Agnes
Created | Updated Aug 12, 2023
Agnes
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1.
The twenty-two-inch hatch was unsurprisingly heavy. Bronze tends to be like that, heavy and stubborn.
'The highest hat in America, if not the world!' her new employer had beamed through clouds of acrid, cheap cigar smoke.
Agnes tutted, the state of her gloves, filthy despite the newness, bought fresh for her new position in Wannamaker' Annual Sale of White, reminded her of the meagre recompense for her rather dirty task.
The hatch now fully open, Agnes now faced the rather tricky contortionist act that involved pulling the rope up through William Penn, heaving the eight-pound, forty-inch Winchester Takedown up through the twenty-two inch hatch.
Forty minutes later, clothing now utterly ruined, (note to self: find receipts from JW's for her expenses!) Agnes exhaled, rust-coloured finger on the trigger, concentrating on the target as he strolled towards her through the gardens, unaware that death perched precarious and rather sweaty, some 548 feet above him.
One last task, sighed Agnes sadly, then, job completed it was back to her usual, slightly boring world. She'd rather enjoyed this job.
2.
Agnes politely acknowledged the rather sparse applause as she closed with 'Hello, Ma Baby' as the diners began to leave.
Eyes on her target as he shook hands with seemingly every gentleman in the room before tipping his hat in her direction from the door.
She packed up her sheet music, now thoroughly annotated with times, dates, details of the target, clothing, meetings, (even what he'd had to eat and drink, depending on his table's proximity to the Bluthner) and waved to Harry before striding out after the target, turning towards the beautiful new City Hall.
In her pocket was the target's 'kerchief, plucked from his jacket during the meal. A piece of embroidered skullduggery to make him pause, 'scuse me, Sir, you may have dropped this in the restaurant,' maybe a shy smile, then on her way.
Job finished. Errand completed, back to her usual, slightly boring world. The thought brought a pang of sadness.
Agnes loved her new job, despite the meagre pin-money it paid, the expenses would make up the bulk of her earnings and anyway, being paid for playing was her true reward.
Who would have thought!
Little Aggy, shy little Agnes, nose constantly in a music book or fingers tapping the table, lost in her internal performances, now not only being paid to play the piano, but also now an actual detective! Espionage afoot in Philly! How exciting!
She checked her target was following his usual afternoon promenade route, taking a minute to pause, shielding her eyes as she gazed up at the building, sunlight glinting off the bronze hat 548 feet above her.
3.
Agnes wiped her face on the apron as she stepped back from the stove. The small kitchen filling with citrus scents as the oranges steeped in the hot sugar. Peeled, pithed, de-pipped and segmented.
A time-consuming recipe, but one that had become very popular on the new-fangled menu with the city diners, now enjoying some jolly piano music with their rather expensive lunches.
Letting the orange syrup cool, preparing the egg whites, beating and folding, carefully judging the temperature of the orange before adding to the omelette mix. Care needed to avoid scrambling the eggs.
Agnes checked the other cooks were busy with their duties. Sending the young kp out on an unneeded errand (the boy was far too inquisitive, dreams of becoming a chef causing him to be way too attentive to the activities of his betters) before retrieving the small iridescent blue glass bottle from her skirts.
Three drops of the liquid went into the bowl. An unexpected ingredient – even in this bizarre dish!
Agnes enjoyed her new job, answering the advertisement, keen to put her culinary skills to the test in an industrial kitchen, working hard despite the meagre recompense, but her expenses would give her the beautiful set of chef's knives she otherwise would never be able to afford.
A moment of doubt, what if this strange dish went to the wrong table? What if her target had changed his mind, appetite altered, or shared the treat with fellow diners?
Nothing deadly (she'd been assured by her new employer) just a mild sedative, something to slow his pace, perhaps make him pause his promenade through the gardens in the square.
Who'd've thought? Little Agnes, busy little cook, pots and pans now bubbling up a recipe for espionage and intrigue!
She finished the orange omelette with a pretty sprig of fresh mint, wiped the plate, and called for service.
One last plate, she sighed sadly, job finished, task completed, then back to her rather boring world.
4.
Agnes stepped back from the bed, stretching her aching back, removing the gardening gloves as she set the trowel down and admired her handiwork.
The stunning dwarf crested iris, Iris cristata, went perfectly with the planting.
Agnes wished she could see the gardens established, view her gardening scheme after several years, but was resigned to her temporary position.
She loved her new job, despite the meagre salary, but her expenses would provide her with decent tools, seed stock, and several gardening books that would enhance her own patch of land, further her own horticultural passions.
Who'd've thought? Mucky little Aggy, fingers permanently dirty, skirts muddied, always with her hands in the earth, planting and weeding, planning and perfecting, now part of the City development. Given her own small, but very specific plot, in Penn Square itself!
Months of work, just for one moment of espionage and intrigue!
Her target, a gentleman of standing and taste, had proved reliable and regular in his strolling routine, an after lunch promenade, regular as clockwork.
No matter the weather. Same route each day, admiring the new gardens surrounding the new City Hall. Heedless of the toils of the staff, appreciating the results if not the back breaking work involved.
Agnes had observed him well. Detective work? Maybe not in the truest sense, but intelligence gathering, certainly.
Her ultimate task, the culmination of all that work, was to simply pick an iris, one of the target's observed favourites. Offer the bloom for his button-hole, maybe smile shyly as he paused to thank her and adjust his dress.
Then her task was
over, job completed, back to her own garden, back to her rather boring world.5.
In the offices of the Philadelphia Inquirer a rather queer-looking gentleman, grey-faced, features almost indistinct, opened the office door with very long fingers, devoid of nails. Large, round, matte black eyes taking in the twelve young Agneses patiently sitting in the anteroom.
One last advertisement.
One last Ag position to fill on this godforsaken backwater of a planet.
The Threat would be eliminated and Balance restored. The Plan completed and the very fabric of the Omniverse protected.
LADY OF REFINEMENT AND CHARACTER wanted for confidential mission. Being detective work of mild character: expenses and small recompense: quantum physicist / temporal engineer preferred. B-259. Inquirer office.
– Philadelphia Inquirer
Sol 3 ZZ9 Plural Z Alpha @1901
