Phillips Harbour
Thursday, October 15, 1868. Morning.
Despite Caliban's precaution of refilling Mrs. Albason's emptied grave, the theft of the corpse is discovered within two days. Mr. Hobson noticed the newly churned earth and the absence of grass, and decided to unearth the coffin to investigate. News of the robbery is all over town. Productivity in Phillips Harbour has visibly dropped, as the residents appear to have so much to gossip about that they no longer have time for work.
Sheriff Ponds, in particular, is out of sorts, stalking about town and interrogating everyone. Even longtime residents are attracting his scrutiny, as he investigates the disappearance of Mrs. Albason's body in addition to the mysterious appearance of the one washed onto his shores. But the newcomers garner the bulk of his scrutiny.
Even though Mr. Hobson had noticed nothing amiss until Monday, the sheriff forms the hypothesis that the graverobbing occured on Saturday evening. This may be fueled by the much-discussed account of one farmer being assaulted by a gigantic black bird as passed the graveyard. But more likely, it's because Saturday is the only evening Mr. Hobson was out, and he doesn't tend the grounds on Sunday so would be unlikely to notice anything odd then.
Fortunately, Mr. Shaft's alibi of being out at sea with Mr. Hobson himself, as well as two other guests stands up well. If the thought that caliban might have been capable of the crime on his own crosses Sheriff Ponds's mind, he keeps it to himself.
Moreover, by the time the crime was discovered, Mrs. Albason's corpse had been fully rendered into necroplasm to power Spirit Batteries, thereby negating any chance of the body being found in his possession. It provided a somewhat disappointing amount of necroplasm, although perhaps no worse than could be expected from a several-week-old corpse. Fresh bodies are always a better source. Still, it was enough to recharge a few of his batteries.
A few discreet inquiries here and there about Sara St. John have yielded mostly blank looks. Sheriff Ponds gave the question a frown, as if the name might've rung a bell, but he was unable to place it.
Due to the low amount of necroplasm produced by the late Mrs. Albason, Herbert makes a tough decision. "Caliban, despite the increased scrutiny of Mr. Ponds, we will have to risk running the Spirit Lamp and Trap tonight to further charge the batteries. Do you feel up to it?" he asks his assistant.
After a sumptuous breakfast of marmalade on toast with scrambled eggs and bacon, the ape seems inclined to slouch about on his chair for the time being. He glances out the window at the sky, perhaps wondering whether it is a day for going out to play, or one for resting safely at home... And then his master's directed question brings him glumly back to earth. "Ook?" he essays, pretending he didn't hear the question.
"Do you feel up to being connected to the Engine tonight, while we gather some spirits?" Shaft asks, making it a little clearer. "Given the time and place, we're likely to attract some ghosts, and you'll be needed to communicate with them."
"Ook! Ook... Eek ook." The ape brightens up at the mention of the Engine, then frowns at the mention of spirits and communicating with them. He rubs his chin with an appearance of pensiveness. "Ook eek eeook," he says, nodding. Pointing out at the sky, he indicates the sun, then turns his hand clockwise to point the other way and spreads his hand in inquiry.
"Well, we have plenty of time before nightfall, certainly," Shaft says. "I'll need to attach the pumps and electrical batteries, and calibrate the Oija console, set up the Lamp and Trap.. but that should be done by lunchtime. I wish I'd had a chance to talk more with Miss Pau, but at least we know the identity of the woman we saw at the river. We just have to find her now, and see if she has a Companion or not."
Caliban scratches behind an ear. "Ook eek?" He points to his master, then out to town, then makes the hand-flapping gesture that's usually associated with talking. He points to himself, then makes the talking gesture again, but lower.
Herbert nods. "I'll ask about town, using the woman's description instead of her name," he says. "I take it you would like to do the same among the Companions you know so far?"
Caliban nods. "Ook."
Shaft gets up from his chair, and nods as well. "Right then. I can get the Engine prepared on my own, if you want to get started finding the others. I'd suggest you pack a lunch to take along, with enough extra to share around. If you run into your crow acquaintance again, ask if it has seen the White Hart. There may be a connection between it and the St. John woman.. or there may not."
"Ook ook!" The ape looks at the remnants of breakfast thoughtfully, then starts sweeping them away, so he can fix up some sandwiches for his boss to enjoy without his aid, and some others for himself.
Mr. Shaft and Caliban part ways shortly before noon, with Caliban in search of his contacts and the Englishman heading for the General Store. At the store, he finds Mr. Oldridge outside as usual, along with Jake Green. The two men ae talking animatedly about the recent abduction of the corpse. Jake Green, despite all physical evidence and logic, appears to he holding forth the idea that wild animals dug up the body. "And then buried the coffin again?" Mr. Oldridge asks derisively.
"Good afternoon, Gentlemen," Herbert says as he arrives, touching the brim of his hat. "I see there hasn't been any fresh news about the.. theft?"
"Naw," Mr. Oldridge says.
"I still got it figured for animals. I mean, what would a man do with some poor old dead woman?" Mr. Green argues. "Don't make no sense. Maybe she weren't properly imbued first."
"Imbued?" Oldridge glances askance at him.
"You know. What the undertaker does to make sure the body don't attract animals."
"I must admit that the incident has had me thinking of suspicious looking characters," Shaft says, taking his hat off finally. "Animals? But surely animals would go for the freshest burial, and Mr. Hobson does not seem the sort to make mistakes in his craft."
"And animals are not going to close the coffin up again and re-bury it," Oldridge adds.
"Maybe Mr. Hobson re-buried it hisself. We only got his word on that. Maybe he don't want no one knowing about problems with his craft, y'know?" Green counters.
Oldridge rolls his eyes. "What 'suspicious characters' did you have in mind, Mr. Shaft?" he asks, ignoring his compatriot.
"Then why would he have reported it at all?" Shaft counters. "This isn't London, where grave-robbing is a common criminal activity."
"Well ... uh ... " Mr. Green hems and haws, trying to think of a response. "Whadda they steal bodies for in London, anyways?"
"Oh, various things, I've read," Herbert says, rubbing his chin. "Surgery schools are always in need of fresh cadavers, I recall. And once there was a case of a grieving relative convinced their loved one had been buried by mistake, and was still alive."
"Surgery schools?" Mr. Green looks aghast. "Whadda they need dead folks for? It ain't true -- " his voice drops to a whisper " -- about them sewing dead guy parts onto live men, is it?"
"Oh dear," Herbert says, and tries not to chuckle. "Such things are the domain of romantic fiction and fable. No, they use them to practice on. Cutting, sewing, and so forth. It is more economical than using live hogs, apparently. But I doubt that is the reason for this particular theft. No, I imagine it was something personal."
"But Mrs. Albason had been dead for weeks," Mr. Oldridge points out. "No could've thought she was still alive. 'Sides, her husband's dead and her children ain't given to such wild notions anyways."
Herbert holds up a finger, and says, "Ah, it needn't be a matter of delusion by a relative. It could be quite the opposite - revenge. Perhaps she or someone in her family inadvertently desecrated a native burial site? The tribe could have decided to return the favor. Are there any Indian tribes in the area, or any who normally visit town?"
"Indian tribes? Round here?" Mr. Oldridge shakes his head in negation.
But Mr. Green looks thoughtful. "There's ol' Ron," he says. "He jes' got back into town a week or two ago, din't he?"
Oldridge rolls his eyes. "More like three weeks, and Ron's only still here 'cause he ain't run outta money yet."
"Still, that'd've been just about when he coulda found out Mrs. Albason was dead, innit?" Green points out.
"Who is this Ron person?" Herbert asks.
"Just a trapper," Mr. Oldridge says. "We get a lot of 'em round here, since there's a tanner in town."
"Yeah, but no one'd ever seen Ron before this fall," Mr. Green says. "He just wandered into town, claimin' to be a trapper ... "
Mr. Oldridge slaps a hand to his forehead. "And carrying a pile of fresh skins. And a pile of traps. And a hunting dog."
"Oh? Well, if he hadn't been to town before, it seems unlikely that he'd have known Mrs. Albason, doesn't it?" Shaft asks. "Still.. what sort of hunting dog?"
"Still ... kinda suspicious, ain't it?" Green says. "What's he doin' here instead of at his regular town?"
"Looking for a better price, same as every other trapper in the world," Oldridge retorts. To Mr. Shaft, he says, "Some big ol' mutt. No special breed, but he seems like a well-trained dog. Takes good care of his master, and with the man fallin' down drunk all the time he needs it."
"Really now?" Shaft says, thinking that description sounds very familiar. "Do you know where he's staying? I wouldn't mind meeting a genuine 'mountain man' as it were."
"The Red Flag. If he hasn't run out of money yet, anyways. He sleeps outside often enough, in his line o' work, he's ain't adverse to doing it in town neither," Oldridge says. He gives a little shrug. "He ain't a pretty sight, I'll warn you. But if your looking for genuine ... yeah, I guess he'd be that."
"Perhaps he even knows the Indian woman I saw down at the river a few days past," Herbert says. "At least, I presume she was Indian. Quite dusky, dressed as a man and possessed of a foul mood, not the sort of behavior a good Christian woman would display."
Mr. Green and Mr. Oldridge exchange surprised glances. "An Indian woman? In this town?" Oldridge asks.
"And here I thought we'd heard every strange thing by now," Green says. "An Indian woman dressed like a man. Huh. Couldn't've been that Miz Pow, could it? I know them foriegners 're strange but that's even weirder than I'd expect .... "
"She seemed to be looking for trinkets or other valuables that may have fallen from that unfortunate coach," Herbert says. "The one washed off the bridge in the big storm. And I've met Miss Pau, and this was not her. The disguise was very good, you would not think she was a woman upon first glance."
Mr. Oldridge shakes his head. "Nothing I'd heard of before, though it'd be like an Indian to dredge for lost property. I dunno whether Ron would know her or not."
"Do you suppose I should describe her to Mr. Ponds, just in case?" Herbert asks.
Oldridge shrugs. "Maybe. Don't know that it has much bearin', but with everything else going on, who can say what it adds up to?"
"I'm tellin' ya, it's like the end o' the world for this town," Mr. Green complains. "All these strangers and strangeness, dead bodies goin' missin' and dead bodies turnin' up, it's like the signs of the Apocalypse comin'."
"Best to leave no stone unturned," Herbert says, then looks thoughtful for a moment. "You don't think the tattooed man who washed up has anything to do with this, do you? He was buried in the same cemetery just before Mrs. Albason went missing."
Mr. Green glowers darkly. "Who knows? But it's powerful suspicious, ain't it?"
Oldridge snorts. "Bah. Everything is suspicious to you now. You're gonna be sayin' the leaves changin' color is 'suspicious' next."
"Or it's all just a coincidence," Herbert says. "October seems to lend itself to ominous thoughts."
"That's the truth, Mr. Shaft. It surely is," the store owner says.
"Well, such a fine day should not be wasted on morbid talk, I think," Shaft says, and puts his hat back on. "If you Gentlemen will excuse me, I think I will try to find this Old Ron fellow, and see if he'd be sober enough to pose for a portrait."
The other men nod in return. "Good day to you, Mr. Shaft, and good luck."
"Especially finding him sober," Mr. Green adds.
Herbert tips his hat once more, then steps off to find The Red Flag.
At the Red Flag, he learns that ol' Ron's last name is 'Whitehorse', and that the man ran out of money for a room a few days ago. "But I think he's still in town," the maid, Gertie Jensen, offers. "I saw his dog sniffing around yesterday."
"Where do you think he'd set camp?" Herbert asks, already thinking of the barn on Mrs. Stephenson's rental property.
"Oh, out in the new forest, I expect." Gertie waves vaguely to the north and west. "Too close to town and he'd get run off for trespassin', y'know? But no one'd bother him in the woods. Except maybe wild animals."
"Well, he is a trapper, so perhaps animals wouldn't bother him at all," Shaft quips, and then tips his hat to the woman. "Thank you very much for your help."
With a little curtsey, Gertie sees him off. As he starts down the road outside, he spots Caliban heading his way, an atypically grim expression on the chimpanzee's face.
Herbert looks around for an out of the way spot to talk to Caliban in, not wanting to display how intelligent the ape really is to any passerby.
The ape, dressed as usual in a waistcoat and fez, trundles up to his master's side and glances about in a likewise fashion, though he seems to be scrutinizing the people watching them as well.
Herbert takes Caliban's hand, and quietly leads him back the way he came, towards the carriage house and its largely unused parking area, where they can have some privacy.
The chimp, in particular, still attracts more than his fair share of attention from passerbys. Mr. Shaft appears to have become a normal enough sight that he doesn't get many glances any more. But in any case, the people about today look like ordinary residents of Phillips Harbour -- familiar faces, if not all ones that he can put names to.
Once in a shaded part of the carriage yard, Herbert turns to Caliban and whispers, "You've learned something disturbing, I take it?"
The carriage house, or perhaps the parking area besides it, sparks a wry smile on the ape's face, a break from his grim look, as he turns from checking out the people to looking over the dirt for carriage tracks. "Ook." One more check for people who might notice, were he to start doing inexplicable things.
Caliban notices a couple of folk watching them, but when he catches their eye with his own, they move hastily along, busying themselves with their own tasks.
The monkey scrunches his nose. Maybe this isn't the best place to be making inexplicable drawings. He searches for a corner of the parking circle that's out of immediate sight from the street.
There's a nook behind the little post house that's sheltered by a fence on one side, and adjoining buildings on the other two. Fairly out of the way.
Herbert joins Caliban in the nook, already beginning to look worried.
Drawing his boss there, the monkey points to the sky, up at the sun, and then moves his arm, to suggest it moving. His hand sinks down to the horizon, then down to point to the earth. He looks at his boss expectantly.
"Something is happening tonight?" Herbert asks in a hushed voice.
A nod. The ape points to the sun, then bends down to the ground and sketches out two figures, holding hands. He draws several little heart shapes. Then, he sweeps his hand from top to bottom and brushes out the part where they are holding hands, and the hearts. He redraw one arm as holding what might be a cross, except the hand would be clutching the top part, and the bottom, long part, is directed toward the other figure.
"Two people will be going out tonight, intent on romance," Herbert begins, ending with, "but one of them will kill the other?"
Caliban shakes his head, looking a little frustrated. Perhaps he lacks the tools to put it better. He erases the figures, and then redraws one figure in a triangle dress, and a small circle next to it, with two triangles for ears, two dotted eyes, and a upside-down caret for a mouth, and a tail. Then he draws another figure next to them, a slimmer triangle dress. He points at the sun, and then makes separating gestures. Then he moves his hand around to point to the center of the earth again, and then draws the tiny dagger in the second woman's hand.
"Mrs. Everchild and Miss Dembkowski, and Islington?" Herbert asks, pointing to the drawings.
The ape nods once, shakes his head, then nods once. He tries to clarify the second woman by drawing three rectangles next to her, except each one has a rounded top.
"Not Miss Dembkowski, then, but a woman with three children?" Herbert asks.
Caliban slaps his forehead. "Ooook," he says in a long-suffering voice. He pantomimes stabbing himself in the chest, then flopping down. Then he points at one of the markings.
"A.. those are gravestones?" Shaft asks.
"Ook!" The ape jumps up from where he's been sprawled on the ground and nods vigorously.
"Alright, the woman with the dagger, is she going to the cemetery tonight?" the man asks next.
In the distance, gulls caw over by the bay, circling in the serene blue sky. The day is one of the nicest they've seen since arriving in Phillips Harbour, sunny if still cool, with a slightl pleaseant breeze.
Caliban shakes his head. "Ook ook." He points to the boss, then gestures out to the town, then makes talking gestures. Then to himself, and then the talking gestures at a lower level. Then he spreads his hands, pointing to the second woman.
"This woman is.. Sara St. John, the one we've been trying to find out about?" Herbert asks.
Another vigorous nod!
"And she's staying with Mrs. Everchild right now?" Shaft asks.
The ape shakes his head. "Ook ook." He points at the sky, and the sun. Then he draws a line, and a number of X's on both sides. On one side, he draws what looks like, perhaps, a stylized book, and on the other, a simple rectangle. To the left side, the stylized book, he portrays reaching out to some object, twisting it, and pulling it open. To the right, he pantomimes pushing against a wall.
"That looks like you're describing a false wall in a closet," Herbert says.
Caliban rubs his chin, looking around as if expecting that someone might be watching from the ground... Or, after a skyward look, perhaps from above as well. He starts redrawing the X's as tiny stick figure people.
"People.. names?.. in a book and on a piece of paper?" Shaft asks, getting more nervous as Caliban acts more paranoid. "Perhaps we should return to the boathouse for this. There should be enough energy to run the interface helmet."
The ape scratches behind an ear as he starts rubbing the drawings out, then nods. "Ook."
Back at the boathouse, Mr. Shaft busies himself readying the Analytical Engine. He checks the connections on the helmet, and hooks up what looks suspiciously lik a ouija board to it. Caliban stands nearby, looking a little dubious.
"Let's hope Mrs. Albason's brain is up to this," Herbert says, after making sure Caliban is comfortable in his special chair. He then closes some knife switches, starting up the pump that will circulate necroplasm from the battery containing the woman's brain to the helmet around Caliban's head.
The monkey concentrates intently, eyes scrunched shut. Gears whirr, things clank, and the pointer on the ouija board begins to move erratically, then with greater control. As if an invisible hand were moving the pointer from one point to another, the board spells out, "H-I B-O-S-S."
"It seems to be working, Caliban!" Herbert says, with a bit of excitement. He readies his notebook and pencil, to record the output (really should see about adding a ticker-tape or something in the future). "Try not to wear yourself out though, I know it isn't easy the first time through with a new brain."
The monkey writes out, "M-O-O-N D-I-E-S T-O-N-I-T-E." A pause. "T-R-U-S-E O-V-E-R."
"Oh dear, and someone is ready to move immediately, it seems," Herbert says, frowning.
The ouija board continues, clacking rhythmically as the pointer hits each letter. "S-A-R-A A-F-T-E-R E-V-E-R-C-H-I-L-D." Another pause, and a breath. "A-L-L P-L-A-Y-E-R-S O-N H-E-R S-I-D-E."
"She already knows who are Openers and Closers?" Shaft asks. "Or does she need to perform a ritual tonight to find out?"
"S-H-E K-I-L-D F-R-E-N-D O-F E-V-E-R-C-H-I-L-D," the board responds. "D-O-N-T K-N-O-W A-B-O-U-T R-I-T-U-A-L." Another long pause. "W-E D-O-I-N-G S-P-E-L-L," and then the pointer slides across to tap the question mark.
"Once the batteries are fully charged, I have a divination formula.. but we're only guessing at who all of the Players are," Shaft says. "Do you know which side Everchild is on?"
"N-O. S-H-U-D I T-E-L-L C-A-T-?" Pause. "Y-O-U B-O-S-S. Y-O-U D-E-C-I-D-E."
"Miss Pau probably knows which side Sara's victims were on last time," Shaft notes, tapping his pencil on the page. "Logically, she would be targeting Openers, since she slew several Players before and the world did not change... or she could have just been evening the odds. After tonight, we can assume the others will already know our alignment on this, unless using the Lamp will disrupt their own rituals. We need to know, so you can confide in Islington."
"M-A-Y-B-E S-H-E F-A-I-L-E-D T-O K-I-L-L E-N-O-U-G-H," is the board's response. Another pause. "I-F W-E D-O S-P-E-L-L T-H-I-N-G-S C-H-A-N-G-E." A pause, and though there is no emotion that can be read in the clacking of letters, the times when the arm stops invite interpretation. "W-H-A-T I-F E-V-E-R-C-H-I-L-D O-P-E-N-E-R?"
Herbert chews on the end of his pencil before he catches himself. "That.. is a good question. I do not like the idea of killing off the competition, quite frankly. It isn't something I am prepared to do myself. No.. I think we should try to prevent any killings if possible."
"Y-O-U G-O-O-D M-A-S-T-E-R," replies the board.
"Thank you, Caliban," Shaft says, with genuine thanks. "If our cause is just, then we cannot act unjust. If need be, we can hide Mrs. Everchild and company on the Babbage, and take them into the bay."
"Make that offer to Islington before asking about their position on things," he adds.
The board stirs into life again. "O-K. T-R-U-S-E O-V-E-R T-O-N-I-T-E," it reminds. "N-E-E-D T-O W-A-T-C-H O-U-T."
A short pause. "D-O I T-E-L-L C-A-T-?"
"We have until midnight at least," Herbert says. "If he asks as a condition of revealing who St. John is targeting, then yes. I'm hoping our offer of sanctuary will make that unnecessary, though."
The pointer taps against the question mark several times.
"If he asks, tell him our stance," Shaft says.
"I-F I A-S-K W-H-O S-A-R-A K-I-L-L," the board replies. "I A-S-K W-H-O O-N H-E-R S-I-D-E."
"Well, 'on her side' has a double meaning in this case," Herbert notes. "The ends do not justify the means, not for us. If Sara is a Closer, that doesn't mean we have to help her hunt down Openers."
The board hesitates for a moment and then spells out a rejoinder. "W-H-Y D-O-N-T Y-O-U T-A-L-K T-O H-E-R."
"To Sara or to Mrs. Everchild?" Herbert asks.
"E-V-E-R-C-H-I-L-D," the board replies. "S-A-R-A K-I-L-L."
"That woman and I don't seem to get along very well, but I can certainly go and make my offer in person, you're right," Shaft admits. "I can do that while you spread the word to the Reverend's mouse. Miss Pau, I'm certain, is already aware of the threat and will be protecting herself.. but I'd feel better making her the same offer."
"O-K." Pause. "H-A-L-E-?"
"I don't know if he's recovered from his ordeal yet, and at this point he may be suspicious of anyone he doesn't know better," Shaft says. "Make the warning and the offer through the mouse. Let him decide to pass it along to his master or not."
"O-K," the board responds. It falls silent, and then the monkey removes the helmet, looking a little winded as he pants from the mental exertion.
Herbert gets up to help Caliban out of the contraption, and shuts down the Engine, frowning all the while.
"Have faith, Caliban," Herbert says as he shuts things down. "We may be inviting our enemies into our bedroom, but in the end I believe we will win out."