"Islington! I'm comin' to you, stay cool!" The ape screws up his nerves and proceeds to bound through, using the dirt mound where the fence has been knocked down for a start, springing through a full circle to a handstand in the middle of the yard, and over 'til he makes it to the mound and can start beating away any sparks that might have lit in his fur.
The chimp comes to a stop half atop the mound, and finds it curiously ... squishy underneath his feet; neither with the heat of fire nor the firmness of dirt. Islington crouches nearby, his eyes closed and his mouth wide open in piteous, grief-stricken yowling. He seems unaware of Caliban's presence.
The ape looks worried. Uh oh. He gets off it quickly and examines it more closely, fearful that his touch will reveal cloth.
It's a damp blanket ... covering a person.
The ape draws the corner of the blanket back, reaching in to feel for a pulse. Or temperature.
The body feels cool, especially compared to the flames all around them. This close, the smell of blood is almost as strong as the smell of smoke.
Dead then, the ape thinks, moving the blanket to try and confirm that it's Mrs. Everchild. He reaches up and shakes Islington. Snap out of it! he yells. She wouldn't want you to die here!
When he uncovers the head, the chimp can see it's Mrs. Everchild. She looks ... very dead. From the lower half of her face to the front of her nightgown is drenched in blood. At the shake of Islington, the cat's head whips to one side and his eyes open but don't focus on Caliban. His yowling quiets to a more pitiful mewling, but he's still not saying anything coherent.
Islington! We need to get you out of here! Get yourself together, cat! screeches Caliban, as he hurriedly replaces Everchild's drape. You ready to go?
The cat is shivering in Caliban's grip, blinking and disoriented. As Caliban screeches at him, two new figures enter the yard. Mr. Shaft is lurching under a heap of soaking blankets, while Miss Townes's dress is dripping wet and she carries an additional bucket with her -- some of which she spares to dampen the ground as she tries to get through the flames to Caliban.
"Miss Townes!" Herbert calls. "Take a blanket!"
"Get back, you fools! We can't save those!" one of the townsfolk is shouting out to the two humans as they advance into the burning yard. Ashy leaves from the tree above rain down upon them.
The ape waves to Miss Townes as he stands up from a dark mound in the midst of the flame-ridden lawn, holding the cat. "Ook! Owoook ook!" he yells, waving, before crouching, getting ready to spring.
As Miss Townes tries to get to the chimpanzee, she find her way blocked by a flareup in the leaves on the ground. She backtracks and plants her foot on a patch of hot coals, blackening the sole of her boot and singing her foot.
The ape lunges through the yard, moving hurriedly, jumping here and there, spinning and pushing off with one hand at a point, other clutching the cat close, to get Islington to safety. He spares a concerned look for Miss Townes... But his first priority seems to be to get himself unburdened, before he can go back for her.
Bernice stumbles back, whether it's because she's stymied by the blaze, making way for Caliban, or just too shocked by what she's heard. The flash of pain sharpens her again, the woman yelping but staying back, bucket still at the ready.
Herbert lurches towards Caliban, trying not to lose his breath from coughing. Her grabs the edges of one towels and tries to spread them over his head and outward, to make a safe zone from the falling ash and cinders.
Herbert drapes a wet blanket over the chimpanzee as the monkey bolts past, then makes his own retreat to behind the trench. Bernice also withdraws, not having gotten into the yard far enough to be trapped. Some of the townsfolk are giving them odd looks; one of the men directs Bernice on where to empty her bucket and join the brigade.
The chimpanzee shivers as he holds onto Islington. "Ook, eek eek eek," he says to his master, though within hearing range of Bernice. He points back at the yard and the dark mound from whence he came, then reaches out one hand and makes a clawing motion at the air.
Looking to the mound, Herbert's face drains of color. "Good Lord is Everchild trapped under that mound, Caliban?"
Caliban shakes his head. He holds up the damp blanket that his master's draped on him, then points back to the mound.
Looking at it, Shaft realizes the little mound is about the size of a fallen person.
The town fights a valiant battle against the flames; it feels as though the entire populace has turned out to help. Mr. Shaft notices that the Mikkelsens have joined in the bucket brigade, and the religious men who'd lately arrived are digging trenches. The two houses across the street eventually succumb despite their efforts, and two other homes are knocked down to form a firebreak when it seems they might fall. But at last, the fire engine from Innsham arrives and -- combined with Phillips Harbour's own efforts -- is enough to turn the tide.
So covered in ash and soot that his face more or less resembles Caliban's now (except for the moustache), Herbert sits down in the street to rest. "I.. I'm too tired to head back and turn off the water pump on the Babbage," he says hoarsely.
The ape pats his boss on the shoulder. "Ook," he says comfortingly, depositing a damp white cat in blanket on Mr. Shaft's lap before he goes to fix that matter.
"Do you want to stay with us, Islington?" Herbert asks the cat as he tries to pet down the matted fur, forgetting that he has no way to actually understand the cat.
By a few hours after dawn, the crisis is over and the coals are cooling. The hand-pumped engine is still hosing down the burnt shells to ensure the flames don't return, but most of the townsfolk are retiring to their beds in relief. Those whose homes were destroyed are taken in by their neighbors. Apart from Mrs. Everchild, whose body was burned beyond recognition by the time it was discovered in her yard, there were no fatalities, although many people were burned and even more suffering from smoke inhalation.
The cat makes a piteous little whimpering sound at Herbert, and huddles in the man's lap.
Miss Townes has a boot off, and gingerly treats the singe on her foot. She looks quite dishevelled as well, her hair stringy with sweat and her dress stained with black and still damp from row after row of sloshing buckets. With a hastily applied bandage, she wipes streaks of blood off her hands and arms, starts to hold her head, and then simply drops her hands into her lap. "Islington..." She can't think of anything else to say, moving over to the pair to sit close to them.
Having secured things as best as he could, the ape rejoins them, looking tired and dishevelled and sooty of fur. He joins in stroking down Islington's fur. "Ook."
The cat shudders, and gives another mewl.
"The detector went off," Shaft mentions quietly. "It looked like St. John was fleeing to the northwest, so I doubt this was an accident."
A nod from the ape.
Bernice nods numbly. "Islington says it was her," she translates.
"Well, that's that then," Shaft says, looking up. "We hunt her down today."
The cat mewls again.
Caliban shakes his head at Islington, then brushes his fur back a bit, with stubby little monkey fingers. "Ook, eek eek."
"Don't blame yourself, Islington. Nobody can know what's going on in that rabid mind." The doctor sighs, running her fingers through her hair to push lank auburn clumps out of her face. "He says it was a trap. St. John set the fire, and was lying in wait for Mrs. Everchild to escape."
Islington presses his side against Shaft's stomach, a pitiful soot-streaked furball. He doesn't say anything else.
The chimpanzee rubs the cat a little more. Then he looks up at Bernice and hi master. "Ook, eek ook," he suggests, sketching a cross with one hand.
Bernice slips her wrapped foot back into her boot, wiggling her toes and shifting the sole on the ground to make sure it's comfortable. "Yes, Rev. Hale was at the disaster, he was comforting the wounded. I saw him while I was managing triage."
"Eek eek," observes the chimpanzee. He makes perfunctory clawing motions with one hand, then the sign of the cross again.
"I'm not sure that Mrs. Everchild was Christian, Caliban," Shaft says. "She might have her own special burial rites. Maybe Islington knows?"
Caliban gives his master a surprised look.
Islington stirs a little, and mews.
The doctor looks surprised. "She knows about Hale?" She pauses at the disconnect, then explains, "No, Mr. Shaft, he's talking about Hale. Caliban thinks Hale may be the next target. Him, or... or you."
Herbert turns to look towards the church steeple, and says, "We'd better go find him then. If we go after St. John, we'll need his help."
Bernice reaches out to touch the cat tenderly behind an ear, simply laying a warm hand on him. "It'll be seen to, Islington. That, and much more."
Caliban ooks affirmatively at the white cat.
The feline blinks a moment later, and adds another mew.
The relevations are relentless, leaving Bernice in stunned silence again.
Shaft can only wait and watch the reactions on the woman's face. "What is it now?" he finally asks Bernice.
After the young woman recovers, she replies. "Islington says the reason St. John knows about Hale is because he was at the last Game, one that went wrong and never happened. I had no idea."
Islington starts to speak again, then trails off.
"You and I seem to be the only Closers that haven't, Miss Townes," Herbert says, with a sigh. "And frankly, St. John is pushing the Rules quite a bit. I don't think she wants this one to fail."
Caliban, about to get up, sits back down and ooks curiously at the cat.
Bernice strokes Islington, her voice quiet but reassuring. "Go on..."
The cat shakes himself out of his reverie.
Caliban furrows his brows.
Bernice rests her chin on her hands, puzzling over this new nugget. "Islington says that the faulty Game took place in 1849. All the calculations pointed to it, and everyone gathered for it. Hale was the only Player that St. John failed to... to kill. The Banefire was lit, but nothing happened. No Opening, no Closing, nothing." That piece said for Herbert's benefit, she turns again to the cat. "I know this is hard for you, dear Islington. I'm sorry. Whatever we can learn will help us deal with this threat. Did Mrs. Everchild have a theory on why that happened? I sent her back with some of Mssr. Girard's books just this..." She swallows. "Just this morning. I don't know if she gleaned anything from them."
The feline shakes his head.
The ape blinks and then looks up toward the burned, shattered neighborhood. He doesn't say anything.
"I was told the first killing was done before the Death of the Moon, violating the rules," Herbert mentions.
Caliban rubs a cat ear. "Ook eek ook ook," he says comfortingly.
"Did she even kill off the other Openers?" Shaft suddenly asks.
Islington shakes his head, twisting around in Shaft's lap.
Bernice nods soberly, fighting tears as Islington mewls. "Mr. Shaft and Caliban are there for you, and if you want you're welcome to stay with me too. You'd be safe at my cabin, St. John doesn't know about me yet. I intend to head for the Deep Woods come daybreak."
"Ook, ook eek," the ape suggests. He pantomimes scrubbing himself, then looks meaningfully at his boss's hair and sooty clothes. Then one hand describes a walking motion, traces a cross, then the talking gesture.
Although it's hard to tell with smoke still hanging like a fog over the town, the sun has been up for a couple of hours now.
"Right, we need to clean up and meet with Hale before chasing after St. John," Herbert says, getting to his feet. "I've got the detector and a pistol, and might be able to drum up something more."