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If anyone had dared to travel past the two mortuaries of Piffling Vale this particular afternoon they would be quite shocked and startled to hear a commotion from the dreary Funn Funerals. There was banging, crashing, and shouting that sounded like it was only coming from one person. If the person traveling past said mortuary was a resident of the town, they would definitely be able to guess the person responsible for this racket.
Inside Funn Funerals, Rudyard was quite concerned to find that Antigone had disappeared. Despite his banging on the door, she had not come out with her screechy voice to berate him. And when he had finally got the door open and had knocked over a vase that may or may not have contained the old Mrs. Pine, there was no Antigone at his side to call out his wrong.
For Rudyard, the unthinkable had happened. Antigone wasn’t in the mortuary. Surely this meant that something was horribly wrong. There was no circus in town, no funeral of theirs, and no funeral of Eric Chapman’s to sabotage.
“Damnit, where are you?” he muttered under his breath. Had anything seemed concerning about Antigone this morning? Surely not.
—
It was a lovely morning. The loveliest that Antigone could imagine, only second to her adventure to the circus, and that time she found a dead snake that she could inspect.
Oh, and a week ago Rudyard had gotten stuck in the shower, banging on the glass and wailing. She smiled thinking about it, her muscles stretching from the unfamiliar motion. Rudyard, who had just entered the kitchen, saw that smile and felt like he needed to watch his back. This wasn’t a rare feeling around his sister, so he ignored it, but reminded himself not to take any food or drink from her.
Inside Antigone, there was a turmoil of excitement that was not beaten down by Rudyard’s frowning face. She had a plain piece of toast, and her estrogen went down with a cold glass of water. They could afford ice that month, and it was a luxury.
Antigone smiled again. It felt a little bit wrong, so she scowled happily. It was almost time for her date.
—
Just across the street, Eric was staving off panic.
“Is this too classy?” he considered as he perused his suits, then shook his head. It was only coffee. He would wear a jumper. Brushing off the anxiety that had followed him through waking up and getting dressed, picking out his bright yellow binder that he only wore on special occasions (it was custom) and gulping down his breakfast with a glass of milk, he took a deep breath. He was Eric Chapman, and he was perfectly capable of doing this.
—
Rudyard of the afternoon was still standing in the middle of an empty mortuary. Antigone wasn’t in the mortuary. He was now very sure of that. He wracked his brain. It was extremely important that he find Antigone and explain his new plan to foil Chapman. It included spaghetti noodles and red food coloring, and it was one of Rudyard’s best plans yet.
This brought him to the matter at hand. If Antigone wasn’t at home, the circus, the theatre (for it was not a Thursday), or a funeral, she must be out somewhere else in town.
—
“Get out!” is the last thing Rudyard hears before he’s thrown out of the market. While he’s confirmed the absence of his sister, he also caused a slight fight between two sellers that may have become a brawl.
He glanced into the group of flying fists and angry shouts and then shook his head. “Didn’t want to be there anyways,” he says to Madeline, who squeaks in agreement from his pocket. This crosses the first location off his list. On to the next.
—
Georgie opens the door to the mayor’s office on Rudyard’s third knock. “Whadya want?”
“Georgie! Perfect!” he exclaims as he pushes past her into the office, “Is Antigone here?”
Georgie looks confused, “No? Why would she be here?” That was a stupid question, since obviously Antigone could be hiding here to avoid her work. Rudyard tells Georgie this much.
“You don’t remember her telling us about her lunch?” she asks, “she’s been muttering for days about her da-” She stops abruptly as if she’s realizing something.
“Her what?”
“Nothing! You should probably leave; the mayor has an appointment here soon. An incredibly important one.”
—
Thirty minutes later Rudyard had been kicked out of Agatha Doyle’s candy shop, laughed at by the village hoodlums, and accidentally stole someone’s cat, which had given him some terrible flashbacks. Around the cat incident Madeline had abandoned him for what she called “a better story.” And Antigone was still gone.
He thinks back on what Georgie had said. Antigone was out for lunch. Therefore, she must be at one of Piffling Vale’s few restaurants. Even fewer considering how many the Funns have been banned from.
“That’s it!” he shouts, then glares at the odd looks he gets. He knew where to find Antigone.
—
Eric has never been happier to be scowled at. Between their love of French cinema and obvious love of embalming, he hasn’t had such an easy conversation in ages. In fact, he’s surprised that no one’s burst into their date. He asks Antigone about this.
“I don’t even think Rudyard’s noticed I’m out,” she deadpans, “It took him twenty years to remember I go to the cinema on Thursdays.”
“Right,” Eric nods. He’s perfectly content with Rudyard not being here. Thrilled, even. This must be what curses them, his foolish excitement at a moment of peace.
“AHA!” comes a yell from the entrance, and Antigone scowls even more, “Rudyard.”
And Rudyard it is, covered in dirt and god knows what, panting as if he’s run a marathon, “I KNEW IT!” he yells, pointing at their table like they’ve murdered someone, “FRATERNIZING WITH THE COMPETITION.” He walks closer, and Eric feels a little like he’s a prey animal, which is stupid. It’s only Rudyard.
—
Antigone can’t have a day of peace. If she was placed under oath (which she has been,) and forced under threat of death she might admit she loves her brother. She does not feel it. Rudyard, with his stupid smug face, is looking at them like he’s cracked a code.
“Chapman!” he exclaims, “stealing company secrets, I see.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s what someone would say if they were stealing secrets. Admit it, I’ve caught you, and you’ll never get our business!”
“For god’s sake Rudyard,” Antigone grits out, “He’s not stealing company secrets.”
“Then why is he here?” Rudyard flails his arms between the two of them. The two of them and Madeline, who appeared sometime in this mess. That mouse and her nose for a story.
Antigone, figuring she should just put it out there, says “Rudyard, he’s on a date.”
“With who?” Rudyard looks around. The faces of many Piffling residents stare back.
“With me.”
Rudyard blinks. Looks like he’s buffering. Antigone thinks this might be the thing that pushes him over the edge. He looks at Chapm- Eric and then at her, turning his head like a broken robot.
“You’re-” he chokes out “- on a date with him?”
“Yes, Rudyard, because if your eyes worked, you would see I’ve been hopelessly in love with him for ages, and I’ve taken this chance for myself, so you are not going to ruin it.”
Both Eric and Rudyard’s mouths hang open, and Antigone releases what she’s said. Shit.
“Goodbye!” she says, and bolts.
Unfortunately, Eric runs after her.
“You?” he says.
“Ugh.”
“No no, I mean, sudden, but that’s fine, and you know I’m open to-”
“Chapman. Shut up.” And he does. Antigone’s going to have to wield this power responsibly.
“Will you like to see my mortuary?” she asks.
“Is that an innuendo?”
“No,” Antigone is deeply serious about her mortuary. And shocked by her newfound confidence. She’s probably crazy. They must have put something in her drink. But, to her surprise, Eric nods, and hesitantly takes her hand.
“I’d love to.”