wide window overlooking the Curtsey Crane yard. One of the birds was still posed on the platform, looking very pleased with itself. He smiled with the easy fondness of someone who had seen the same thing a thousand times and somehow still liked it.

“Yes, I never get tired of that either,” he said. “Please, come in.”

He opened the door wider and stepped aside. Candy gathered both satchels and followed him into his office. It was larger than the waiting room, but not grand. The shelves were crowded with ledgers, specimen jars, rolled habitat plans, quarantine labels, and framed permits. A small terrarium sat near the window, where a gray lizard rested under a warming crystal with the expression of a cantankerous old man.

Beastmere pulled out the visitor chair for her. Candy had a brief, familiar prickle of irritation, another reminder of what category the law had shoved her into. Then she let it pass. He was not leering, condescending, or making a point. He was being polite in the way any man in his position would be polite to any woman in Paddlewick.

“Thank you,” she said, and sat.

Beastmere took the chair behind his desk and opened the folder he had carried in from the inner office. “So, I was told you found exotic reptile eggs of some kind.”

“Yeah,” Candy confirmed. “We found coBras on our property a couple weeks ago.”

His gaze sharpened slightly. “CoBras?”

“Yeah, two adults. My husband and our friend were able to behead them.” She hated saying my husband. It still caught a little in her throat. She kept her expression even and continued before her mood spoiled further. “There was a nest nearby with a handful of eggs,” Candy said. “I’ve kept them packed and warm based on what I know about ordinary snakes. I’m not sure how much that carries over to magical ones. We are Two of the eggs before we realized there might be a better use for them, but the other six are here.”

Beastmere looked down at the larger satchel. “Eaten?”

“Omelets,” Candy said.

“I see.”

“They were pretty good.”

“Magical good?”

“Ha! That’s literally what our friend Greg said.”

She opened the larger satchel and carefully moved aside the packing straw. She lifted one of the eggs out with both hands and placed it on the folded cloth on his desk. The shell was dark, with pale curved markings around the middle. They were faint, but once seen, the shape was hard to miss. Mr. Beastmere leaned forward but did not touch it at first. That alone made Candy think better of him. He studied the egg from several angles, then pulled a small lens from his desk drawer and held it over the shell.

“Very interesting,” he said.

“There’s more,” Candy said.

She opened the smaller satchel and unwrapped only enough charm-paper to show one of the preserved heads. The coBra’s hood had dried slightly around the edges, but the pattern was still clear. The markings curved outward in that ridiculous, unmistakable way that made the creature look like nature had developed a dirty joke and then armed it with poison.

Beastmere sat back. “Yes, that’s a coBra egg all right. Pretty unmistakable. Cleavendale, Bouborg region as I recall.”

“That’s what I figured too,” Candy said. “They’re only native to a few places.”

“It’s very strange that they’d be in your yard.”

“Our best guess is that someone was transporting them and they escaped,” Candy said. “After that, they found their way to us somehow. We’re near a creek, and there are some decent sunning spots around the property. I suppose it was the best they could find,”

“Yes, that could happen,” Beastmere said. “It’s fortunate they were found when they were. They wouldn’t have survived a Paddlewick winter without support.”

“That’s what I figured. They’d probably make some desperate attempt for warmth and end up in someone’s house.”

“And if startled, they could kill someone.”

“That was my concern,” Candy agreed. “Also I didn’t love Marcus deciding he was suddenly a professional snake hunter because he’d killed a few addlers before.”

Beastmere looked at the preserved head again. “That was a serious risk. A coBra bite can kill a grown man in under ten minutes!”

“Thank you,” Candy said. “I’ll add it to the list of things I was right about.”

He gave her a small smile and then reached for a slim measuring wand. He passed it over the egg, murmured a short activation phrase, and watched as the wand gave off three faint pulses of green light. Candy stayed quiet, partly because she did not want to interrupt the process and partly because official-looking tools always made her expect bad news.

“Viable,” Beastmere said. “At least this one. I’d need to examine the others, of course.”

“I brought all six.”

“Good. Have they been changing colors, noisy, reactive, or prone to movement?”

“No movement. No noise. Uh, I guess some of them were a lighter shade of purple before, now that you mention it.”

“Sounds like they’re only a couple weeks off from hatching.”

Candy looked at the egg again. “My understanding is that coBras are somewhere around the tenth most poisonous animal in the Cone.”

“Roughly,” Beastmere said. “It depends on whether you’re ranking the venom, the magical concentration, or the total bite effect. Since the venom and magic aren’t easy to separate in practice, most current zoo and Mage Guild references place the coBra at ninth overall. That puts it just above the rattlewhip snake and below the weft-mother monster species.”

“Ninth,” Candy said. “Huh.”

Beastmere studied the egg a moment longer. “So, Mrs. Elwood, what are you hoping the zoo can do with them?”

“I’m wondering if you’d like to hatch them, and use them for an exhibit.”

He leaned back in his chair and considered that. Beastmere did not rush his thoughts, which Candy appreciated.

“We do have an available habitat that could be converted,” he said after a moment. “It wasn’t designed for a warm-climate magical reptile, so it would take a bit to outfit it with heat sources. And it would need stronger glass and a venom protocol. coBras could be a draw…”

“But?”

“They aren’t the usual sort of species we cultivate here. The zoo has always favored animals that reflect public order or civic lessons. The vultures clean the path, in a sense. The Stonehorn Turtles set a stable pace. The Curtsey Cranes are obvious enough. The Pinnery Porcupines and compliance carp took centuries to breed the correct patterns.”

“And Niblet?”

He sighed. “Niblet is a public relations triumph and a containment headache.”

“I love him.”

“Yeah, most visitors do. But most keepers use different words. Still, he’s paying a quarter of our bills these days.”

Candy glanced toward the window, where the cranes were still moving below. “Still, you’re interested.”

“Yes,” Beastmere said. “King Roderick has been encouraging more foot traffic to the zoo and other public works. Niblet brought in a noticeable increase, especially among families. Another magical species could help, provided we handle it carefully.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“If the eggs fail, they fail. If they hatch but prove unsafe, we would have to destroy them and preserve the bodies for authorized magical use. I’m sure the Mage Guild would be eager to get their hands on organic magical venom of that quality.”

Candy nodded. “That’s actually the next place I’m going.”

“With the heads?”

“Yeah. I figured I needed to show proof of species here first, but after this I’m taking the heads to High Mage Eldrin.”

Beastmere did not press. That raised him another notch in her estimation.

“That’s a smart use for them,” he said. “I can’t imagine anything better to do with preserved coBra heads. The only other safe way to dispose of them would be to drain them here and preserve the heads in our embalming liquid.” Candy’s only response was to nod. “Very well,” Beastmere said. “The zoo will accept the eggs, assuming the remaining five match the first and pass a basic quarantine and viability test. I take it you have requests for remuneration.”

Candy sat a little straighter. “Yes. I do have terms. I don’t think they’re too extreme, and they should be easy enough to accommodate.” Beastmere gestured for her to continue. “First, I’d like free access to all zoo events.”

“The zoo is already free.”

“General entry is free,” Candy retorted. “Tours aren’t. Behind-the-scenes feedings aren’t. Special events aren’t. Educational demonstrations aren’t always free either.”

“That’s… true.”

“I’m not asking for royal closures or anything like that. Just ordinary zoo events.”

Beastmere tapped his pen against the folder once. “I can arrange free access to Class One special events for life. That would include standard seasonal demonstrations, public feeding programs, ordinary lectures, animal parades, and non-royal municipal activities. It wouldn’t include anything organized by the royal family, closed donor events, Mage Guild harvesting sessions, noble rentals, or restricted quarantine access. I don’t have the authority for those.”

“Oh, I understand,” Candy said. “That makes sense. Good.”

“What else?”

“I want a tour or backstage pass any time I come down.”

“Once a month,” he countered immediately.

Candy narrowed her eyes. Beastmere waited. She considered pushing harder, but once a month was still good. It was also probably the first offer because he expected her to bargain. If she argued long enough, she might get twice a month. If she argued too long, she might sound greedy and get nothing extra worth having.

“Fine,” she said. “One free tour or backstage pass per month.”

“Public-safe backstage pass,” Beastmere added.

“Fine.”

“No animal handling unless otherwise permitted by staff.”

“Fine.”

“No entering restricted containment areas.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good. I like to hear that stated clearly.”

Candy leaned back slightly. “I also want ten percent off the gift shop for life.”

“You already have your I Found Niblet pin,” Beastmere said, glancing at her sash. “That gives you ten percent on standard zoo merchandise.”

“Yes, and I want another ten percent on top of that.”

“Stacked discounts are inconvenient.”

“Six coBra eggs. Six.”

He looked at her for a long moment. A bit of amusement reached his eyes. “Another ten percent on standard municipal zoo merchandise for life. It won’t apply to outside vendors, commissioned pieces, food, royal-event souvenirs, mage texts, special auctions, or live animal sponsorships.”

“Fair.”

“And not to anything already discounted at or below cost.”

“That’s also fair.”

Candy paused, then touched her Niblet pin. “Actually, since we’re talking about it, make that a pin too.”

“A pin?”

“A donation pin. Or benefactor pin. Something official.”

“I don’t think we currently have a pin for donations of this type. I think there might be a plaque we could dig up…”

“I’m sure there are donation pins somewhere, and there are zoo pins. Couldn’t you just petition that or use a blank one or something?”

“The pin committee is not exactly what I call quick.”

“Isn’t there a category for special proposed pins you can use until they get formally recognized? Or blank pins you can just kind of, write in?”

Beastmere’s expression shifted from polite resistance to thought. He opened a drawer, removed a smaller reference booklet, and flipped through several pages. Candy tried not to look too satisfied. It was always nice when a guess found a rule hiding in the wall.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “There is a provisional municipal recognition category. It’s rarely used, but it exists. It would require my recommendation, a donor record, and later review. If it’s not recognized later it would stand as, unique, I suppose.”

“So it can be done.”

“Ye-yes” he answered slowly. “ He looked up at her, and this time the smile was clear. “I’m fairly certain… Very well. I’ll file for a provisional Zoo Specimen Donation pin. In the meantime I’ll send a discretionary custom one to your house as soon as possible.”

“That’s fine. As long as there’s a pin. Also I’ll need written documentation from you before I leave stating the pins on it’s way and it’s worth. I’m on a bit of a clock. Something like that’s got to be worth at least five household pins, yeah?”

Candy needed it to be worth five. She’d beaten Mrs. Prim’s first pin earning target in the 2nd month. It was supposed to be the previous month from that but Marcus took the fall admitting he’d not logged everything correctly. Mrs. Prim gave her an extension and Stg Strapforth had assigned Marcus a domestic leadership class.

At first Candy had been pleased with that. She was off the hook for a month and finally Paddlewick made the man do more work. But of course Marcus being Marcus, he'd come back from the day class having passed with flying colors and a heap of newly acquired knowledge of all things domestic tracking. So now he was more on Candy’s back then ever.

She’d since gotten five pins worth, including a dish washing pin, a laundry pin, the dammed first husband Good Girl pin, and the Niblet pin had counted for two. And that was enough for a time, but a month later Mrs. Prim again wanted a set of five newly earned pins, or at least five points worth in the ridiculous but methodically assigned pin point system, as laid out in the Pin Codex. So here she was, hoping to bang the whole thing out in one go.

“Sure, but I’m not a pin value expert. That sounds about right and I can list that estimate but the ultimate outcome may be scored differently.”

Candy nodded, pleased. “Good enough. Thanks… actually, there is one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“Can you list the donors? Me, my husband and, uh, well, can one other name be added?”

“Oh, yes that’s quite common. Is there anything else?”

Candy smiled, relief having come fast. “No, that should do it.”

Beastmere reviewed his notes aloud. “Okay, great. Then to sum it up. We are looking at Class One event access for life, excluding royal, noble, restricted, quarantine, and Mage Guild functions. One public-safe tour or backstage pass per month, subject to scheduling and staff availability. An additional ten percent discount on standard municipal zoo merchandise, stackable with the Found Niblet pin, subject to listed exclusions. A provisional Zoo Benefactor pin petition, with formal recognition to follow if approved and written notice in the meantime. And the enclosure having a plaque with the specimen donators names.”

Candy smiled. “That sounds right.”

“I notice you asked for things that mostly cost the zoo very little. You negotiate well, Mrs. Elwood.”

“Thank you Mr. Beastmere.” She liked Mr. Beastmere. He had not condescended to her once, hadn’t over explained things she already knew, hadn’t threatened her to stop negotiating because she was a woman. He was a real professional, and seemingly just a good guy. And his name remained freaking hilarious.

Beastmere set down his pen. “One final matter. I’m sorry I should have started with this, but you do have your husband’s permission to enter this bargain, correct?”

Candy sighed before she could stop herself. “Of course you need that.”

“I’m afraid I do.”

“Right, right.” She pulled Marcus’s letter from the inner pocket of her dress and handed it over. Marcus was not a lawyer but because of his job, and his upbringing, he knew his way around legal writing. His land work required deeds, transfers, rights of passage, boundary claims, mineral access, and enough careful wording to make even a ministry clerk nod in respect.

Beastmere read the letter once, then again more slowly. His eyebrows rose at one clause, and Candy had a strong suspicion it was the part where Marcus had specifically authorized her to bargain for “reasonable access, recognition, financial consideration, and non-living commemorative privileges.”

“Very thorough,” he said.

“He enjoys airtight wording.”

“I can tell. This is far more than we needed. Impressive in a way.” Beastmere rose and opened the office door. “Miss Tallis, would you come in for a moment?”

A woman in a gray-green administrative dress appeared almost immediately with a small writing board tucked under one arm. “Yes, Sir?”

“I need a copy made of Mrs. Elwood’s authorization letter and a biological donation transfer form. Also begin a file for a possible provisional Zoo Benefactor pin.”

Miss Tallis looked at Candy, then at the egg on the desk, then at the partly wrapped coBra head visible in the satchel. Her face remained impressively calm. “Of course.”

Miss Tallis took the authorization letter and returned a few minutes later with a tidy stack of forms. Beastmere reviewed each one with Candy before either of them signed. He didn’t rush her, which she appreciated. He explained, the transfer clause, the event-access clause, the discount clause, and the temporary nature of the pin request.

Candy read carefully. She didn’t have Marcus’s legal knowledge but she could read very well. Life as a clerk had prepared her for this.

“This says I may be denied backstage access during animal distress,” she said.

“Yes. If an animal is sick, aggressive, breeding, molting, nesting, shedding, escaping, pretending to be sick, or causing staff concern, we can deny the pass for that day.”

“Pretending to be sick?”

“Pseudodragons.”

“Right.”

“That denial would not count against your monthly pass.”

“Good.”

She signed. Beastmere signed after her. Miss Tallis witnessed both signatures, stamped the forms, and collected the copies with efficient hands.

“I’ll have the formal copies sent to your home within one to two weeks, most likely,” Beastmere said. “Possibly sooner, but I don’t like promising that kind of thing.”

“I understand.”

“In the meantime, this will serve as temporary authorization.”

He took a small sheet of zoo letterhead, wrote several lines in a quick, neat hand, signed the bottom, and pressed his office seal beside the signature. He sanded the ink, waited a moment, then handed it to Candy.

“This confirms your temporary event access, monthly pass eligibility, and provisional discount until the official paperwork and pin decision arrive,” he said. “I’m sorry if the first few times you come in, they nay need to check with the office. This is unusual, but we’ll honor it.”

Candy read the note and folded it carefully. “I believe you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am. Thank you for the donation.”

Candy stood and gave the smallest curtsey she could manage while still making it count. Mr. Beastnere gathered the eggs one by one into a padded tray from the side table, checking each with the measuring wand before setting it into place. All six gave off faint green pulses. Beastmere looked pleased in a restrained, professional way.

“These are worth attempting,” he said. “I’ll have them moved to warm quarantine immediately.”

“Good.”

“And Mrs. Elwood?”

“Yes?”

“Please take your time in the zoo today if you can. I know you’re probably on your way to the Mage Guild after this, but there’s no reason you can’t enjoy the grounds a little first.”

Candy looked toward the window, where the Curtsey Cranes were still visible below. “That obvious?”

“You’re wearing the Found Niblet pin.”

He crossed to a side cabinet and opened a lower drawer. From it, he removed a small cloth bag and tied it closed with a bit of string.

Candy eyed it. “What’s that?”

“Used socks.”

She stared at him. “Ooooo-Kay.”

“I know that sounds odd,” he said.

“It does.”

“They’re for the clothivore jackals. We keep worn-out socks, ruined gloves, torn cuffs, and other small fabric scraps for visitor feeding. If you’d like, you can throw a few to them on your way out.”

Candy’s whole face brightened before she had time to stop it. “Do I ever!”

Beastmere handed her the bag. “They’re in the west yard, past the Stonehorn Garden and before the Reptile Hall. Don’t put your hand through the fence. Toss only from the marked line. If two jackals pull the same sock, let them settle it. It's hilarious actually.”

“Do they actually eat clothing?”

“They do. Most clothing is plant fiber, animal fiber, or treated cloth. Their digestion is remarkable. Goats are impressive, but clothivore jackals make goats look selective.”

“That’s amazing.”

“It is also why we don’t display the droppings.”

Candy looked at the bag of socks, then back at him. “I didn’t ask.”

“You were going to.”

“I was not.”

“You were thinking it. Most people do.” She said nothing. He had her there. Beastmere gave her a polite smile that suggested he did not believe her. “Enjoy the exhibit.”

Candy tucked the temporary authorization safely into her pocket, gathered the smaller satchel with the coBra heads, and took the bag of socks in her free hand. The larger satchel was now empty, which made her feel oddly light. The eggs were no longer her problem. In Paddlewick, that counted as a minor miracle.

Before stepping out she turned and asked, “Mr. Beastmere. If I may ask, does your family have a history working with animals?” She couldn’t help herself.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I’m third generation in this zoo, and before that my family ran a farm, mostly the horse breeding program, for several generations,” he answers with a smile. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh no reason really, it’s just, you seem really suited to it.”

“Why thank you.”

Miss Tallis showed her back to the hall, and Docent Merril met her near the stairs.

“All settled?” Merril asked.

“Mostly. The zoo has the eggs, I have paperwork, and apparently I get to feed socks to jackals?”

Merril nodded. “They like socks.”

“I’m trying very hard to remain dignified about that.” Then she burst into laughter. “Okay seriously, what in shrimp hell is that about? There weren’t here last time a came.”

“They’re on loan from Cleavendale. It’s an exchange. We sent them some paddle finches and a grongalonk.”

Huh, she thought. Cleavendale. That explained it. Candy followed her down the stairs and back toward the public path.

Back in his office Beastmere pulled out a small notepad. On the top was written “Asked About My Name” and under that were two columns labeled Yes and No. He was sure that’s why Candy had asked about his family, even if she had not said the word name. He laughed, shook his head, and added a tally to the Yes side. It was far fuller than the No side.

***

The zoo seemed louder now, or maybe Candy was just less braced against it. Children were still searching for Niblet under keeper supervision. Someone near the pseudodragon house shouted, “There he is!” followed by a keeper calling, “That’s a leaf,” which garnered a fair amount of laughter from the crowd. Candy snickered as she passed.

At the edge of the Stonehorn Garden, Sir Resolute stood near the fence in almost the same place as before. His silver eyes were still half-lidded, and his mouth again had that tiny curve Candy refused to ignore.

She slowed and looked at him. “I see you.” The turtle took one slow breath and did absolutely nothing else. Candy nodded. “Beathe slowly if you love me… good boy!”

She couldn’t stay long. Beastmere had been right about that. The coBra heads had been severed for a couple of weeks, and even with salt and charm-paper and the anti spoil effect their venom had, they were getting a tiny bit ripe. If the venom magic was going to be of help, she needed to get moving out of the warner air.

Still, she had time for one small stop. Candy adjusted the satchel on her shoulder, tightened her grip on the bag of socks, and headed toward the west yard. For a few minutes, she was not going to think about Bellefemme, Gearford, Prince Femminique, or the harem. She was going to throw old socks to clothing-eating jackals in a municipal zoo. It was ridiculous, but it was also exactly what she needed.

As she passed the bellwing exhibit, a child yelled to his father, “Daddy, look. I see a yellow one! That’s the rarest!”

For the second time that day, a memory, half forgotten, stirred. Eight-year-old Cameron trudged beside his Grandma, along the carved cliff walkway at Plumalume, both of them still grinning from spotting the elusive ribboncrest only minutes before.

“I still can’t believe we saw one.”

“I know,” she laughed, patting his shoulder. “I’ve been coming here thirty years and today was the day.” The wind carried feathers overhead. They stopped to watch volunteers carrying buckets of seed toward one of the smaller aviaries.

“You know,” Mimi said quietly, “I’ve always wanted to help this place.”

Cam looked up. “How Mimi?.”

She smiled at the birds. “Like sponsoring an enclosure. Donate an animal. Something special from further away. Maybe even keep a little aviary of my own someday and give offspring to them.”

“In Your backyard?”

She laughed. “Oh heavens, your grandfather would have something to say about that.”

“So he won’t buy it?”

“Oh, he couldn’t afford it even if he wanted to, bless his soul.” Cam nodded. “But…” she continued, “…your old Mimi has a little income all her own. Maybe one day it’ll add up enough.”

“You do? How? You don’t have a job.”

She laughed. “Well don’t you mind that Cameron. Let your Mimi have her secrets.”

He didn’t quite understand that, so he turned and looked out over the cliffs, where hundreds of birds wheeled through the sunlight.

“We’ll do it Mimi.”

“We will?”

“Yeah.” He took her hand. “We’ll give them something really neat. Like a threadmaw or a unicorn!”

She squeezed his fingers. “I’d like that very much kiddo.”

*****

Back in the present day, Candy slowed outside the clothivore jackal enclosure. The new donor certificate rested atop the rest of her paperwork, embossed with the zoo’s seal. Lifetime recognition. Invitation days. Forever discounts. A form noting the successful donation of the coBra eggs. They were truly weird, ridiculous creatures, and soon all of Paddlewick could enjoy them safely. She stared at the form and smiled.

“Well, Mimi… we did it.”