Tuesday, October 20, 1868. Afternoon.
Phillips Harbour
The Englishman and his pet chimpanzee are just emerging from their houseboat when a visitor approaches on horseback. As the horse draws up alongside, they recognize the rider: the doctor's nurse, Miss Townes.
"Good day, Miss Townes," Herbert offers to the equestrian. "Out for a bit of a ride?"
Wearing a turtle-necked sweater to hide the bandages on his neck and a bowler hat, the chimpanzee looks up surprised at their visitor. He doffs his hat and makes cheerful ooks by way of greeting.
Bernice's horse ambles up, and the woman astride it smiles at the pair. She dismounts and gives her Morgan a pat on the side, walking the last few paces close. "Good afternoon, Mr. Shaft, Mr. Caliban! Oh, the ride's been pleasant enough, but I was actually looking to see how the two of you were doing. You're both out about, that seems a good sign!" She looks the chimp over, clinically at first, then smiling again when he ooks. "No, nothing immediate anyway."
The horse gives a soft whicker at the pat, lifting its nose as it eyes the chimpanzee with wary curiosity.
"Well, one can't waste fair weather," Herbert says, smiling. "Caliban hasn't shown any signs of infection yet, and his mood has been improving as well. Did you want to check the wound?"
Caliban looks relieved. He stretches an arm, then the other arm, limbering up, flexing just a little. He is unable to escape a certain degree of heavy-eyedness that betrays he's not at the top of his form, but inclined to go out for his walk with Mr. Shaft.
Caliban's glance goes toward the horse. "Eek ook," he observes in a teasing tone.
The horse lifts its head at the chimp's noises, ears flicking back.
The nurse rests her hands at her lap to lean forward and study Caliban a little more closely. "Hmm.. no, I shouldn't think it necessary if he's been getting his energy back steadily. No doubt he'll be sore a while, but if he's eating well and feeling better, I expect there'll be no need to fuss and prod." Standing straight again, she glances down the path. "May I walk with you, sirs? I must confess, I did want to chat a bit."
Bernice adds, "But I don't mean to impose..."
"Oh, no imposition," Herbert says, keeping his cheerful face. "We had planned to take our constitutional along Stoker Terrace, across the river. Help build up Caliban's appetite a bit."
Caliban sits on the railing and tilts his head at the horse, with a glance toward his master. "Ook, eek," he observes.
Miss Townes's horse noses its mistress's arm and whuffles again, still eyeing Caliban.
"You've been around horses before, Caliban," Herbert notes to the ape. "Or did you want to ride?" he asks in a jocular tone, while trying to figure out what Cal really means.
The ape shakes his head up at his master, giving him a closed-lip grin.
"Well.. the exercise will do you good then," Herbert tells Caliban, adding, "But you are not to push yourself. If begin to feel tired and want us to turn back, don't hesitate to let me know."
The ape pauses in chattering at the horse, as if they were gossips talking over a fence, to wink up at his master.
Bernice falls into step with both englishman and simian, clasping her hands behind her back as she walks, her horse's reins dangling with a generous amount of slack. "Now Slate, there's a whole world to see, full of different sorts. These two have seen quite a bit of it, I understand. We might well be the strange ones, here."
"You share a rapport with your horse, it seems," Herbert notes. "Have you had him long?"
The horse prances a little to one side, crowding its mistress as Caliban chatters at it. Slate gives Bernice an abashed look at the gentle chiding.
Caliban ambles along, toting the umbrella over its shoulder, furled.
Bernice rubs the mare's shoulder, smiling at both Slate and the question. "I raised her from a foal, and I don't know what I did before that. We've been together through thick and thin." She turns to look at Herbert, her green eyes searching. "It's something I would imagine you can relate to... part of the reason I was drawn to speak with you, actually."
Slate turns her head to nose at Bernice's hand affectionately, the short fur of her muzzle tickling over the woman's skin.
"Ah, is it?" Herbert asks, having run out of small talk. "Well.. what is it in particular you wished to discuss?" he asks.
Bernice keeps at her gentle stroking, hesitating before she speaks again. She looks to be reassuring herself as much as she's patting for her mare's sake. "Well, I... it seems like you're a scholar, would that be correct? Certainly a worldly person, I'm sure you've seen many a strange thing. I understand you've been to Wales, in fact."
Bernice pauses, and looks a little flustered. "Not that Wales is strange... er.. that is..."
"Well, yes, I've.. traveled a bit," Herbert admits, sounding a bit uncertain. "Is there something you've seen or heard that has confounded you?" he asks to cover it up.
Slate whickers, as if in amusement.
Townes nods, glancing down at the path. She can't help giving her horse a small, wry smile, but answers, "There've been a lot of things. I went to the site where your balloon was attacked, and though there wasn't much left I did get a bit more insight into what did the attacking. Caliban might be able to confirm this, but I found a pawprint there, lupine, like a wolf's, but on a fantastic scale."
Caliban looks up at Miss Townes with a curious look, eyebrows furrowed or perhaps raised.
The horse nuzzles her mistress's shoulder, looking sidelong at Caliban.
"Yes, we made a cast of it for the sheriff," Shaft notes. "Tried to track it, but its trail went cold on us. Quite a.. beast, that must be."
Bernice nods thoughtfully. "It was the same for me... I tried my hand at tracking it as well, but simply got turned around." She chews her lip fretfully. "I... there's not much way for me to broach this subject gracefully. If this question seems odd, I'll explain a bit more, but since you were attacked, I must ask... are you playing the Game?"
Herbert only trips once, then recovers. "Ah.. well, as you probably know, if I were playing it, I couldn't deny it, and that simply saying that much means I'd have to know of it, and.. uh.. yes. Yes, I am."
Slate's eyes roll between her msitress and the Englishman, as she continues at her slow amble by Bernice's side. She makes a whuffling noise.
Caliban elbows his boss and grins. "Ook, eek ook," he observes dryly, then chatters back at Slate.
"Ook, indeed," Herbert mutters.
Bernice looks equal parts pensive and relieved. "I apologize for my bluntness, but after mincing about for a few weeks, I'm finding the conclusion bearing down on us all too quickly. I've been spending much of my time trying to learn about this Game I was thrust into while I've been 'playing' it. The more I learn what kinds of people... what things we're facing, the more frightened I become. The thing that attacked Caliban might be a Player as well."
Caliban scratches behind an ear, looking up at Miss Townes. "Ook ook?" he says, tapping an eye.
"It.. or rather 'she', is indeed a Player," Herbert says. "A rather nasty one. But what do you mean by finding yourself thrust into the Game? It is hard enough to manage while knowing what it is about."
Bernice's face tightens. "You know her, then. Do you know her name?" She pauses, then lets out her breath, as if she'd just realized she'd been holding it and only using it to speak. She steadies herself again, then looks down at the hand that had been clutching the reins... her knuckles have gone white. "I'm sorry, Mr. Shaft. I should answer your question first. You say you've been to Wales. Perhaps in your time there, you've met druids. I've kept the fact from the townsfolk here, because many of them wouldn't be so understanding, but I in fact belonged to an order of druids that existed near Savoy. All but one, that I know of, were murdered. The last was my Ovate, and he bade me come here, after the one that slaughtered us."
A chill runs down Herbert's spine and the words. "My goodness. Well.. if it was Miss St. John, I can't say I am surprised. Tell me, where they killed by a great beast such as the one we've seen here?"
The ape shivers, despite the day being not especially chilly.
Even the horse glowers at the mention of the name, her mane prickling. She whickers.
The young woman's trembling becomes more pronounced, and her voice suddenly can't rise above a whisper. "M-... many of them. She called... a great hunt down upon us. She carries one of the artifacts, and used it before October began. I wasn't there, and so was spared. My Ovate was gravely wounded, but I chanced on him and stole him away."
Slate balks in remembered fear, lifting her head to the clear October sky and blinking against the daylight.
"Your Ovate, what was his name?" Herbert asks quietly.
Caliban ooks, reaching out to pat Slate's neck.
"Shhh..." whispers Bernice, stopping to rest her face against the horse's neck. Whether it's to soothe the mare or hide her face, it isn't clear. "...Abernethy. Llewellyn Abernethy."
Slate shivers again, flicking her tail from side to side. After a few moments of soothing, however, she calms. She curls her neck around Bernice, nuzzling the woman's back in a kind of equine hug.
"Well, if it is any consolation, St. John may have lost some of her artifacts," Herbert says. "This hunt though.. is it the legendary Wild Hunt?"
Bernice takes in a shakey breath, and nods numbly, turning away but not before wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. "It must have been. When I found Llewellyn, he'd been made to take on the form of a stag. I led the hounds away, then returned for him and treated his wounds, then heard the horn wound in the distance again, and Llewellyn turned back."
"Ook, ook?" asks the ape.
Herbert stops in his tracks suddenly. "Form of a stag," he mutters. "And.. does your sect tattoo themselves?" he asks quietly.
Slate shakes her head at Caliban.
Bernice nods again. "Some do. It was how I recognized... another of our number, taken from the waters near here. I think St. John had captured him, tortured him. I don't have any tattoos myself... I wasn't officially a druid, they took me in because I lived near there and have a... a rapport with wild places, you could say." She glances at the chimp. "No, Caliban. Though Slate mentioned she saw a white stag recently."
Caliban scratches behind an ear, looking puzzled. He looks up at his boss.
"Yes, we were the ones who found that body," Herbert whispers, looking about for someplace to sit down. "Do you know why she attacked your group? Where they keeping something she wanted? An old, stone sacrificial knife perhaps?"
By this time, the little party had managed to make it to the outskirts of town, not far from the field where Caliban was attacked and the balloon destroyed. There's a low wooden fence on one side of the field that could serve as a perch for one so inclined.
The day is strangely peaceful and pleasant, for discussing such ominous things. Across the river, some of the Oldridge boys and a few other children are playing a variant of football. They laugh and shout as they run.
The ape hops onto the fence, then cranes his head to look about the field's perimeter, glancing toward the boys. One hand holds the brim of his bowler hat, making sure that it won't blow off with his sudden motion.
Bernice swallows, hesitating again. She casts her green eyes over her shoulder, at the distance they've travelled, then gestures toward the fence. The young woman eyes the fields warily, and reaches up absently to pat Slate again, though this time her hand misses fur and pats the saddle and bags again. A polished wooden stock protrudes from among them. "Not a knife, that I know of. She wanted the Rod."
"Ah, could you describe it?" Shaft asks, and goes to lean against the fence next to Caliban.
"Ook, ook," the ape says to his master as he settles in on the fence, in a distinctly worried tone that can be heard by Miss Townes and Slate.
"It-..." She stops, glancing at Caliban, then quickly around. "What is it, Caliban? Did you see something?" Her hand lifts up to rest on Slate's saddle again.
Caliban shakes his head and looks encouraging at Miss Townes to continue.
In the distance, two of the boys tackle a third to the ground, though before the boy goes down he manages to heft a small brown object to another boy. The fourth goes tearing off across the field with it.
Bernice nods, taking her hands away again and folding them at her belly. "Before I go on, I should tell you... the Ovate bid I play this Game, not just track down St. John. I come with the intention of Closing the way. I know now, after meeting Mssr. Girard, that Openers are not all like St. John... and from his books I'm beginning to question just what St. John intends to do."
"You've spoken to Mr. Girard recently?" Shaft asks. "Nobody I know seems to have seen him in some time."
Slate whuffles softly.
Caliban keeps one eye on the game, glancing about now and then to make sure they aren't surprised by a mountain lion or somesuch from the other side while the boss has a chat with Miss Townes. He settles his bowler hat lower to shade his eyes. "Ook?"
Bernice nods, rubbing her head and sighing. "He and Horus were Openers. They knew Reverend Hale was playing, and followed him to something called The Hill. It... it did something to them. Stole pieces of them. They came back, and recovered to a degree, but Girard decided nothing to be gained was worth what the Hill did to them. They withdrew." Those vivid green eyes keep to Herbert's face. "I would know what you intend to do. I feared you mean to Open the way. You're curious, brilliant, an adventurer."
With a whicker, Slate noses at Bernice's hair.
"I am a Closer," Herbert says, looking a bit like a rabbit caught in the gaze of those green eyes for a moment. "Although, aside from St. John, the Openers thus far do not strike me as.. antagonistic. What does Mr. Girard believe Opening will accomplish?"
The ape looks up at his master, then ooks a little relievedly.
Slate nods firm agreement with one of Caliban's ooks.
Overhead, a flock of seagulls spins and wheels, descending on the flotsam being jettisoned from a returning fishing boat.
A look of genuine surprise crosses Bernice's tanned face, as if she hadn't dared to hope. "Y-... you are?" she whispers, clasping her hands together in front of her chest. "I had only hoped that we could agree that St. John was a threat, no matter our side. Girard's books spoke of a Beast that had been a Closer at the last Game. I thought St. John must be the same, and attacked you as an Opener, and I had to warn you. Girard, he..." A faint flush appears over the young woman's face, and her eyes finally break their gaze. "He was a magician.. and a carouser and womanizer. He believed Opening the way would open a way to power that would be his. The Game changed him. He realized..." The doctor falters.
"What did he realize?" Herbert prompts, casting a glance at the seagulls to see if any are heading their way.
The harbour is visible accross an open field from here, but it's still several hundred yards off. The gulls are more interested in sea than land at present, though their cries are loud enough to carry to here. Equally far off, but in a different direction, the boys are squabbling over some point in their game.
Bernice's flush deepens, and she looks down at the tips of her boots peeking from under her skirts, gripping her wrist and rubbing at it. "Th-... there was more to life than fortune and power," she says, a little lamely.
Herbert looks away for a moment, and clears his throat. "Ah, there certainly are. But his books led him to believe that Opening was a way to personal power?"
Caliban nudges his boss. "Ook," he suggests, waving one hand in a dismissive way, then forming it into a four-legged animal shape.
Shaft dips his hand into one of his jacket pockets, and takes a looks around for movement.
"He's a perfect gentleman, mind," says Miss Townes, not that anyone asked. She pauses, then segues, "And he left me some of his books. They, or his research, or perhaps just some reckless notion from before the Game shook him, convinced him and Horus that the Opening was something to take advantage of, as far as I could tell. You're welcome to look at th-.. at most of them. I can read some Latin, but I could only make heads or tails of some of it. Dash it all, I'm a doctor, not a wizard. That reminds me, you asked about the Staff..."
Caliban flashes a wry grin up at the horse.
A carriage is rolling up the road, headed towards town, packages and trunks tied to its roof.
Shaft watches the carriage with interest, but returns his attention to Bernice and says, "Ah, yes. Had you seen the Staff for yourself?"
The horse whickers again, tossing her head.
Bernice leans closer, her voice lowered. "I have it. It's a length of wood capped in brass at either end. Llewellyn gave it to me, and I've secretted away. I don't know how to use it, only that it's dangerous and must be kept out of St. John's hands."
"Is that the one you found?" Shaft asks Caliban.
"Ook!" the ape says in a 'I knew it' Then shrugs at his master, before directing a series of tiny eeks and ooks at Miss Townes.
Slate starts to whinny, then stops herself, looking at her mistress.
Bernice nods at Slate. "That makes sense, but it seems so odd that it would be such an about face according to-.." She stops, and looks at Caliban, a little taken aback. "Er.. it's hidden under my cabin. Wait, 'found'?"
Caliban wrinkles his nose. "Ook, eek ook," he says, waving his hands vaguely.
"Caliban found a staff in the storage shed of Mr. Hobson, the undertaker," Herbert says, then wonders if he's just repeated something Caliban already explained.
The horse shifts her hooves nervously.
The doctor looks puzzled, then shifts nervously like her horse. "I feel a sudden compulsion to race home to the cabin."
Caliban gives his master an accusing look.
Herbert blinks and looks confusedly to Caliban. "It seemed important that she know," he says to the ape. "And checking certainly couldn't hurt."
The chimpanzee sighs, then gives his master a comforting pat on the hand. "Ook," he says, nodding over at Miss Townes.
Slate nudges Bernice, as if encouraging her to mount up.
The young woman nods at pats Slate's nose, then steps into a stirrup and swings herself onto her Morgan with ease. "I'm a fool for thinking it perfectly safe! If it's not there, I dearly hope you found it, Caliban. Hup, Slate! Let's fly!"
"Take care!" Herbert calls after the pair.
Bernice shouts over her shoulder, "I'll see you again as soon as I can!" With that, both horse and rider thunder down the road and are quickly lost to view.
Caliban looks down at his own feet, then up at his master. Glumly, he looks after the fast-speeding away horse, before hopping off the fence and joining his master for the... walk. They certainly aren't going to be running.
"Well, I suppose we don't need to arrange another dinner date for Mr. Hobson just yet," Herbert says to Caliban. "Perhaps we should head towards the Inn and inquire of the Mikkelsens instead?"
"Ook," says the ape agreeably.
Herbert always drives women crazy.