Slate bears her mistress home in silence. Her flanks and muscles hold a tension unusual for her, almost as bad as after the slaughter of the druids. Bernice can't tell if the horse is still angry at her or not; she did encourage the woman to ride rather than walk.
Bernice sits stiffly as well, ramrod straight like a girl on her first ride, the one petrified of her horse. Except she's not frightened of Slate... rather she sits as if she were trying to will herself to be lighter, to not be a burden or a nuisance... like she doesn't deserve to sit in this saddle.
Halfway home, Slate stops in the middle of the road and turns her head to look at her rider. Why are you doing that?
Even through the saddle, Bernice can be felt to tense up even more, where her legs touch the mare's sides. She's clearly unprepared for the question. "Doing.. doing what?"
Riding like you don't know how. It makes my back itch. You need to relax, Slate answers, rather sensibly.
"I... s-sorry." That word again. Like a bandage she's uselessly trying to re-use, ripped from one wound and applied to another. Bernice forces herself to relax, to move with Slate's gait like she normally does, like she's always done easily before, responding and reacting as one creature.
Slate swings her head around, her neck drooping with weariness like the rider on her back. Her breath comes out in a whuffling sigh as she plods forward. It's not a long ride but it seems to take forever anyway.
"I'll rub all the bruises and soreness away," whispers Bernice. "Brush all the specks out of your coat, make sure your feet are clear and your shoes aren't broken. I'll make it better... somehow. Then we'll sleep, and eat, and sleep some more."
The mare lifts her head a little at these words. She whuffles, turning her head to press it against Bernice's hand. That sounds nice.
"I should do more. I'm not sure.. what." Townes lets her hand stay on the mare's head, stroking. "After what happened... why carry me?"
Slate takes some time to form a reply. It's not your fault, she says at last, then hesitates again. Or at least, no more than it is mine. I may as well blame myself. I didn't do anything to stop them, either. I believed them, Caliban, Mr. Shaft. I thought it had to be done. I just didn't ... realize what that meant. If that makes any sense. Which is doesn't. I'm just a dumb animal. What do I know?
"N-.. no! No." The doctor leans forward in her saddle emphatically, putting her small hands on the Morgan's mane. "Slate, no. You... it wasn't... no. I felt it had to be done, and so I did it. I convinced the Woods to drive St. John out, and I pulled the trigger. And all this time, I brought you along, and.. and you couldn't have known what I was about to do." The woman shakes her head, dishevelled locks dragging over stooped shoulders. "If I had been stronger, smarter... this wouldn't have had to happen. None of it... your wound, the deaths... but, I'll make it right somehow."
The woman lifts her head to look up at the stars. "We're all animals, Slate. All connected. The druids knew it, and the Still Woods wouldn't have let us close if we weren't. You're one of the smartest ones I've ever met. And I... I'm just as dumb as anybody. Don't mind what Caliban said."
I was there, too. If I thought you were doing something wrong, I could've said so. I could have asked you to talk to him first. I could have said you shouldn't go to the Woods. I could've reared and thrown off your aim. I had lots of chances. You didn't make me do anything, Bernice. The horse plods up the final road to the little cabin and shed they've been living in.
Bernice looks up. If she squints, she can imagine the boxy cabin up ahead as being her cottage back in Savoy. "You helped me like the Stag helped her. The Stag believed in her, like you believed in me. He was like you, and I killed him, because I couldn't think of any other way. St. John failed him, and I failed him too, just like I failed you."
Slate stops at the cabin door, and shakes out her mane. No. I ... it'd be nice to think that. I don't know. Did she lead him astray? Did you lead me? Or did Mr. Shaft lead you astray first? Or was it the right thing to do, just like they all said that it was? I mean ... what about the Hunt? How could he not have known about that, about what she did to the druids? How could he be innocent if he knew that? And yet .... She hangs her neck down. I'm so tired. I don't have any answers at all.
The woman slides out of the saddle, slipping down to the ground and immediately beginning to undo Slate's tack. "Rest. You deserve rest. Let's go to the shed. Close your eyes and imagine we're back in Savoy, and fall asleep while I brush the grit out of your coat."
Bernice spends the following morning reviewing the texts she has on the nature of the Stone. They are not very encouraging. It's an Opener's artifact, and it gives Bernice chills to hold it. There's something unpleasant and potent about it. Girard's own notes congratulate himself on his cleverness in obtaining it, and muse upon its possible origins and powers. He sounded disappointed that it didn't look more impressive, and hoped to obtain some of the other Artifacts from other Players in the Game.
Some older sources mention using the Stone in plans for vengeance, but they are frustratingly vague about the exact manner in which it might be used. For all she knows, they mean to brain their enemies with the thing.
A thorough wash and fresh clothes do much to make Bernice feel at least physically better, and there's something reassuring about going through the motions, even down to braiding her hair again. Though the night's rest removed the dark circles from under her eyes, it doesn't take the grave expression from her face as she studies, avoiding touching the Stone when she can. In particular, Bernice notes its supposed powers and origins, and begins to suspect it would be best placed at the bottom of the ocean.
Before her eyes cross from staring at books and deciphering half-remembered languages, Bernice closes them up and puts them away. She has cause to briefly regret the volume she lent Mrs. Everchild, now destroyed like the rest of the woman's house in the fire. Bernice gets the Staff from its hiding place, then saddles up Slate and rides into town.
Like her mistress, the Morgan is somber today. The townspeople seem closer to normal today, without the suspicious looks she remembers them giving her when she, Mr. Shaft, and Caliban were in town the morning after the fire. Now the men are tipping their hats to her with typical cordiality. Still, there's a tension in the air that she can feel. The shells of the burned-out houses are a palpable reminder of the town's injury, and like a wounded animal she fears it may be ready to lash out.
When Bernice reaches the dock, she finds them busy as usual, with fishers unloading their catch and barge workers loading lumber. The Babbage is in dock, but neither its master nor his Companion is in evidence. When she calls out, however, Islington does come out to greet her. Hey there, Doc! he mews.
The doctor can't help a smile seeing the cat emerge. "Hullo there, Islington. The other men aren't in, then? How are you feeling?" She swings out of the saddle and walks closer to offer her hand.
A few dockworkers direct a curious glance towards the woman having a conversation with a cat. Islington walks to the edge of the houseboat and ducks his body below the rail to stretch out his head to her hand. Better now that St. John's dead, he says, somewhere between gruff and satisfied, but not exactly happy.
Bernice reaches out to give the white cat a friendly scratch around the ears and down the back of his head. She lowers her voice to make her oddness a little less obvious. "I'm glad you're better. I was worried. Is the cabin unlocked? I have something to drop off."
Islington shakes his head. No, though they left a porthole open so I could get in and out. Brrr, it's cold out here. He shakes himself, fluffing out his long fur in the chill fog.
As Dr. Townes stands on the dock, petting Islington through the Babbage's rail, she spots a familiar pair coming down the dock. The Englishman is looking down at something in his hand, while Caliban strolls at his side.
The mare lifts her head at their approach. Her ears flick back and forth, and she prances a little to one side, away from the newcomers.
"Miss Townes," Herbert says in surprise as he looks up and notices the visitors.
Feeling better now that he's had a little chowder, the ape waves cheerily to the doctor and her horse. He is careful not to move his neck around too much, however.
Bernice glances up to see the two approaching, and gives the cat one last stroke before standing up to greet them. Physically, the woman is looking considerably better than they last remember seeing her, the dirt washed away from her tan skin, her auburn hair once again neatly braided, and her dress clean. The chilly fog even gives her apple cheeks that would ordinarily give her a cheery fascade, but despite looking rested and washed, there's still something haunting those big green eyes. "Mr. Shaft, Mr. Caliban. I'm glad you're here, I had something to deliver."
Caliban looks surprised, and a little apprehensive. "Ook eek?" he says, looking around for the item to be delivered.
Bernice returns to Slate's side, giving the horse a reassuring pat. When she comes away again, it's with a long object wrapped in cloth. She holds it out to whichever man will take it. "Keep it safe. It's useless in my hands anyway."
"But.." Shaft says, hesitant to accept the staff. "Does this mean you are withdrawing, Miss Townes?" he finally asks.
"Ook ook, eek ook," says the chimp worriedly.
"No," says the doctor, "I have no intention of withdrawing, if I have a choice." She keeps her arm outstretched, the Staff in its bundle securely wrapped. "But someone should keep it or at least know where it is in case something happens to me. If you want to pass it off to the Reverend, that's fine too."
Slate is eyeing Bernice warily as she speaks. The horse whuffles.
"Very well then," Shaft says, accepting the bundle. "It would be best if at least one of our groups had no incriminating evidence," he notes, and passes the bit of paper over to the woman to look at. "If you hadn't heard, the witch hunters have captured themselves a witch. If they are the traditional sorts, they will resort to torture - and possibly force her to expose the Game."
"And Rae Mikkelsen is not the witch they have in custody," the man adds.
Townes looks down at the scribbles, then looks up again, her face clouding. "Who do they have? Who is this from? Are they addressing you, me, or all of us?"
"Ook eek?" The ape peers over at the note with great curiousity.
"I believe it is from Rae or her brother, neither of which had admitted knowledge of the Game to me - but the point they make is clear. The witch hunters are targeting likely Players and their Companions it seems. The one they have now is Miss Pau, and quite possibly her Companion Lei - a nightingale - as well. We'd hoped to find out, but this note makes things even worse."
Bernice frowns. "The Mikkelsens are innocent. Back when I was fumbling around, I directly asked them. If they had any idea what I was talking about, then they were breaking the Rules, what little I understand of them. Where are they being held?"
"I imagine they are in their room at the Inn," Herbert says. "Gertie passed the note to me with lunch." He glances at Islington. Cats are good at sneaking around, after all..
Islington swishes his poofy tail and gives an inquisitive mew. Everyone's breath is steaming in the cold air, though it's already foggy enough by the docks that it's hard to tell.
"Ook, ook ook?" asks the ape.
The doctor looks down at the note again, her frown and dimples deepening. "Gertie? She must have written the note herself. The Mikkelsens couldn't have written this note, they may not be perfect with English but they can spell their own names, of that I'm certain. Gertie must have overheard the hunters, and wrote to warn you. I'm going to the Red Flag."
"What do you intend to do?" Herbert asks. "You may not be on their list now, but this could draw suspicion. I was hoping you could get in to see Miss Pau, to insure that... nothing inappropriate has been done to her."
Caliban scratches behind an ear and considers. "Ook, eek ook, ook ook?"
Bernice glances out at the town, as if she could really see much of it through the pea soup. "I'll talk with Gertie first. See what's happening. We're friends, it's normal. Then maybe I can slip a warning to the Mikkelsens. I don't think they deserve to get mixed up in this. If I can spy Miss Pau's nightingale, maybe I can learn more."
"Very well, please be careful though," Herbert says. "Cal and I will hide the staff, and get our photographic equipment ready. It may get us in to have a look at Miss Pau."
Caliban glances toward the town. "Eek eek," he suggests.
Townes lets out a sigh. "Fine, then. If it's not one thing, it's another. I guess it'd do to have brunch at the least, and pick up some fruit for Slate." She turns back to the mare, stroking the horse's nose. "Hide the staff well, and take care, gentlemen."
Looking to Caliban, Herbert says, "Well, on the bright side, at least we have something to connect the Amplifier too now."
The ape looks at the staff and then up at his master, and then at Miss Townes. "Ook."
Bernice gives Herbert a slightly concerned look, then glances back at Caliban. "You did, at that."