Free Pepper

Prologue

"Would you happen to have a three, Mr. Trout?"
"Go fish, Mr. Pickles. Mr. Gristle, would you have a nine by any chance?"
"GOLDFISH! HAHAHA!"
"No, no, it's 'Go Fish', not 'goldfish'."
"Quite right, Mr. Trout."

Mr. Pickles, Mr. Trout, and Mr. Gristle were happy to report that they found great ways to entertain themselves during their time off from work. Sitting at their table in the factory they called their work location, they look amongst each other and analyzed the back of each other's cards. Tall beanpole Pickles had seven cards in his hands, the hulking, crooked nosed thug Trout had four, and the manic iced blue eyed Gristle was, as always, winning with two. They would go around and around asking each other for specific cards. Mr. Pickles took up a card when he asked for an eight from Mr. Gristle, and then Mr. Trout took a card at the mention of a one from Mr. Pickles. Mr. Gristle, on the other hand, was soon enough, down to one card. As he giggled over his little card, he took a look at Mr. Trout and smiled with his mouth filled with crooked teeth.

"A four, Mr. Trout?" The large yet gentle man sighed.
"Not again..."
"...Nice..." Mr. Gristle gladly took Mr. Trout's four of aces and laughed.

"Hmm, you always seem to win, Mr. Gristle," Mr. Pickles remarked. He grinned at his tall companion. "Only when the Boss ain't playin'. He always wins when he's in," Mr. Trout replied.
"Oh, that's right." Mr. Pickles looked over at the single door that led to their truck's driveway.
"When did he say he'd be back?" "I'm pretty sure he said it was hard to know. Depends on how long his talk with His Lordship is."You think he'll be back before curfew?" Mr. Trout gave him a funny look as Mr. Gristle shuffled the deck.

"Mr. Pickles, when has the Boss ever been late for work?"
"Well...actually...never."
...

The Boss' clacking footsteps echoed as he stepped through the sidewalk leading up to his final destination. The man hummed to himself as he looked about him. Fellow citizens would take a glance, give a whisper and watch him continue his walk until he disappeared from their field of vision.

He didn't really mind it. The Boss liked the attention he now received from the townsfolk. Some even dared to stop and ask him about his work, to which he would explain all the he cared to in a triumphant manner.
It had been almost a year since the disappearance of the local inventor, Herbert Trubshaw, and his young infant son, Arthur. And of course, because the Boss' job was that of a nightly town exterminator to be on patrol for pests, bugs, and even more so, the dreaded Boxtrolls, he was first to know. He recalled the night of the disappearance as if it was yesterday.

"Boxtroll monsters have stolen a child!"

The Mayor of the town was the first one he told.

"You're the town exterminator. I'll pay whatever it takes!"

But the Boss didn't want money. He smiled at himself as he recalled what he'd asked for.

"A White Hat? You? Absurd!"
"Alright then, but prepare to say bye-bye to your Brie! Cheerio to your cheddar! Goodbye to your-"
"Very well! Every Boxtroll gone! With proof..."
"For a White Hat? I will destroy every last Boxtroll in this town!"

Following this fateful agreement, the man in the Red Hat had certainly be committing to his vow, and why wouldn't he?

The White Hat was the most prestigious title in all of the town of Cheesebridge. The highest honor that any man could be rewarded for, usually by valor, chivalry, or general wealth. And the Boss, from the time he was a boy, and who also had to stand on the sidewalk with his neighbors and bow to them just like everyone else, dreamed to be as respected and in as such high regard as them. Running the town and fixing little social problems here and there were technically their primary objectives of the White Hats, but the benefit they had that the Boss had to admit he certainly liked just as much as they did, was trying the best cheeses and wines money could buy.

He longed for the day that he too would receive his hat and its benefits because of his unique services to the town: eliminating the Boxtrolls, the monsters that the Boss promoted as the destroyers of the Trubshaws and the general source of all their problems.

"Lock your windows and doors! Fathers, hide your cheese! Mothers, hide your children! Tonight is no night for bravery! Leave that to us!"

This message and variations of them were the typical speeches the Boss would scream into the streets most nights, warning the town to not only keep their belongings and themselves secure, but no matter what, never leave their house until the sun had risen up again, for Boxtrolls were nocturnal and were the most dangerous at night.

The Boss was quite proud of himself, and one could tell from the grin plastered on his face as he found himself at his correct destination, the Portley-Rind Mansion. The same Mayor who had promised him a prize as wonderful as a White Hat, lived here with his family, his wife the lovely Lady Portley-Rind, and their young daughter, two year old Winifred.

He straightened out his vest and pushed a few greasy hair strands behind his ear. He knocked on the large double doors of the mansion and waited for a minute or two; he couldn't really tell how long it had been until he'd heard a selection of locks being clicked open one by one.

In time, the doors did open, and there appeared in the doorway a unimpressed looking man, Cheshire, wearing black and white.

"Ah, yes..." He drawled uninterested. "His Lordship's been expecting you." "Why of course, he has," the Boss replied in his low rumbling tones. "I look forward to speaking with him." The snooty looking butler looked him up and down and reluctantly beckoned the man to follow him. The Boss smiled with his hands behind his back as he was led up the large stair case that sat at the very center of the foyer. That itself was not too dim and featured a couple of also large doors facing each other on both the left and right walls. Lights lined them and drew the Boss' eyes to the center stairs. His eyes slightly widened as he neared the center of all of the White Hats' meetings: the Tasting Room.

At the top of the stairs, there was one more pair of double doors that led into a comfortable room with a fire place, a table, three cushioned chairs, and, on the nights in which the White Hats would have their meetings, piles and piles of cheese on top of the rounded wooden surface they would surround and chat at. The Boss could practically sense them, but inwardly admitted that it was for the best that he really couldn't at that moment.

As much as he wanted to stay and marvel at his most favorite place in the town, he knew the butler was taking him to a different place; one not quite as interesting as the Tasting Room.

Cheshire led him towards the right of the Tasting Room, where they mostly passed by still life paintings of cheese, and marble busts of past Portley-Rinds and their fellow past White Hats. Cheshire looked back and could tell that the Boss was much more interested in the busts than the still life paintings. "Perhaps there will be a bust of me here someday," he thought to himself. He smiled in amusement to himself at the idea of young Winifred's children, grandchildren and so on having to look at him day in and day out in the form of a statue. 'The Obliterator of Boxtrolls' on a bust sounded quite nice to him.

Eventually, he and Cheshire stopped at yet another pair of doors. The butler warily knocked and pressed his ear to them. "Come in," a masculine voice from behind them said. Cheshire opened one of the doors and found a Sitting Room with three people already inside, His Lordship, His Ladyship, and Winifred. This little red haired girl was the first to see the butler.

"Cheshire," she spoke. Her parents noticed and looked up to greet him as well. "Hello, Miss Portley-Rind, Your Ladyship," the girl's mother returned his greeting with a nod. "Your Lordship?" Cheshire continued.

A man with flaming red hair, the same as his daughter's, had his back turned before Winifred had pointed Cheshire out to him. He turned, his mustache twitching as he analyzed what was behind him. His heart sank when he saw whom Cheshire was with. When the butler had taken a couple steps into the room to speak, the Boss followed, his presence now completely inside the room.

"He's here, sir."

Lord Portley-Rind turned annoyed and sighed.
"Dearest, would you be so kind as to take Winifred and meet me in the Dining Hall in about...ten minutes? We shall finish our conversation later," his wife took a look behind her husband, widened her eyes in understanding, and nodded.

"Come, Winifred, darling, Father has some business to attend to," she said to Winnie nicely.
"Daddy?" the little girl replied. "Just for a short while," her father replied nonchalantly.

Her Ladyship took Winnie into her arms and led her towards the door, but as she did, she remembered whom she was passing by, and tried to keep her weak composure before the unsettling man her butler was letting in.

"Why, Your Ladyship," the Boss said as he looked at her. "You and Young Miss Portley-Rind look lovelier every day." As he said this, little toddler Winnie looked at Mr. Snatcher and turned away from this crooked toothed man who came off as little unsettling to be around. Despite his status as 'the gentlemanly hero' of the town, all she saw was a pale ill-proportioned man with lanky looking limbs supporting a strangely round, protruding middle, and a demeanor that bothered her as he glanced up at her with his gray, colorless eyes. She didn't know the word for it at the time, but if she did, she would have described him as 'condescending', at least towards her anyway. "Well, thank you," Her Ladyship replied cautiously. "Excuse us."

Winifred had never been so happy to be removed from her family's own Sitting Room. "Stay right outside the door, will you, Cheshire?" His Lordship asked. "Of course, sir," the butler replied. He closed the door, leaving His Lordship and the Boss all by themselves.

"Mr. Snatcher, please have a seat." His guest seemed to notice his disinterested tone but regardless, he sat down across from him. "D'you know, Your Lordship, I caught two Boxtrolls last night? Difficult little things, they were. Running about plotting and scheming, the way they will. But those pests are no match for me and my men. I just know it won't be long before this good town of ours lives in a Boxtroll free world!" He had lifted his arms and spread them out an inch or two to emphasize. Mr. Snatcher always was the dramatic type.

His Lordship was silent, still looking subtly aggravated that he was present in his house, but then he remembered exactly why he was there to begin with. "Mr. Snatcher, do you know why I asked for you to come over for a talk?" The red clad man leaned back and tapped his fingers together, as if in thought as he replied. "To discuss business matters of course, not to mention how my end of our deal is progressing; it's all going wonderfully might I add." Lord Portley-Rind sighed. He looked at himself, his white apparel matching his white silk hat, which sat beside him. He straightened himself up.

"The latter is what I wish to discuss with you, Mr. Snatcher." The red clad man did the same, all with his untrustworthy smile still on his face. "I know we've talked about this time and time again, but I humbly ask that you ask for something different this time in return for your services." Mr. Snatcher chuckled at him. "Oh, sir, no I'm afraid I can't do that."

Lord Portley-Rind gave him a disagreeable look. "And why not? You're a thinking, capable man. Surely you can think of something else you might like besides a White Hat." "But a White Hat is a proper reward, sir. Anyone can ask for money or gems, or even cheese for their services, but I eliminate Boxtrolls, which is no easy task, My Lord. It requires so much planning, strategizing, and of course the bravery to even try and stand up to those creatures. Such a valiant service to our community deserves a reward equal to its dangers and difficulty."

"I don't suppose that happy feeling of a job well done is enough after you present the proof I've asked for?" asked the Mayor. The exterminator laughed. "Sounds nice, sir, but not very realistic. It just saddens me that you still try to back out of our deal, even after all this time." Lord Portley-Rind groaned as silently as he could. "I'm just trying to give you other options. Quite frankly, it's foolish of me to think that you would understand by now that...everyone has their place in this town where they fit best, wouldn't you at least agree with that? Some are White Hats who keep watch of the town, some are Red Hats such as yourself who exterminate vermin, and then of course you've got merchants, doctors, lawyers, maintenance specialists, and for God's sake, even children have their own responsibilities as they realize their own way. I hope you understand what I am trying to say."

Mr. Snatcher sat and listened, and yet he didn't at the same time. "True..." Lord Portley-Rind blinked. "Really?" He asked in a calm sort of disbelief. "Everyone in this town has a place...and my place is that of an influential man." His Lordship rolled his eyes. "Aren't you already?" His volume increased slightly. The Red Hat didn't seem as if he had expected this sudden change of tone. The two could feel the tension in the room. The only sound that could be heard was the flicker of the fireplace, producing on orange glow on both men amongst their dimly lit surroundings. "Every night you tell everyone to hide and lock their doors, to keep themselves and their loved ones safe from grotesque monsters. And everyone believes you because of your testimonies! I believe you! You have influence already! Isn't that enough?" Mr. Snatcher's calm smile slowly began to fade.

"But with a White Hat I can use my influence even more so, wouldn't you agree?" He asked, anger becoming visible on his face.

"DAMMIT, SNATCHER!"

Snatcher's fingers tensed up at the Mayor's outburst, the latter standing up to prove his point. "Don't you understand?! You don't belong with the White Hats! You are a Red Hat! You're trying to become something you're not! You will NOT earn my respect or the respect of my fellow White Hats this way!"

Mr. Snatcher scowled at this attempt at intimidation. "Well, sir," he too stood up and leaned forward, ready for just about anything. "I don't have much respect for those who don't follow through on their agreements. I shall destroy every Boxtroll and earn the hat that you promised...support or not," his tone was demeaning yet deadly.

The two men were silent for a minute; Lord Portley-Rind on the left and Mr. Snatcher on the right. "Don't you have anything good to say about your current situation? Surely you must find some satisfaction in your job? Friends? Even family?"

"Aah, there you go again, Your Lordship, and for your information, no, I'm not married...at the moment. However..." He stood straight up and stared off into a random distant spot on the wall.
"...yes, I do have a great deal of satisfaction in my work. Crushing monsters one by one for what they've done and who they are; pests, of course. It's also quite gratifying, knowing the promise I hope is kept," as he said this last little sentence, he turned back to Lord Portley-Rind, his empty eyes pouring into him like a waterfall.

An echo of laughter rang through the halls; Winifred's very own. Whatever she and her Mother were doing, it must have been enjoyable. The Mayor's family appeared in his head for a moment. His volume slightly decreased.
"Quite sad, don't you think so? Influence and possible success and no friends or family to share it with?" With one hand on his hip and the other dangling by his side, Mr. Snatcher was quiet for another moment or so. "I doubt there's harm in acquiring these in the order of my choosing. I was hoping you'd found that out by now that I prioritize my time quite differently than others." His Lordship sighed annoyingly. "There's no persuading you, is there?" His Lordship asked, standing up straight and tall. Mr. Snatcher smiled. "Not when it comes to agreements, sir."

More silence; His Lordship's cheeks flushed with anger at this man who clearly didn't belong.

"Very well then...I shall ask Cheshire to walk you out."

...

"Pompous twit."

This was the first thing Mr. Snatcher thought as he walked away from the Portley-Rind mansion. Commending himself on his ability to stand firm, he straightened himself up and took his familiar route back to his factory. "One day, he'll see things my way. They all will," he muttered to himself.

Passing by the Market Square, he took a notice at some of his fellow citizens. Some of them were the merchants, just as His Lordship had mentioned. Others were their customers and many of them were not alone. He only glanced as he saw mostly families consisting of one father, one mother, and one, two, sometimes even three children. And they all looked happy.

Despite everything they had to go through; always keeping an eye on each other, hoping and praying that a monster wouldn't disrupt their household, there was still some joy to gain living in a town filled with snobs. Mr. Snatcher didn't stop to chat, for he had other business to attend to.

"Gentlemen, why ain't I loved?"

Mr. Pickles, Mr. Trout, and Mr. Gristle surrounded him as they sat at their table. Originally discussing only certain details of his meeting with His Lordship, here comes Mr. Snatcher's strange question.

"How do you figure, Boss?" Mr. Trout asked.

"In all my years I've only been married once, years ago...and now here I am after all this time, realizing that I've yet to form anymore relationships beyond my work and goal for the future."

"Well...we like you, Boss!" Mr. Pickles said with a hopeful smile. Mr. Gristle said nothing. He only listened intently and processed it all in silence. Mr. Snatcher gave Mr. Pickles a look of annoyance. "I said 'loved' not 'liked', Mr. Pickles." Sensing his subtle tone of annoyance, the beanpole apologized and fell silent.

"What do all those current White Hats have in common, gentlemen?"

His three employees looked at each other.
"They all meet at His Lordship's mansion at least once a week?" asked Mr. Pickles.
"They get to eat cheese?" asked Mr. Trout
"HAT!" Mr. Gristle finally spoke. Mr. Snatcher rolled his eyes.

"No, no!" He cried slamming a fist on the table.
"...well, yes, they do. But they have something I surely don't, and won't have unless I do something."

"May we ask what that is, Boss?" Trout asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Families."

Pickles, Trout, and Gristle all released a collective 'oh'. "Are you feeling lonely, Boss?" Mr. Pickles asked concernedly. Mr. Snatcher scoffed. "Me? Archibald Snatcher lonely? Nonsense!" Trout and Pickles glanced at each other, their worried looks remaining on their faces. The longer they stared at him, the more determined and stressed their Boss seemed to be. "Mr. Trout, get out the wine, will you?" A frazzled Snatcher said. The hulking man lifted himself from his seat and walked towards the cupboard right by their table. Pulling out a full wine and four glasses, he cautiously poured the drink into each one. He handed the first one to Mr. Snatcher (because he knew better than to do otherwise), the second to Mr. Gristle, the third to Mr. Pickles, and the last to himself.

"Hmm..." he leaned back in his chair, kicked his feet up onto their table, and daintily shook the glass to mix the wine, sniffed it, and sipped it from his glass. His men watched him until he started drinking, and then they too brought their glasses to their lips. Their Boss seemed quite pleased with his drink, for he sighed and smiled quite peacefully. "A hint of apple and lime; quite fascinating. Ideal drink for settling nerves...now where was I?"

"All of the White Hats have families, Boss," Mr. Pickles gently pointed out.

"Ahh, yes, of course, now only great men can become White Hats. That much is certain, and it seems they all have the support of their wives and children, don't they? They respect all of their choices and stand behind them without question or fail. Perfect for building credibility with our fellow Cheesebridgians, wouldn't you agree?" "Yes, sir," replied Mr. Trout. Snatcher sipped a little more.

"Smashing wine, old chaps...Yes, great men need a loyal family, don't they? A committed wife and a child to live up to his legacy," He asked, as if thinking out loud.
"Completely understandable, Boss," Pickles said. Mr. Snatcher tapped his chin as his mind processed his observations. He finished his wine. "Certainly something to think about, men." He pulled a watch out from his coat pocket and looked at it.
"But we must continue this later, for..." He raised up from his chair triumphantly. "T'is time for the curfew!"

"EXTERMINATE!"