October 16, 1868
Phillips Harbour
After all the trouble Caliban and Herbert Shaft had on the evening of the fifteenth, the night was surprisingly uneventful. The Babbage sailed out to the middle of the harbour, then weighed achor and spent a peaceful night buffetted by gentle waves. In the morning, they returned to the boathouse.
Shaft spent the morning repairing the Analytical Engine. Caliban lent some initial assistance, but it soon became clear that the repairs would involve fiddly details of finding and replacing shorted wires and damaged cogs, and the chimpanzee could do little of use in that regard. So instead, he went out to check on the other known (or suspected) Players.
By the time the chimp returns to the docks, it's a little after noon and Herbert thinks he's successfully repaired the Engine, although it's not been tested yet.
Herbert wipes a cloth against his forehead to clear away some sweat, and has a seat. "Now then, time to test something," he mutters. He gets back up, and activates the Engine to make sure everything actually works.
Caliban strolls back in casually, taking his hat off as is polite for indoors and stowing it in his waistcoat. "Ook!"
There's a breathless pause after the switch is thrown, during which nothing happens. Then the lights on the machine begin to flash, and the mechanical clicking of cogs turning inside it.
"Ah, Cal, from your demeanor I take it that nobody mysteriously vanished during the night?" Shaft asks, stepping back to watch the machine 'warm up'.
The ape perks up visibly, looking at the machine's cogitation. A faint look of relief, and then when the master glances his way, he affects unconcern.
After a couple of minutes, the Analytical Engine completes its test cycle. The large green "ready" light on its front blinks on and stays that way. The necroplasm-filled spirit battery glows faintly as the machine imperceptibly drains it to power its processes.
Shaft takes out the compass, and checks to see if it is registering the Engine now as well.
Always fascinated with the machine, the chimpanzee comes up closer to scrutinize the workings. His nostrils flare as he sniffs its base.
The compass spins as Shaft activates it. Its outermost ring points to the Engine; the others pivot and twist, not settling or fixing on any particular source.
"I do hope the smell has faded," Shaft says, then walks a bit to put the bulk of the Darklight Camera between the compass and the Engine, to see if the spirit-shielded device 'hides' the Engine in any way.
Caliban nods up at his master.
The interposition of the camera between the compass and the Engine doesn't have any discernable effect on the compass.
The man returns to the Engine, and begins to shut it down. "Well, it seems that 'magic' and spirit energy are separate things, as far as the compass is concerned," he tells Caliban. "If only our visitor of the previous night would have been more cooperative - we could have answered several questions about how the Lamp and spirit-shields worked."
The ape looks up at his master's machinations with curiousity.
Trundling to the side, Caliban digs out a map of the town. He waits for his master to be done with this before holding it up for inspection.
"For instance, do the shields actually repel spirits, act as a barrier, or render something invisible to them?" Shaft asks, rubbing his chin. "If we knew, then we could potentially turn the Lamp from a beacon to a search-light of sorts."
Shaft breaks from his reverie and approaches Caliban. "Ah, what have you learned, my friend?" he asks, noticing the map.
Caliban points to three locations on the map, and after each one, makes a thumbs-up gesture. He points at a fourth and then waggles his hand, pantomiming looking around and then shrugging.
Herbert looks more closely at the fourth location, matching to those Players he's aware of.
"Given the proximity of the fourth location to Mrs. Everchild, I assume it to be the mysterious Frenchman's abode?" Herbert asks Caliban. "Did you simply find nobody there?"
Caliban nods up at his master.
Herbert sucks on his moustache for a moment. "We'll need to find out if he was there or not last night. Did any of the others report any attempts by miss St. John against them?"
Caliban shakes his head. He points at the three dots on the map for which he gave a thumbs-up, then at his eyes, then looks around. THen he waves his hands and shakes his head in a broad gesture of negation.
"You saw them, but didn't think it safe to try and communicate?" Shaft asks.
Caliban shakes his head. He points at his mouth, then makes the hand-flapping gesture of talking, then nods.
"You did try to speak to them?" Shaft asks.
Caliban nods.
"To their Companions?"
The ape nods.
"But they would not talk about what happened last night?" Shaft asks.
Caliban shakes his head. He points at the map, then at his eyes, then looks around and shrugs.
"Oh, you.. uh.." Shaft begins then falters and rethinks things. "You located the Players, talked to the Companions.. but they didn't report seeing or experiencing anything unusual last night?"
A vigorous nodding!
The man rubs his chin again. "Hmm, that could mean almost anything though. Perhaps St. John realized we'd all be at our most defensive, and chose to wait until we were more vulnerable, or that her resources where not up to the task of attacking any of us yet, or... that she took out the Frenchman by mundane means so that we would not be alerted. Or.. well, who knows. We still have no idea where she is even located."
Caliban rubs his chin, then scratches behind an ear in an evident gesture of uncertainty.
Herbert glances from the map to the Engine. "We could input the map and locations of known Players, but without the aerial survey the Engine would not be able to narrow down the possibilities. We will have to launch the Albatross as soon as possible," he notes, and looks over the map for a good, relatively close-by, launching site. "Perhaps near the bridge on Stoker.."
Caliban peers outside at the window, then points at the sky, gestures around at the town visible through it. He points at his eyes and then upward.
The sky outside is relatively clear today, although there's a smattering of clouds to the southeast, and a gentle breeze coming in off the harbor.
"Well, we can hardly launch a balloon in secret," Shaft notes. "But we should try before dawn tomorrow, if we can arrange it. That will give us the most daylight to work with."
Caliban points at his master, then makes the talking gesture and points at the town. He spreads his hands in an evidently questioning manner.
"Well, when asked we will simply tell people the truth - we are taking aerial photographs of the town," Herbert notes. "We may be able to get them to help, even. It will take several days to cover the entire area."
Caliban nods at his master. He rubs his chin, then pantomimes reaching out and walking hand-in-hand with someone, who must be about his size, then helping the person up onto the balloon. He points at this imaginary person, then turns around and pantomimes curtseying, hands going to spread out invisible skirts.
"Oh.. I'm not certain we should invite young Rachel along," Herbert says. "At least, not on the first day. We need to show that the balloon is safe first. But.. the Oldridge's do live nearby the launch site, so staying in their good graces would certainly help. And we will need the other Mr. Oldridge's assistance in procuring a wagon at the very least. Or perhaps Mr. Ponds. I will need to go talk to them today about it."
Caliban nods agreeably. "Ook."
Herbert claps his hands together and says, "Now then, we'll have to check the basket and burner, prepare photographic plates.. quite a bit of preparation there. But first, off to the Store to seek transport, I think."
The General Store is open as usual when Shaft arrives in early afternoon, and there are figures moving around inside. Jake Green sits alone on the porch, looking out of sorts. He gives a grunt and a half-wave to Shaft as he approaches, then folds his arms across his chest and stares at the statue.
Shaft doffs his hat as he enters, and looks about for Mr. Oldridge or Mr. Ponds.
Caliban ooks curiously, noticing Mr. Green's intent stare. Peeking out from behind his master, he goes over to study the statue as well.
Mr. Oldridge is inside, fetching down a large bag of flour for Mrs. Stephenson. The latter gives a curtsey to Mr. Shaft as she waits beside the counter, her red curls escaping from the edges of her bonnet.
"Good day to you, Mrs. Stephenson," Shaft says, bowing slightly. "I hope you and your house guest are in good health?"
The statue looks the same as ever to Caliban's eye: a fairly realistic depiction in cast bronze of the Madonna, wearing long loose robes and standing with the infant Christ in her arms.
"We are, Mr. Shaft," she says, smiling, then amends quickly. "Well ... I am, at any rate."
"Oh, has some ailment befallen Miss Pau?" Shaft asks, sounding a bit concerned.
Caliban scrutinizes the statue, going so far as to sniff it, then gives Mr. Green a puzzled look.
"Oh, no, no." Mrs. Stephenson waves her hands in negation. "She's in fine health. Only ... I think she misses her home, to be honest. It's a terribly long way for a body to come by herself, don't you think? Oh, I suppose you're a long way from home too, aren't you? But it's different when you're a woman, don't you think? We're not so well suited to strange places and people as your sex."
Outside, Green scrunches up his face at Caliban. "What're you lookin' at, ya great hairy ape?"
"I will take your word for it, Mrs. Stephenson," Shaft says, but tries to cheer the woman up by mentioning, "But Miss Pau does at least have her nightingale companion, so that she isn't truly travelling alone. Perhaps her mood would be improved if you asked her to prepare a tradition meal of her homeland for you?"
Mr. Oldridge sets the flour with an assortment of other foodstuffs on the counter. "Anything else,, ma'am?"
Caliban looks at the statue, then at Mr. Green.
"What an interesting idea, Mr. Shaft! She's not a bad cook, you know, though she's no notion of how to make bread, quite funny, really. But perhaps she'd be better cooking from her own recipes? I don't know, don't they use all sorts of funny spices in China? I don't know that we have any of those. Yes, that'll be it, Mr. Oldridge, thank you." She counts out the money for the shopkeeper, then waits as he gathers up the purchases to carry outside for her.
Mr. Green snorts and picks up his chair, deliberately turning it to face in another direction. Now he stares fixedly across and down the street.
"I'm sure she will rise to the occasion, Mrs. Stephenson," Shaft offers, smiling at having made the day a little brighter for the woman. And hopefully for Miss Pau as well, although he doubts 'homesickness' is really to blame in this case.
Caliban looks a little disappointed. Evidently the statue isn't going to do something interesting soon. He plops down on the edge of the porch and waits for his master to get done with the shopping.
Mr. Oldridge carries Mrs. Stephenson's packages out to her wagon. Once the woman is on his way, he turns to Shaft. "Anything I can do for you, sir?"
"Good day, Mr. Oldridge," Shaft says to the man. "Why, several things, hopefully! But first, do you know who owns the fallow field just across the Stoker Bridge?"
Mr. Oldridge scratches his head, looking thoughtful. "That ain't Missus Stephenson's land, izzit, Jake?"
"Naw, Missus Stephenson's acres're all planted 'cept the far west ones. Ya mean the field this side o' the river, mister? 'Cross from the mill? That belongs to Clarence Jenkens," Green says.
"Ah, where might I find Mr. Jenkins then?" Shaft asks. "I wish to ask his permission to use the field for launching my hot-air balloon."
"A hot air balloon? What in all Creation is that?" Green scrunches up his face again.
"Well, it is a bit like a boat, but instead of floating in water, it floats in the air," Shaft explains.
"He lives at the big white farmhouse north of the field and west of the road, Mr. Shaft. This time o' day he's probably out in the field with his hands, mowing hay," Oldridge says, raising his eyebrows at the explanation.
"It floats on air? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard! How can something float on air? Tain't nothin' there to float on!"
"I've heard of them afore, Jake. You fill a big bag with smoke or someat. Smoke floats on air, you know?" Oldridge points out.
"Oh, it is the same principle as a boat, really," Shaft explains, becoming a bit more animated. "A boat hull floats because it is lighter than the water it displaces. And warm air is lighter than cooler air, so it rises. By filling a balloon with hot air, it becomes lighter than the cool air it displaces, and thus is able to float."
Green snorts, unconvinced. "I ain't never heard such a crazy thing in my life. A boat? Floatin' in nothing?"
Picking himself up, the ape walks into the store to do a little shopping while his master explains the balloon.
"Well, I've heard crazier every day of mine, comin' from your mouth, Jake Green." Mr. Oldridge grins.
"Ah, is there some local legend or phenomena that Mr. Green has been witness to, then?" Shaft asks.
While Jake's scowl deepens, Oldridge turns back to Shaft. "Only in his own mind. You're a right fine vendor of wonders and that's for sure, Mr. Shaft. You've really got one of those big balloons with you? I never thought to see one of those with my own eyes."
"Well it is still packed away," Shaft says. "But if I successfully negotiate the use of Mr. Jenken's field, I will need to hire a wagon to carry the components there, either tonight or very early tomorrow morning, Mr. Oldridge."
"I'd be happy to oblige you, Mr. Shaft, if nothing else than for the opportunity to see such a thing." He elbows Mr. Green. "You want to help, Jake? Come see the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard of in your life?"
Jake only snorts and turns his head again, settling his arms more firmly across his chest. Oldridge shrugs. "Good luck with ol' Jenkens, Mr. Shaft. Lemme know if you need the wagon."
Caliban starts picking out the ingredients for dinner. Hm, hmm. What to make? He settles on the fixings for a beef roast, with carrots and potatoes on the side.
"Thank you, Mr. Green," Herbert says. "And I'd like to hear any stories you have, if you're willing to share them. I admit to having an interest in strange tales."
Jake gives the Englishman a sidelong glance and a grunt that could mean anything. He still looks annoyed about something, perhaps his friend's jibes, and Shaft's words don't seem to have improved his mood any.
Hearing the sounds of the chimp moving around in his shop, Oldridge goes back inside to check on him. At the sight of the heap of carefully placed items on the counter, he gives a bark of laughter. He walks around to cash register. "Anything else I can get for you, my good man?" he asks Caliban with an air of mock formality.
The ape looks up at Mr. Oldridge brightly, then tugs his master over to the counter to pay for it.
"Ah, dinner," Shaft says as he looks over the purchases, then removes his money purse to pay for it.
Mr. Jenkens, when they go to see him, proves almost as skeptical about the notion of a hot-air balloon as Jake Green. However, after the promise of a little monetary compensation and the assurance that they would not disrupt any of the other fields or require any exertion on his part soon brings him to an agreement.
That evening, Mr. Oldridge helps Caliban and Shaft bring the basket, with its sandbags for ballast and torch assembly for inflating the balloon, and the crate containing the immense silk balloon, to the empty field. Caliban settles in to the basket to make himself comfortable for a night outdoors, while Mr. Shaft returns to the Babbage to sleep.
The chimpanzee has little difficulty falling asleep outside, after a full dinner of tasty vegetables and roast beef. But sometime in the middle of the night, something awakens him. For a moment, he lies at the bottom of the balloon's basket, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. The sliver of the moon provides little more light than the twinkling stars; it's too dark to see anything. But there's a musky, animal scent in the air. A lupine smell.
The ape creeps upward, peering out of the basket as he rubs sleep away from his eyes. Hope it's not that Yotee...
The scent is definitely not that of the odd dog-like animal that broke into their boathouse the night before. It's a deeper, muskier odor, not quite like anything Caliban's smelled before. It gets stronger as he rises above the basket's rim. Rubbing his eyes doesn't help much; he can't see a thing except the stars above and the faint silhouette of the hills against the horizon. But he hears a snuffling sound, near the balloon's crate.
"Ook! Ook, ook, ook!" the ape says, getting upright. Hey! You! What do you think you're doing?
There's a pause in the sniffing sounds, a moment of utter silence. Then there's a rustle followed by a thump as something large and heavy lands on top of the crate. Investigating. The lupine voice is a low, rumbling growl. Twin slivers of red glint from the massive, hunched silhouette of animal form look down upon Caliban.
Caliban takes in the size of the creature and starts to feel a little nervous. He stifles it as best as he can however, sparing a hand to finger the flash bomb tucked into his utility harness. Well, if you want to see the balloon fly, it'll be going up tomorrow, should be quite a sight, he suggests. I don't think I've seen you around these parts before. Name's Caliban, what do they call you?
The animal's muzzle parts, and starlight reflects off white teeth below the red eyes. That depends on who 'they' are, Caliban. There's a strong wild accent to the giant wolf's speech, without the cultured bent and emphasis on verbalization that close association with humans has given to animals like Islington and Caliban. This wolf speaks with scent more than anything else, and her scent exudes power, strength, fearlessness. So .... 'they' say this thing flies, do they? She paws at the lid of the crate.
That's what the boss made it to do, the ape says with pride as he gets out of the basket. Anything in particular you're looking for? And oh, I meant what do you want me to call you? Some folks don't like to give their names out.
The ... boss ... made it. Red eyes narrow to slits, words dripping disdain. She closes her mouth, her head turning to follow Caliban's progress. When she speaks again, there's a strange mixture of pity and distaste to her scent. You can call me ... Savior. The huge wolf rises on her haunches, then leaps forcefully from the crate. The agitation of her movement knocks the crate onto one side, while the wolf lands on the ground opposite.
Hey! Careful, there if you don't mind, the ape says, feeling a warning twinge at the wolf's words. Savior, is it? Boss is just what I call him, habit from old days, he temporizes. He's a great friend of mine. Invents lots of neat things. So what can I help you with?
A man, the she-wolf growls. He's no friend to you, chimpanzee. None of their kind are. She launches herself at the crate again, slamming her shoulder into one side of it. The wood crunches and splinters under the impact, and Savior growls.
Caliban yelps. He wouldn't hurt a fly, truly! I'm going to have to ask you politely to stop that, Savior, he tries, reaching back into the basket for the crowbar and getting ready to throw the flash bomb. It's looking a little doubtful though. Please?
I think ... not. Savior siezes the splintered corner of the crate in her mouth, and pries at it, one forepaw braced against a slat of the crate's other side. With a ripping of nails, it pulls outwards. She must be fantastically strong.
You asked for it, the ape says with a sign. He lobs the flash bomb to land at the wolf's feet, shielding his eyes from the glare, getting ready to run in and jump on its back.
A blaze of white light illuminates the scene starkly for an instant. Even with his eyes shielded, Caliban gets glimpse of the scene. The wolf's coat is a grey so dark it's almost black, and shaggier than he'd expect for autumn. She's also even larger than he realized, far larger than any wolf has a right to be. She looks closer in size to an African lion -- a male lion at that -- than a wolf. The magnesium flare catches her off guard. She yelps in surprise, leaping back from the exploding device.
Running forward, the ape proceeds to jump for her back. He has no chance to beat her on straight strength... So he needs to be somewhere she can't bring that strength to bear!
Bounding mightily, the chimpanzee leaps for her back... And grabs hold! Clinging like a burr with two legs and one hand grasping the scruff of her neck, with the other he whacks her on the top of her skull with the crowbar, hoping to make his point. Stop it! I don't want to hurt you, he warns.
The crowbar makes a painful-sounding clang as it smacks against the wolf's head. She whines and snarls, shaking her neck, then drops to roll onto her back. I'd prefer not to hurt you either, tool of man, she says, teeth gritted.
The ape jumps off, then prepares to jump on again. Well, you're going to have to if you're going to try messin' with my friend's stuff! he warns.
Savior rolls to her feet again with startling speed, and her teeth snap forward, closing on -- the crowbar? Snarling, she yanks on it.
Losing his grip on the crowbar, the ape undauntedly gets in between the crate and the wolf, balling his fists up. You think you're a Savior! Hah! A bully is what you are, going around makin' people do what you want. Just 'cause you're stronger doesn't mean you're better! he yells.
Little one, you are no match for me, she growls around the bar, her red eyes glowing. Nor do I fear your names, or your beliefs. She braces herself, watching him. I give you one last chance. Run. Now.
My boss - my friend - he's here to stop a great evil from coming into this world. the ape says grimly. I'm not going to back off, not with so much at stake. He tries to calculate which way to jump when the wolf makes her inevitable charge.
The crowbar falls from the wolf's mouth at almost the same time as she's launching herself at the chimpanzee. Despite having anticipated the attack, the chimpanzee isn't fast enough to dodge out of her way, and her massive jaws close around his throat. The scent of her breath envelops him, and she lifts him from the ground. He feels a dull, strong pain where her teeth pierce through fold of skin and fur; she shakes him like a rag doll, and his bones rattle.
Okay, you caught me, the chimp says. Now what? You going to kill me to save me?
No, Savior snarls. But I'll kill you to save others. If you force me. Lifting her head high, she trots across the field, the grip of her jaws firm but not crushing.
So, you mind answering some questions then? the ape says almost conversationally, if strained while being toted like a puppy. Who are these others you want to save? And how is breaking up some stuff gonna do anything to help?
Yes. The wolf jumps the fence between the field and Stoker Trail. Caliban jounces with the movement. Something white flashes at the corner of his eye as he's lolling about, but he doesn't get a good look at whatever it was. Savior lopes up the road.
(Not the chatty type,) the ape thinks to himself. He takes mental stock of his holdings. Utility vest. Knife, well, letter opener. No doggy biscuits. He doubts the knife would do much. Better go along with what she wants for now.
Caliban looks around while he's being toted. Nothing much else to do.
As the reach the bridge, Savior speaks again. Give your master a message from me, she snarls, coming to a halt. Tell him I won't be so lenient with him. Then she gathers herself, and whips her neck and head around to fling Caliban off the bridge, releasing her grip on his neck.
Whoa! yelps the ape, thinking fast. He tries to grab the rail before he gets flung off entirely.
He succeeds, grasping at the edge just as he sails past it. His fingers cling stubbornly to the rail as his body falls against the far side of it. He can't see anything from here, but he can still smell the wolf's scent, as she waits for the splash. Seconds trickle past. There's no splash. He hears Saviour growl, but not leave.
The ape thinks fast. She's smart, but how smart? He reaches into a pocket where he carries dried beef jerky, then grabs a large chunk and flings it into the river, then starts shinnying down the underside of the bridge back the way they came.
As he manuevers underneath the bridge, the lupine odor fades a little, possibly indicating that she's leaving.
(Now to try and track this girl,) the ape thinks. He's probably safer on the underside, at least until she's gone. Once at the other side, he waits, listening.
The chimp can't hear anything, strain as he might, above the rushing of the river. Either she's left quietly, or she's out there waiting for him.
Considering his predicament, the ape rustles through his utility belt. She's forest-crafty, she might be able to tell she's being followed. Hmm. Cord. Glue-tape. Chalk. Aha, a real knife. And a corkscrew and bottle opener. Hmm. Here's this parachute thing, his boss never got around to testing that... He ponders whether he can come up with anything clever with these.
The water continues to rush past below. A shadow passes over the stars above, making the scene darker, if such a thing was possible. Caliban can't see a thing.
After a bit of thought, the ape settles onto a bridge strut and starts tying the cord into a lasso. Maybe he can use this to catch her, if she catches him following her.
Fortunately, Caliban is nimble-fingered enough that working in the dark isn't hard for him.
Once the lasso is done, the ape selects a piece of chalk and peers out to the land, then flings it, waits for the audible thunk, gives it a few seconds before swinging himself up onto the bridge, rope coiled around one arm.
There's no apparent response to the thump of the lasso, and Caliban is able to pull himself up without incident. The wolf's scent has faded enough that it's obvious she's not in the immediate vicinity. It's too dark to see anything, but the scent along the bridge terminates where she stopped. Caliban suspects she headed back the way she came; there's no scent-trail elsewhere.
Looking almost disappointed, the ape takes a moment to collect the chalk thriftily, then starts high-tailing it back the way they came.
As he nears the field, he can tell the crate has been broken open by the smell of silk in the air. He trips over a shred of it lying on the road; visibility is still just about nil, but the reflections of starlight on the field suggest balloon silk is strewn across it.
Cursing under his breath, the ape checks first to see if there's anything salvageable, then if there's a trail that leads away. Savior my left foot, he thinks. Oh, the boss is going to be so disappointed...
The chimpanzee finds it hard to believe that the wolf could've gotten back here, broken open the crate, and done much damage to the balloon in so little time. But as he examines the field by feel, he finds the balloon has been torn apart, ripped in the middle as well as along the seams. There's a new smell in the air, in addition to the strong silk scent and Savior's musk -- the scent of ... a buck deer?
Discarding the balloon with a sigh, the ape sits despondently for a minute. The new scent brings his nostrils up, however. Most bucks would be scared of a big ol' wolf like that, he thinks to himself. Must be someone special. Just hope it's not one of Savior's bunch. He goes looking after it, hoping for something, anything to distract him from his failure.
It's hard to follow the scent trail, and Caliban's no bloodhound. But the earth around the crate has been churned by cloven hooves, and the smell of buck ripples across the torn silk, alongside the wolf's scent -- though possibly not at the same time. There's also not enough silk on the field to account for the whole balloon; part of it must have been dragged away. As Caliban realizes this, he stumbles upon the trail the balloon left, flattened scrub and ground trampled by hooves. That trail leads ... back to the river, where it stops at the water's edge.
Looking puzzled, the ape sniffs around to see if there's an animal trail leading away. Could whomever had done this simply have dragged the silk into the water and then discarded it to float away?
There's no animal scent leading away from on the river apart from the one mixed with the silk smell that led to it. He can smell the buck and the wolf around, but either they doubled back on their trail and he missed it, or they went into the river here.
(Strange... Very strange,) muses Caliban.
Considering the river, the chimpanzee decides to bridge it instead. Maybe they crossed the river. Otherwise... Downstream?
The chimp crosses the bridge, then doubles back upriver to check the opposite side. There's no trace of them there, either. He searches downstream for a while, and finally comes across their scent near the mouth of the river. No sign of the rest of the balloon, though, and the tide's going out. As the sun starts to rise, the chimp follows the animal scent back through empty fields and into a stand of woods. The trail crosses a tributary stream, but he manages to pick it up on the far side.
Rubbing his neck, the ape sighs. Gotta get that cleaned out... Could be serious. Who knows what Miss Champion of the Wild and Free was eating? He glowers up at the sun, then decides to call it a day. A night. He stacks several rocks to form trailsign pointing the way he thinks they went, then heads back to give his master the bad news.