Phillips Harbour, October 15, 1868. Thursday afternoon.
The walk from the boathouse to the reverend's house, adjacent to the church, is a short one. As Caliban circles the property, looking for the best way to locate and approach Prayer, he spots Mrs. Milton in her garden. The pastor's wife is gathering vegetables.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Milton also spots him. She give a short, sharp shriek.
Caliban thinks to himself, Oh brother! Another skittish human. You'd think they'd never seen a monkey in their lives. Oh well, time to look harmless! He puts thought to action, backing up a few steps, with round-eyed exaggerated surprise and putting his hands up to show they are empty, then a timid wave.
Mrs. Milton glowers at him, putting one hand to her chest. "What on Earth? Landsakes, doesn't that owner of you keep you on a leash. Get off, you horrid beast. Gwan! Git!" She waves her spade at him in a shooing, vaguely threatening motion.
Caliban, pretending to be spooked, runs away out of sight. He gives it a minute before peeking around to see if she is still there.
Alas, she still is, her mouth set in a frown. At least she's not looking his way any more, instead intent on digging up root vegetables.
Bummer, Caliban, thinks the chimpanzee to himself. The pastor's wife is one of those 'Stinky animals out of human places' types. He ponders the situation a moment, then decides to check out the other side of the property while she's gardening. Hopefully Prayer will have heard the shriek and come to look. This time he takes more care to be near things that will block her line of sight, so he can hopefully duck into cover if she wanders over.
As he sneaks around to the front, he hears the back door open, and Reverend Hale asking after Mrs. Milton's welfare. In one of the side windows, he spots Prayer's tiny beige face peeking out, whiskers twitching.
Caliban waves a hand up at Prayer, then a beckoning gesture.
The whiskers twitch again, then the little head bobs in a nod. The mouse puts one paw to the window, then gestures with the other, pointing to a small mausoleum on the adjoining church graveyard. Then he vanishes out of sight.
Taking the hint, the ape makes his way there, trying to stay aware of Mrs. Milton and Father Hale so he won't be spotted and chased away.
"Ooo! That beast!" Mrs. Milton shrieks as Caliban skulks behind a tombstone. "Defilin' the graveyard now! I never!" The chimp can hear her stomping feet, and Rev. Hale's less angry tred behind her.
The monkey's ears perk up. This is not a good sign. He reaches for a handy rock or clod of earth, to fling and make a noise somewhere so he can duck out of sight behind a different gravestone.
Caliban also offers up prayers for sanctuary to the local spirits, silently begging them to direct her gaze elsewhere.
The chimp finds a likely rock, pulls it back for the toss -- and it promptly slips from his fingers to the ground behind him. Apparently, the local spirits aren't taking a liking to him. Mrs. Milton looms abruptly into view over the tombstone he's cowering behind. She waggles her spade at him. "I've a good mind to -- to -- I don't know! What's become of this town?"
The monkey shrinks down and whimpers.
Caliban plays up the sad animal eyes, trying to look as harmless as possible. Hope the worst she can think of to do is deport me to my master's place, the monkey thinks to himself. Don't think they eat monkeys here anyway...
Hale appears behind the pastor's wife, and clears his throat. "Patience, Mrs. Milton. I doubt the creature means any harm. Here, now." He leans over and snaps his fingers before Caliban's cringing form. "Give me your hand, boy."
Mrs. Milton gives another little screech. "Be careful, reverend! It might bite you!"
The monkey looks shy as he stands slowly and reaches out a shaking hand to Reverend Hale.
"Please, Mrs. Milton. The beast hasn't hurt anyone, have you, boy?" Hale engulfs Caliban's hand in his own firm group. "He's probably just lost. I'll take him back to his master."
Caliban looks up at the reverend trustingly, following him like a good pet monkey. He is dressed in his usual waistcoat and red fez, the better to show he's not a common zoo escapee.
Mrs. Milton eyes Caliban warily. She crosses her arms and takes a step backwards as the two stand hand in hand. "You've no idea what that thing might do, sir, and in your condition ... "
The preacher gives Caliban a stiff smile. "Come along now." At Mrs. Milton's comments, he sighs. "I am fine, madam, and the sooner I get this animal back to it owner the sooner you won't have to worry about what it might do." With this, he heads for the front gate of the cemetary, leading Caliban by the hand.
The monkey glances over at the cemetery, looking worried, then follows along obediently with a small ooking noise, and no trouble at all.
The two step ouf of the graveyard and walk undisturbed for some moments. Hale is holding the chimpanzee's hand in a steady grip, but not so firmly that Caliban couldn't retrieve it easily if he chose. At length, he says, "I apologize for Mrs. Milton's behavior -- Caliban, is it? I am afraid she is not fond of animals." He speaks quietly, glancing sidelong at the chimpanzee while he keeps his head facing forward.
Caliban gives Mr. Hale a look of decided relief and gratitude. He dips his head and part of his body in a bow, doffing his fez with his free hand before replacing it.
"I understand you and your master took some pains to provide for Prayer while I was incapacitated. I appreciate your assistance, sir," the reverend says, acknowledging the chimp's bow with a slight nod. He is otherwise maintaining the stiff posture of a man leading a wayward child, despite his words. "Is there something we can do for you in return?"
The monkey ooks up at the reverend, looking at him curiously. "Ook? Ook, eek ook eek."
A wry smile appears on one corner of the reverend's mouth. "I'm afraid I do not understand you. Did you come to speak with Prayer?"
The monkey glances back to see if Mrs. Milton is still watching them, or other townfolk who might remark upon them.
While Mrs. Milton is not in evidence, other townspeople are out and about. The men on the porch of the General Store are watching the two of them walk away down Craft Street. One woman hanging out washing is also watching them curiously.
Caliban, catching sight of the curious bystanders, simply nods up at Reverend Hale, smiling.
"I see. Well, if you will be so good as to wait at your master's boathouse, sir, I shall send him along," Mr. Hale says. "Does that suit you?"
An agreeable "Ook." The ape looks up at Reverend Hale, then gestures in the vague direction of the boathouse. His look is questioning.
hale quirks an eyebrow at the questioning look, and doesn't look as though he's sure what the chimpanzee means. Nonetheless, he accompanies the animal the rest of the way to the boathouse. "Prayer will be along in a half hour or so," he says, from the relative shelter of the door to the boathouse.
The monkey smiles apologetically up at Reverend Hale and bows to him. "Ook. Ook, eek."
Gravely, Reverend Hale bows in return. "Good day to you." He turns to walk away.
It's more like three-quarters of an hour later that Caliban hears the scrabble of little claws along the wall of the boathouse. A moment afterward, Prayer pokes his head out from between boxes on one of the crowded shelves. You have rats, do you know that?
Oh yeah, guess I'm behind on my ratting, but real food tastes better, the monkey replies. He reaches a hand up for Prayer to clamber onto, gesturing to the table where he's prepared a shallow saucer of apple juice and a small wedge of cheese. Sorry for the stir-up, Mrs. Milton has eyes like an eagle, I swear! You make the trip okay?
Oh yeah, no sweat. You know, I've been from the Hill and back again, all over this town, and the rev still frets over me like I'm a mouseling. What's the use of having a Companion if you're afraid to let 'im go a few blocks for a rendevous, I'm asking you? The mouse accepts the ride on the hand with aplomb, then hops off before the saucer, sniffing before he takes a drink.
The monkey grins. Hey, must be your natural cuteness. He plunks down on a chair. Rev. Hale seems okay, but Mrs. Milton said something about him being in a condition? Is he okay after that trip? No problems?
Thank you for the juice and cheese, Prayer says, after lapping up a few sips. He was shaky for the first few days back, but he's been okay for the last few. He's been active as ever. His usual unstoppable self. Thank goodness he at least hasn't talked about going for a rematch against the Hill.
Heh, good plan, the monkey says with a nod. What happened? Hill didn't like his taste? He kept strugglin' and found a way to escape? Or someone show up and let him out?
Someone showed up. Prayer takes a nibble of the cheese. Two someones, actually. The Frenchman and his Companion. They saved him. The mouse sounds a little surprised and awed.
Caliban looks surprised as well. This Mr. Girard guy and his bird, I'm guessing? Hey, that's news. I haven't seen them, what are they like?
The monkey pours himself a mug of apple juice and swings some down. Ahh!
Nice. I mean, they went into the Hill and saved him. They risked themselves, that same night. I didn't know until after they got out what had happened. Prayer's whiskers twitch. I don't know why the did it, or what exactly it cost them. The Companion's in an especially bad way, or was when we visited them a few days ago.
Huh. Maybe I should pay 'em a visit, take along a gift basket to thank 'em for helping out fellow Players, the monkey muses. Think they're the kind who wouldn't mind visitors?
They were friendly to us. Well, as friendly as could be expected, anyway. Like I said, the falcon's in a bad way. The rev feels responsible for them, poor guys. They might appreciate the company, though the man seemed all right when we were by. Prayer breaks off a lump of cheese and holds it in his hands, considering.
The chimp nods. Whereabout are they then? I'll pay a visit. Maybe catch something for the falcon to eat along the way, store-bought meat just isn't the same. He eyes the mouse apologetically. No offense, friend!
S'all right. Catch one of your rats for him. I don't like rats, either, the mouse says, wrinkling his nose before taking a nibble of the cheese. He swallows it, then gives the chimp directions to the Frenchman's townhouse.
Thanks! Yeah, rats should be convenient. The chimpanzee grins at the mouse. So, on the subject of Players helping each other... You know anything about a woman, name of Sarah St. John?
The mouse's ears flatten back. St. John? he squeaks. That murderous madwoman? What about her?
Okay, you know about her. The thing is, she's in town. And tonight's the night the moon dies... Y'know what I mean? Caliban gives the mouse an inquiring look, worried.
While Caliban is talking, the door opens, and Prayer gives a sudden alarmed squeak. He dives for cover amongst Mr. Shaft's lab equipment. Meanwhile ... Mr. Shaft himself is standing in the doorway.
"Ah.. nothing to be afraid of," Herbert says, closing the door behind him. "I take it the mouse's presence here is a good sign, Caliban?" he asks the ape.
"Ook?" The monkey looks up from his mug of apple juice. A saucer of juice and a bit of cheese sit next to him on the table. He leans over to the side, toward the equipment, and makes small ooking noises.
At the man's voice, the mouse pokes his head back out from between two canopic jars. Oh. Sorry. Ghost stories make me skitish. Drat it, did you mean that? St. John is here?
Whups? Oh, it's the boss. It's okay, Prayer, he wouldn't hurt you. You can come on out. A short pause and then the ooking continues in a more sober tone, Caliban looking as if he were conspiring with the equipment. Yeah. We saw her the other day.
"No offense taken," Shaft says to the mouse, but keeps his distance to avoid disturbing it. "I was unable to contact Mrs. Everchild, Cal," he tells his companion. "I hope that she is in a safe hiding place, but if you should find Islington, he may be able to reach her."
The monkey looks up worriedly. "Ook, ook," he responds, looking unsure.
You saw her? Oh for the love of .... What's that? Prayer's beady eyes suddenly fix on Mr. Shaft. You're trying to get in touch with that woman and her cat? what, is St. John after them, too?
Hmm, I bet Islington already holed up with Mrs. Everchild, boss, Caliban responds, though perhaps only the mouse will understand him. Yeah, Prayer. That's what I heard from Islington. You think she'll be after your master too?
The mouse's eyes have gone even rounder than usual. Well, she failed the last time she tried, he says, angrily. I don't imagine she'll have learned from the experience. I'd better go warn him. Oh, rats and cats! We were sure we'd've seen some sign of her by now if she was here this Game. Are you sure it was her? He scurried to the table edge and pauses.
"I've also learned that.. ah, it may be best not to have all of our eggs in one basket, so to speak," Herbert is noting. "The more we have with us, the bigger a target we will become.. and Miss St. John is not our ally."
The man's last words register with Prayer, and he looks between the chimp and man. So you're Closers?
The monkey leans over, trying to soothe the mouse. Pretty sure. But don't panic! I don't know for sure which side eveyrone's on-- He looks up at his master.
A blink, and then a surprised look at the mouse. Yeah... Matter of fact. Yeah.
Praise the Lord, Prayer says, with obvious relief. Us too.
"We are on her list, Caliban, although in truth we would have been on it anyway if we harbored those she sought," Shaft says, with a bit of a sigh.
And so must be Mrs. Everchild and Islington, the monkey says, looking worried, first at his master, then to the mouse. That means we're all targets. Listen, Prayer, what we're thinking is, we take the boat out for a midnight run, hopefully she won't have a way to get to us easily. We wanted to offer you guys sanctuary, we would have whichever side you were on.
Really? That's awfully decent of you -- The mouse cuts off, scuttling backwards with sudden suspicion. Say it again, he says. I'm a Closer, and so is Reverend Hale. Now you, say that you're a Closer.
The monkey looks up to his master, and points to the mouse. He pantomimes holding his hands out, then folding them, then points to his mouth and makes the talking sign, then back to the mouse. Then he follows that up with a short ook.
I'm a Closer, friend.
And so is my master.
The mouse folds its paws against the table, its head drooping. Right. Right, he squeaks, slowly, relieved again. I'm glad to hear it. I gotta get back to the reverend. I'll let him know your offer, see what he wants to do. If we're all Closers, maybe it's best we not gather in one place. Keep her guessing ....
"You think I should speak with Reverend Hale then?" Herbert asks.
The monkey rubs his chin, then nods. He points to the mouse, then pantomimes picking it up and putting it into a pocket.
This is followed by another short set of ooks and eeks. Yeah. Can the boss give you a lift? We all need to get prepared for tonight.
The mouse raises his head, and shakes it firmly in negation. He points to himself, then hops down from the table. I will. I'll go on my own, it's okay. He scurries across the floor, and adds with a wry squeak. She won't strike before midnight. Not this time, that's for sure.
Okay, Prayer. Be safe. The monkey looks down at the mouse and waves a hand in farewell.
The mouse stands on his hindlegs to wave, too, then disappears beneath a shelf.
Herbert kneels down on the floor, watching the mouse, then offers it his open hand if it wants to climb on. "I should put him in my pocket?" he asks Caliban.
The monkey watches the mouse scamper off, then shakes his head. "Ook, ook." He points to where the mouse has vanished, then points off in the direction of the town, then makes scuttling motions with one hand.
"Ah," Herbert says, and gets back up. "I take it he will bring our offer to his master then?"
A nod, a wry grin.
"I believe Miss Pau is also with us, although she did not come out and say so, nor did I confirm our own leanings," the man says. "Still, it is a relief to know that we can oppose Miss St. John without compromising our own success."
The monkey wrinkles his nose. He makes a cutting motion across his throat, and then looks exaggeratedly nervous.
"Yes, our lives are in danger of course," Shaft says, frowning. "But on the bright side, St. John has a soft spot for animals, and is inclined to show mercy to Companions.
The monkey gives his master a look as if to suggest that's hardly much of an improvement. He rubs his chin, then raises a finger. Following this, he fetches out the slateboard that he's used before, and then a piece of chalk. "Ook," he says, sketching out a curved shape, rising from a flat line. He draws a little stick figure beneath this shape.