Phillips Harbour.
Wednesday, October 21, 1868. Afternoon.
The safe room of Randall's farmhouse is a bedroom with all its windows shuttered tight and locked, then boarded over on the inside -- as is the second door. The windows and boarded doors are also covered in cloth, while every small hole or chink in the walls has been spackled closed. No hint of light enters from the outside, and not even a mouse could get in here without his knowledge. Which is, perhaps, the point. On warm days it's been almost unbearably stuffy inside, but today a bitter wind blows outside and makes welcome the warmth if not the mustiness of this small room.
Stacks and rows of old books, old relics, scrolls and notepaper fill the room, along with a single table and one plain wooden chair. The whole is dimly lit by candle light and the small clay point oil lamp. Melted wax dots and the stubs of candles burned to the bottom litter the floor around the table. Randall stands before the table, whose surface appears to be covered in ... flour? With his left hand, he holds a bone rod paralell to the table; all along its length hang a multitude of string-thin and twisted strips of paper. He passes the tips of these paper strips lightly over the flour covering the table, like an ineffectual broom. A little of the flour sweeps to one side as he brings it a foot or so shy of the edge. Then he passes it to his right hand and repeats the sweep in the other direction. From beneath the coating of flour, glimpses of paper and thin ink lines can be seen peeking through.
A draft from the door stirs some of flour from the heap at the near side of the table. Randall looks up, and sees Yotee standing in the doorway.
"Not now, I'm almost done. Wait outside please." Randall says, almost absently, as he makes another pass over the flour.
A few blood-red dots stand out among the white powdery grains of flour that Randall's ineffectually sweeping.
The coyote cocks his head, looking in as if it's the most natural thing in the world to find Randall in... the midst of a cooking accident? His curiosity is amplified by his silence; he keeps watching and refrains from leaping into the powder.
Remaining silently focused on the work at hand, Randall continues to patiently sweep the makeshift broom back and forth.
Well, cleaning is boring, so Randall's actions swiftly lose their grip on the coyote's attention. Instead that is turned to the other things in this room. Yotee's tail wags in anticipation of the treasures he might find: other old bones, chewy relics, delicious dried organs and breakable crystal. He looks around to see what the human has been keeping from him.
The red dots migrate around the surface with each sweep. More of them emerge, like tiny pinpricks of blood in a snowy sea of flour. Back and forth they go, swirling with the passes of the broom, in an almost hypnotic fashion. The flour is clearing away faster now, moving to the edges of the table or falling off. The surface beneath it is now obviously a map. However, the red grains are consolidating around an off-center point on the map, and growing more numerous rather than fewer as Randall sweeps.
Yellow eyes drift over one of the room's few and overwhelmed shelves, lingering on a lumpy rock that is holding a pile of papers down. A tail wags even more, important papers! Oh. The Spring met the Unicorn.
Randall blinks, momentarily befuddled by that statement. Focusing back on the work at hand, he takes a moment then says "I have no real idea what you mean, but please, let me finish this, and I'll talk with you about it. Wait outside until I'm finished?"
All but the last few traces of flour have cleared from the map now, although Randall hasn't changed the patient motions with which he's sweeping. The red grains have gathered into a tiny swirl on the map of Phillips Harbour, centered around a spot to the northwest of the town proper.
Yotee returns a blank look of wonderment, at the request or at the thought he might obey. Still, he turns, and a subsequent thump or two from the kitchen betrays his quest for food. There's usually something there if one looks hard enough.
Randall finished his task in the comparative quiet of Yotee ransacking the kitchen. At least there's nothing of great value in the kitchen for him to destroy. And that loud clanging noice probably wasn't him knocking the stove over. Almost certainly. When Randall's done, the map has a neat red spiral marking a spot in the old deciduous forest. It's slightly raised from the surface of the map, and reflect light with a wet sheen. The red grains no longer shift with each sweep..
Randall puts the wooden rod aside, and stares intently at the map for a minute, fixing the image in his mind. After a slightly worried look over his shoulder toward the kitchen, he starts sweeping the flour up, if it gets spilled loose in here he'll be dealing with it...for a few days.
There's nothing wrong in the kitchen! Nothing at all, surely.
The sudden silence, meaningless.
The man in the den ignores the silence as he cleans up the remaining flour.
"What did that mean, the spring met the unicorn?" Randall asks as he enters the kitchen, shutting the door to the workroom behind him. "And if all worked as I hoped, I know where St. John's den is, out northwest of town."
The stove remains upright. The loud clanging was not the noise of it falling over, that came from the stovepipe. The pipe now lies in sections across the kitchen floor, the ash of frequent fires that coated the inside, liberated. The lighter particles hang in the air, drifting down. The heavier ones have already settled. Yotee sits on top of the stove, waving his paw back and forth over a grey pile that matches the new colours of his coat. His eyes shine out from the dusky mask. I'm almost done.
Staring up at the ceiling, Randall inspects the damage done, trying to figure out what it will take to reattach the pipe. "How very human of you, Yotee." He says, glancing at the pile of ash.
The coyote paws around the pile of ash in an inscuritable fashion that serves no obvious purpose. He looks up. I don't insult you. The Spring met the Unicorn. She made her clean, and she made me clean, and now I'm dirty. I waited around, but I never saw her.
"Still clear as mud, I've no clue what this spring is, and the only mention of a unicorn was of that couple that was looking or hunting for one." Randall dusts off the nearest chair, and sits down. "Going to be much longer? I'll need to repair the stove and clean up in here before I can eat again."
The coyote hops down, raising a cloud of ash. I'm done, I want to eat. He also stares incredulously at Randall, You forgot? You were just there. The unicorn, well there is likely only one, the hunted one.
Randall props open the outside door of the kitchen, and starts hauling pipe segments outside. "I'm afraid I wasn't introduced to the spring, and I don't recall it saying even as much as a babbling brook." Loud banging starts up as he begins knocking the loose ash and soot from the pipes.
She talked after you were gone, a little fish, very pretty. Yotee positions himself where he can watch Randall come in and out. What are you going to do about St. John?
*bang*bang*curse*bang* is heard for a moment, then Randall answers "Have you go serenade her? That will let you get a good paw in, I'm sure, then you can tell her that we are Openers."
The coyote is contemplative for a moment. and if this isn't enough, what's my backup plan?
"Run like hell? Sorry, I don't have a Plan A, let alone a Plan B. I was working out how to find her." Randall digs some rags and a bucket out, and heads back outside. "Ms. Pau, I think we need to talk to her again. And we need to pin down where the Closers are staying. Running out of time for the calculations needed."
The Big Bad Wolf might know, and if she didn't and we told her, she might interfere with them. Yotee hunches up. Aren't they at the Docks and in town?
The squealing of the pump outside drowns out anything Randall might have said, as he fills the bucket. Once it stops, he answers as he starts to wash down the pipes. "I don't know, and I need to, or the numbers will be all off, and we won't know where the fire will have to be."
I remember where I saw them in town. I could go there again. Yotee licks a paw, not exactly savouring the taste of old soot. Should I take Ms. Pau, St. John, or you?
splish Randall rises out a rag, and continues cleaning a pipe. "God, queen and country, these are filthy, I think they've been used since fire was stolen from the gods." Randall pauses a moment, then shakes his head. "We need to talk to Ms. Pau again, first, I think. I honestly don't know how to handle St. John."
Not long afterwards, Yotee finds Miss Pau out behind Mrs. Stephenson's house. She's doing laundry in a big washtub. What is it with humans and washing things? It's a cold windy and unpleasant day for washing things, but the Chinese woman doesn't appear to mind.
Yotee is perhaps the last thing anyone wants around something clean, and that's on an average day. The wind has removed his outer soot, but the more intimate stuff in his fur is liable to brush out if he rubs up against anything. It's good fortune that he approached from downwind. Yotee barks in greeting, or perhaps warning, Hello!
Miss Pau looks up, and laughs. "Hello, my friend! Did you come to be thrown into my tub, too? You need washing more than this sheet." She scrubs a worn white cloth against the washboard, then pulls it out and wrings it.
The coyote weighs the pros and cons, then jumps into the tub. It looks like fun, except for the washboard and wringing part. Sure! Oh, and I have messages! Perhaps fleas, though there is some advantage to the cold days.
The Chinese woman has just enough time to pull out the clean sheet before Yotee splashes in. She laughs, shying back from the spray of water. "Oh! So you do come for a laundering!" She pitches the sheet into the rinse water, then attacks Yotee with both hands, plunging him under the water and pulling him back up against the washboard as if he were a dirty towel. On the bright side, the water's hot. On the down side, the wind is very cold now.
His teeth chatter whenever the wind catches him just right. He coughs suds away from his nose as he is dragged against the washboard. The coyote's tail wags, causing further splashes. The Stream met the Unicorn.
"Oh?" Miss Pau blinks at him, pausing in her important duty. "So there is a unicorn in this town? How curious. Who is the Stream?"
The one we were at earlier, the Spring. She's very clean now, she washed me too. Yotee explains.
"Either she did not do a very good job -- " Miss Pau scrubs under Yotee's chin with the tips of her fingers " -- or you have thoughtlessly squandered her good efforts. I am afraid I am betting on the latter, my dirty friend. What did the Spring have to say of the unicorn? Are they involved in the Game, do you think?"
Yotee grins, looking up at the asian woman. The unicorn might be. I recall the spring saying she might bring her back to her friends. Or maybe I said that. The Spring is small and carefree, I don't think she is playing. Oh! The unicorn apologized for not coming sooner.
"The unicorn apologized to you? Oh, you mean to the spring. You did not meet the unicorn, did you?" Miss Pau turns Yotee around to scrub his other side against the washboard. The washboard isn't so bad, although being wrung out still doesn't sound good.
To the Spring, I didn't see her. Yotee lets himself be swung around. The board scratches nicely against his side, a sensational cross between a rock and a massage. I waited around, the Spring was cute. No Unicorn. I went back to Randall. He wants to talk to you. He found St. John's lair; he wants me to go woo her.
"I should like to meet the unicorn," Miss Pau muses, then perks at the later tidbit. "Ah, this is excellent news! I think that gives us the homes of all the Players. We may begin calculations now." She rubs Yotee's head with soapy fingers. "And you, my friend, do you wish to go woo the Beast?" Her tone is still light but her eyes are sober.
I don't think it would work out. She's big, angry, I'm not. He stares up at her eyes, a trickle of suds sliding around the side of his face. It would be fun to outwit her, but no sense baiting bears if I don't have to. Randall suggested I tell her we're closers so she leaves us alone. Wait... I mean openers. Well, one of those.
She blinks at his words, bending to look into his eyes. "And which are you, Coyote?" Miss Pau brushes the trickle of suds from his muzzle with one finger. "Or which do you want to be?"
The one that makes Mother happy. Which side is the light on? He shivers slightly, his fur clumped and sticking out all ways like a prickly pear.
"I do not know." Miss Pau's voice is quiet and earnest. "But I know that the Closers have won this Game far too many times, for far too long. This world is out of balance with her sister. We must Open the way, or I fear that one day it will be impossible to do so. That balance will never be restored." She rubs him down with her fingers, cleaning the rest of his fur in the cooling water.
I think the light is on the other side. Mother came back to save the ones left with the darkness, and I came to help her. I think... that's here. Yotee pants, shaking slightly, I remember only in dreams. There is usually more important things to worry about, like food!
"What do you remember, Yotee? And who is Mother?" Miss Pau lifts him out of the water -- amazingly, he's actually clean -- and dumps him into her rinse tub. She doesn't wring him out, though.
The coyote is very glad to have avoided the wringing-out, though he's having to suppress the urge to shake. He tries to focus on his dreams, a distant expression coming over his eyes as he stares. I remember shadows growing longer. Not the usual kind that hide most things but still allow a subtle colour. Total dark, deeper than in a cave buried beneath a snowfall. Stretching, swallowing, little bright things becoming lost in them. Mother trying to save them all... failing...
Miss Pau listens, quietly. The rinse water is cold, but not as cold as the wind from the bay. She cups it in her fingers to pour it over his head, and it feels like chill silk running in rivulets down his neck.
She protected us to a safe place. There was some arguing? It was still dangerous, the way had to be closed. She wouldn't stay where it was safe when her children were in danger, so she went back? I think, the way was closed behind her? The little canine is shivering very badly, the water, the wind, must easily bite through his soaked fur.
"And you went with her." Miss Pau gathers the shivering coyote out of the water and holds him to her chest. his paws dangling between her folded arms. She carries him to the barn, out of the wind, and wraps him a dry blanket. She looks around at the interior of the barn, with a pair of contented cows and one goat almost smelly enough to rival the fish Yotee dragged in the other day, and bales and bales of sweet-scented hay piled against winter. "Do you think this world is dark, Yotee?"
The coyote is lost in thought and cold during the time he is carried into the barn. He hesitates, then answers. No? I've seen dark things sometimes, like the hill, and what men do in the dead of night. I've found it exciting, with many things to explore and hidden secrets here and there. It's not dark like I dreamed. Oh wait... He remembers a flower, desparately rescued, it was, it is... sometimes.
"But not all the time, I think." Miss Pau towels at his head with the blanket. "What if the other world is the dark place, and it is we who must brave the shadows to rescue them?"
From outside the barn, a woman's voice calls Pau's name. The Asian woman jumps to her feet with a start. "Oh! Mrs. Stephenson is back!"
Yotee nods, That would make sense. Well, the darkness is on one side or the other, and opening it would let it cross and we could take things from it.
"Yes," she agrees, with a sober nod. But there's a shadow cast over her face. Mrs. Stephenson calls for her again, something about the washing, and Pau rubs her arms together. "I had best see what she wants, it would not be well for her to find you here. I shall pay a visit to Mr. Waite soon as I may, to learn from him where St. John resides. Is there anything I might do for you, Yotee, in repayment for your aid?"
Food! He suggests immediately, licking his chops. Or you could mark where the closers are, and I'd take that back to Randall. Either is good. Though from his expression, there's one reward he wants more.
"Both," she says with a laugh. "You wait here and dry off, I shall bring them back to you as soon as I can sneak out again."
He grins a reply and sits down, waiting patiently. The folly of his ways is not immediately clear to him, though it will soon be. While he would only tarry a few minutes for a reward for Randall, he might wait all night on the promise of food. As both have been offered, he's stuck for as long as his stomach rules his decisions. That, could be quite a while.