Phillips Harbour
October 25, 1868. Sunday night.
During the day, Rev. Hale tries to keep the witchhunters out of trouble while the remaining Closers see about a long-term solution to the problem they pose.
Which is what Shaft and Caliban are working on now. Shaft spent the day tinkering with the Analytical Engine and the helmet used to hook Caliban to it, trying to tune it so that it will enhance Caliban's ability to detect and speak with spirits. Some time after nightfall, he decides his efforts are worthy of a test. Caliban is hooked up to the helmet and positioned directly between it and the spirit trap. Mr. Shaft readies the spirit lamp, preparing to power it on.
"Are you ready, Caliban?" Herbert asks his assistant for perhaps the fifth time that evening.
The monkey glances sideways to the Spirit Stunner lying handy on a table, perhaps the fourth such 'useful item' that he's thought of only in response to his master's queries, then reluctantly nods. He looks nervous about the upcoming trial.
Herbert checks over everything once more, especially the special modification that can switch the Lamp from using a small battery to using the main one on the Engine, giving it a 'low' and a 'high' setting. Going to the table, he sets his revolver next to the stunner (just in case.. they've had one physical attack on the Engine so far, after all) and pours some wine into the glass next to a bowl of smoldering incense. A small map of the town is set next to the Engine's Ouija board - it's the same size, so that it can be slipped under the pointer if needed. "Okay, that should be everything. Unless you think I should put on some tea as well?" Shaft asks the simian.
Caliban looks thoughtful, then nods. "Ook ook!"
Shaft gets the kettle going. A few more minutes shouldn't hurt, he figures, since Caliban looks a little nervous still. "I have a good feeling about tonight, Cal," he says, hoping to reassure the ape. Although, frankly, Caliban's hunches are generally more accurate than his own.
Once the tea is done and poured into three cups (one for Caliban, one for Mr. Shaft, and one for any Visitors they attract), Nr. Shaft turns on the spirit lamp. As usual, this has no visible effect on the real world; the Lamp doesn't give off actual light. Man and chimp alike wait, a bit anxiously, for Things to Happen.
Their first nibble comes after several minutes or so of waiting with the Lamp on its 'low' setting. With the aid of the helmet, Caliban sees it: a small shapeless white blob creeping across the floor towards Lamp and Trap.
The monkey concentrates on the blob, studying whether it has enough form to tell what it might have been in life.
After a moment of scrutiny, Caliban's best guess is that it's the spirit of some small animal, long enough dead that even it doesn't remember what it once had been. It creeps furtively, like a rat.
The planchet wobbles around, then spells out words as Caliban thinks. R-A-T, it spells out. T-R-A-P.
Herbert prepares a cup of tea the way Caliban likes it, and sets it nearby on the table (he's not about to risk having it near the Engine itself, but close enough that he can hand it to Caliban if needed). "A small spirit then," Herbert concludes from the message. "Do you want me to increase the Lamp power, Caliban?"
The monkey shakes his head. The planchet spells out, S-T-R-T S-L-O.
Herbert nods. "As you wish," he says, and sits down close to the stunner while he monitors the Engine and the Trap.
The little glob of a spirit gets too close to the trap, and -- zwoop! -- it's sucked in to one of the six gems. The filled gem glows very faintly. It's much less impressive than when the ghost-girl had been caught.
The monkey waits a little while to see if more of these low-level spirits wlil appear.
The planchet spells out, B-A-T-T.
Shaft gets up to check the connection between the trap and the main battery. "Everything is ready if you decide to drain the spirits into the battery," he reports.
After another several minutes, a second spirit -- this one has a better-defined shape, that of a mid-sized mongrel -- is sucked into the trap, too. Another quarter of an hour slides past with nothing else showing up.
N-O-T-H-N, the monkey concludes. M-O-R P-O-W-R.
"Okay," Shaft says, and turns off the Lamp before switching power supplies, then reactivates it. He picks up the stunner as well, rather than risk being caught without it.
The monkey makes sure the spirits already trapped are safely drained.
The spirits drain away without a hitch, and in a moment the Lamp is back up again on high. Caliban senses ... something outside the boathouse, although he can't see anything yet.
S-O-M-T-H-N, the planchet spells out. The ape concentrates on projecting a question to whatever is outside, Who are you?
Herbert arms the Spirit Stunner, and watches Caliban closely for any signs of distress.
There's a creaking sound from the back of the boathouse, behind some boxes. A draft whips in for a moment, rustling past crates and chilling Shaft's skin. Caliban doesn't see any new spirits yet, though.
Herbert wishes the tea hadn't gone cold, as he shivers a bit from the chill. "Something, indeed," he mutters.
The ape looks nervous again, as he peers around looking for the spirit that is nearby. N-O A-N-S-W-R, he spells out.
Holding the Spirit Stunner ready, Shaft looks around the boat house while sticking close to Caliban. "Hmm, big enough to be felt but not talkative. Can you tell if it's going for the Trap or holding back?"
A moment later, Caliban sees the something enter the building, striding right through the thin wall facing town. Her outlines are fully distinct: it's the ghost girl they met ten days ago. She does not look happy. Her dress floats around her, hair streaming back in an invisible wind, fists clenched at her sides. How dare you! she yells.
T-R-U-B-L, the ouija board replies, clacking quickly. L-A-M-P O-F-F.
Herbert quickly switches off the Lamp! "Is it her again?" he asks, looking around worriedly.
The monkey nods, while trying to sooth the spirit. We needed your help, miss, he tries. This was the only way we could think of to get your attention.
Shadows shift around the crates.
Marseilles clenches her fists and screws up her face. Suddenly, she's much more solid -- even Herbert can see her form, pale-skinned and wearing a white dress with pale pink ribbons. "You could," she growls to Caliban, "just come call like normal people."
We're sorry, but... We don't know where you live! the ape points out. The planchet spells out his response like a patter of hail on the window, W-E-R S-R-Y W-E D-O-N K-N-W W-R U L-V.
"Ah, hello there," Herbert says warily to the apparition. He isn't sure she'd like some wine though. "Sorry to disturb you, but.. I don't suppose you know where Trouble's ghost is, if he's still around?"
"I live at the Shelley house. On Shelley Road, near the water," the ghost says, as if everyone knows that. "And what do you mean, Trouble's ghost? Trouble's not dead!"
The monkey looks over at his master, his eyeridges visibly rising so they're obscured by the brim of his helmet.
"He.. isn't?" Herbert asks, surprised. With the Lamp turned off though, it's easier for him to think at least. "I was led to believe he had been killed at the camp of the beast-woman, Sarah St. John."
"He's not dead!" Marseilles repeats, crossing her arms. "I just saw him. He's fine. For Trouble he's fine, anyway."
Trouble is in fact, not a ghost, and here just as described. He's presently trying to chew through the line between the lamp and the trap.
"Well.. hey, stop that!" Herbert says as he notices the canine. "It's turned off, we aren't going to trap your friend!" He starts to move towards the animal, but then holds back, not wanting to provoke the ghost.
Tea? We've got some if you'd like, the monkey suggests. The planchet clacks the letters T-E-A, and then the monkey clutches his helmet, as if feeling pain. O-W B-A-D D-O-G.
Marseilles starts giggling at the sight of Trouble gnawing through the line. "Good boy!" she says, encouraging him and contradicting Caliban.
Trying a different tack, Herbert addresses Trouble directly. "Where you - or are you - the Companion to a man named Oldman?" he asks.
I never met her, St. John. Trouble looks up as Herbert advances. Met the stag, he's an opener, didn't take a liking to me.
Trouble still holds the cable in his mouth.
The monkey translates, D-O-G S-E-Z N-E-B-R M-E-T H-E-R M-E-T S-T-A-G O-P-N-R.
Caliban addresses Trouble, ooking at the live canid, We could really use your help, but would you mind not chewing on that? I'll get you something to eat instead.
"The dog is an Opener?" Herbert asks, looking surprised.
S-T-A-G O-P-N-R.
The old man I know is dead. St. John killed him. Why should I trust you? The coyote's jaw clenches, still around the cable.
"What is Trouble's alignment, if he is a Player?" Shaft asks, and moves (slowly) towards the corner where the staff is kept wrapped up.
"No, the stag is an opener. You don't spell very well," Marseilles says to the chimpanzee. She perches on the edge of one of the work tables. Other than her glowing pale blue eyes, she could almost be human. "What's an opener?"
"An Opener is someone who hopes to change the world on the coming night of the full moon," Herbert explains to the ghost. "Caliban and I are Closers. We think the world should develop without outside interference. Ah, here it is!" He takes out the long bundle and starts to unwrap the staff. "One of our fellow Closers was given this during St. John's attack back in Wales. Does Trouble recognize it?"
R-U-L-E-S, warns Caliban.
"She's a ghost," Herbert notes. "I'm pretty certain she doesn't count, being supernatural and all."
"Really?" Marseilles's eyes widen. "You could change the whole world on Halloween? Why wouldn't you want to? The world's not doing very well on its own," she adds grumpily.
The monkey looks worried. Also head-achey, judging from the way he's rubbing his temple. Trouble, can I just get you some bacon and you can chew on that? he ooks, raising his hands to take the helmet off.
"Change can be good or bad, young.. uh.. miss," Herbert explains. "It could make things much much worse. There's no way of actually knowing the outcome ahead of time." He holds the staff out towards Trouble, so he can get a good look at it. "Was this Oldman's staff?" he asks the dog.
That's not your staff. Trouble growls, and I think you're mistaken about other things too.
The monkey slips the helmet back on and dutifully translates. D-O-G S-E-Z N-O-T O-U-R S-T-A-F T-H-N-K-S W-E M-I-S-T-K-N B-O-U-T O-T-H-R T-H-N-G-S.
Marseilles tucks her feet up to just below the tabletop, hugging her knees to her chest. "I'd like things to be different," she says, wistfully.
"Well, I just said it wasn't our staff," Herbert notes. "We need to know if it was Oldman's staff. Maybe Trouble can actually use it." Turning back to the girl, Shaft calms down a little, and asks her, "What would you want to be different? My name is Herbert, by the way, and this is Caliban."
Nice to meet you, miss, Caliban ooks, doffing the helmet briefly like a fez or hat.
"I'm Marseilles, Mr. Herbert, Mr. Caliban" the ghost says politely, with a nod to them. "Marseilles Shelley." She hesitates. "Not really Marseilles, but that's what my dad used to call me and I like it better than Marcia." She makes a face at the name. "And I want to be real. Not to be ignored and scared all the time and stuck in my mansion except when people like you make horrible teasing promises that drag me out to places like this so you can stick me in some horrible little box."
Trouble drops the cable, for now, but is still hunched in a threatening position. Given a moment to study, there's some odd patterns to his fur. There are some light patches along his ribs, an almost foxlike colouration on his head. I know who it belongs to. What happened, are they dead now as well?
The monkey suggests, Let me get Trouble some bacon, I'll be right back. Can you 'drink' tea, Miss Marseilles? Cookies? I, uh, dunno what refreshments you'd like.
Marseilles helpfully relays Yotee's question to Herbert.
She adds, "I guess the good part about being dead is that you don't think all animals are dumb any more. I'd like tea. I can't drink it but it's nice to have a cup anyway."
The ape sets the helmet to the side, moves the third cup of coffee to a suitable table, then goes to fetch the promised refreshments. You got it, miss!
"Not the staff?" Herbert asks, and looks at it. "Did it really belong to the Beast? To St. John then?" Looking with sympathy to Marseilles, he says, "I'm afraid nothing can make you.. well.. real again. But you need to move on to Heaven. Is something holding you here? You seem to understand that you aren't alive, after all."
A few minutes of scrounging, and then Caliban sticks his head out to call to Trouble, You want that bacon cooked or cold?
The coyote slips aways from the cable, though closer to the trap.
"I don't want to 'move on'," Marseilles says, angrily. "I belong here! You move on if you want to. I'm staying." She drops her legs and crosses her arms over her chest stubbornly.
"But, don't you want to be with your family again?" Herbert asks the girl.
The coyote slips away from the cable, though closer to the trap. He stares expectantly at Herbert.
The monkey decides plain is probably fine, and brings out a plate with biscuits, some dusted with powdered sugar and some crunchy gingery confections, and another plate with a slab of bacon for Yotee. He sets these out.
"They're gone! You don't understand! I can't -- you think it's all letting go and moving on and you're all happy together again and it's NOT. It's just another kind of dying! I'm not letting go again!" Marseilles bursts into tears.
Noticing the dog's stare, Herbert says, "The Beast is dead, if this was hers." Then he blinks and instinctively reaches for the crying girl's shoulder - but stops short of touching her. "Letting go again? Tell me what happened to you, Marseilles. Maybe we can help.. even if only a little bit."
Cold is fine. Trouble answers Caliban.
Caliban hops back onto his chair, having snagged a cookie for himself which he crunches as he dons the helmet. The planchet spells out, MMM, then OOPS.
Marseilles shakes her head, hiding her face in her hands. "You wouldn't understand. Nobody does."
"Well, you might be surprised," Herbert says, and smiles to the girl. He then gestures to the Lamp, Trap and Engine. "I mean, do you know anyone else that has.. toys.. like mine?"
Caliban looks over at Trouble thoughtfully.
"If you understood anything at all you wouldn't call them toys!" she says with fresh anger, sniffling back tears. "They're horrible! You're horrible! You take people like me and cage them up and do I-don't-know-what-to them!" She hops off the table and runs over to Trouble to hide behind him.
The coyote glares at Herbert, looking as fierce as something his size can. I don't think you understand what you're doing. I think your trap is just that. You aren't offering freedom.
"Cage them up.. oh, the Trap," Herbert says. "Well, quite honestly you're the first person that got caught in it. And you're right, I can't offer you the sort of freedom you want.. but the sort you probably need."
"How do you know I'm the first person you caught? You wouldn't've even known you'd caught me if Trouble hadn't been here to save me!" Marseilles puts her ghostly arms around the coyote's neck as if hugging him for protection.
"Well, Caliban would have been able to talk to you and find out, if Trouble hadn't attacked," Herbert notes, realizing he's sounding like a chiding parent. "We can't force you to do anything, Marseilles. You said yourself that the light of the Lamp was the only thing that got you to leave your mansion. That means you aren't happy as you are, and want to move on."
Animal's don't like to be caged either, ask your ape. Trouble's eyes catch the light, one yellow, one blue, seeming to almost glow. The gate keeps spirits trapped here. The darkness is here.
"Wait, the gate?" Shaft asks Trouble. "Do you mean the one at the banefire? Please explain more."
"Just because I want to do something else doesn't mean I want to ... dissolve or vanish or whatever it is you think I should do. Who gave you all the answers?" Marseilles is still belligerant, but Trouble's talk gives her pause and she relays it to Herbert when she asks the coyote to elaborate.
Boss, maybe we should stop asking Miss Marseilles to move on, sometimes telling someone what to do just makes 'em more ornery, the chimp suggests. The planchet writes, STP ASKNG HR TO MV ON IT MKS HR MAD.
Shaft nods to Caliban, although it clearly pains him to see the girl left like this.
Trouble's ears flat back, his lips are peeled and show teeth. The darkness came, swallowing everything. The hill that took the vicar, that kind, it sleeps there. Mother stood against it, but she couldn't save them all. They're stuck here, waiting, hoping, for that gate to open so they can escape.
You're serving the wrong goal ape, do you even remember? The coyote asks.
Marseilles shivers as she translates this. She adds to it, "The Hill is horrible, too. It eats people and never ever lets them go."
Herbert frowns at this. "Who is Mother? Is she, by any chance.. a unicorn?" he asks, trying not to sound silly about it.
The ghost doesn't translate Trouble's comment to Caliban, since it wasn't to Herbert anyway.
"No, I don't think she's the unicorn." Marseilles doesn't seem to think that sounds silly. "We never did find the unicorn. Unless you found her later, Trouble?"
I found a stream that had met her, but never saw the unicorn. The coyote looks a little less threatening. She's one of mother's helpers, and the stag. That's how you know you're on the wrong side, when you find yourself up against them.
"But.. the stag was serving St. John," Herbert says. "And she.. she was a murderer."
Caliban looks at Trouble oddly. Maybe I don't, but I've always tried to do the right thing, he replies, hands moving as he ooks testily. You sound like the old tribe shaman. He was always, 'The spirits are angry, we must go to Kowabunga Hill' and 'The spirits move in mysterious directions, do not question them.' Are you saying you want the gate opened?
The planchet skitters around on the ouija board, but doesn't touch any letters.
"I don't know anything about the stag," Marseilles comments unhelpfully. She's sitting on the floor next to Trouble now, with her legs folded under her. "But Mother sounds like she'd be one of the good people, wouldn't she? Maybe you should introduce us, Trouble."
The coyote shifts his attention to the ape, his mouth in more of a feral smile. Well, what if the right thing is obeying the spirits. What would I have to do to convince you, come back from the dead? The spirits aren't angry, they're trapped, small, afraid, being preyed upon and forgetting all they know.
I will Marseilles, when I can. The coyote brushes against the ghost affectionately.
From outside the boathouse, there's a faint sound at the door. Miss Townes can hear voices inside -- Herbert's and Caliban's, and a girl's voice, and ... some other animal? She's not sure what.
"This is all.. very confusing," Herbert says with a sigh, and massages his forehead with the fingers of his right hand. "And..." he starts to say, then pauses as he hears something outside. Lowering his voice, he asks the ghost, "Can I see you because of the effects of the Lamp, or because you're doing something to make yourself be seen?"
"Yeah," Marseilles says softly to Yotee, when he talks about 'small, trapped, and preyed on'. "That's exactly what it's like. That's what I remember." She shivers.
The ghost wipes her hand over her eyes. "Something I do. If people want to see me, sometimes I can make them. It's tiring, though."
There comes a knock, and the doctor's soft voice can be heard. "Hello? Mr. Shaft?"
Caliban rubs his forehead again. The shaman never liked me anyway, I asked too many questions, he always said.
"Ah, Miss Townes," Herbert says, speaking up. "Just a moment please." He looks to the ghost and Trouble, and seems unsure of what to do next. "I have to let her in," he tells them. "Is that acceptable to you?"
Trouble continues, making a pleading noise, Think, think about what you've seen, what you know. Question then. Are you on the right side, are you sure? He also nods to Herbert.
Marseilles looks wary. She pulls back into the shadow of the Analytical Engine, but still staying close to Trouble. "All right," she says.
Herbert gets up and goes to open the door. "Good evening, Miss Townes," he says in greeting to the woman at he door.
The monkey perks up as he sees Miss Townes. Oh hey, Doc! If you've got anything for a headache, I think me and the boss could really use it now. He grins wryly and doffs the helmet to go get a fresh pot of tea ready.
The smallish woman at the door sort of dips in place, bending her knees in an informal parody of curtsey. "Good evening, Mr. Shaft, Caliban." She takes a step forward to come in, then stops short as she sees the other two. "Oh. You have... guests."
"This is Trouble," Shaft says, introducing the canine. "Apparently not the one you found dead at St. John's camp though, I take it?"
Shaft also looks outside to see if Slate is waiting or if Bernice came on foot.
Yotee lies on the ground. He doesn't look dead. You were mistaken. I never met St. John.
"Oh, it's you." Bernice eyes the coyote warily, looking as though she doesn't quite know what to make of him. She at least does sound sincere when she says, "Well, that's a relief. I wouldn't have wished what we found on most anyone."
Slate whickers and tries to hustle through the door even if she is a horse. Then she hesitates on seeing the coyote, shying back a foot.
"Please come in, I'm sure Yotee.. or Trouble as he was introduced to me.. will behave," Shaft says to the mare. "Besides, I think we could all benefit from a dose of horse-sense about now."
Miss Townes, can I borrow you a bit? calls Caliban from the boat where it's moored, sticking his head out of the inset door. Need to know what kind of tea you'd like!
Slate ducks her head and picks her way inside, whuffling at the assembly. Hello, she says to Trouble. I'm glad you're not dead, too.
St. John killed the old Indian, dragged him through the river and buried him in the woods. The coyote gnaws at the floor.
"So am I," the ghost girl contributes. "Trouble's onve of the nicest people I know."
Bernice turns her head to listen to the chimp for a moment, then looks back at the assembled, folding her hands in front of her skirts. Her rounded face is almost grave, vivid green eyes serious. "It affords me the opportunity to apologize for provoking you. I didn't mean to urge Slate in the direction we flew, it was my fault we frightened you, and my fault Slate was injured. If you'll excuse me, I'll be along shortly..." The young woman bends at the knee again, unruly hair falling into her face for a moment, and she turns away. "Coming, Mr. Caliban."
"That confuses me even more," Herbert says after hearing the translation of Trouble's statement. "St. John was an Opener, and from what you've said, it seems you are an Opener as well, Trouble. But your Companion was a Closer?"
Down in the galley, the ape check the kettle - any minute now, it should start whistling. Aha! He offers Miss Townes several cannisters of tea to inspect and smell for her preferences, then leans up to whisper to her.
Marseilles looks unhappy at the talk of death. Slate looks lost, but she doesn't interrupt or ask for explanations. Maybe the horse assumes it'll all make sense eventually.
Bernice stoops down a little to murmur an exchange with Caliban. She casts a glance over her shoulder, unable to disguise her interest in the goings on, but returns her attention to the ape, returning one of the cannisters to him. Darjeeling.
I never said what I was, just what I know, and it's hard to tell what side people are on, and sometimes they change. The coyote stands up, takes a few steps forward. I think all the openers have been killed, but one.
The ape nods and returns the others to the shelves, before bringing the freshly brewed tea - hot Darjeeling is surely more appealing than cold - back out.
"Miss Pau," Shaft confirms. "But she's under watch by.. those exorcists, witch-hunters, whatever they are. A nuisance is what I call them."
Where? With who? Trouble, Yotee, the coyote looks very interested in this news.
"Who's Miss Pau?" Marseilles asks Slate. The mare looks startled to be asked, and shies back from the ghost girl when she sees the girl's glowing blue eyes. But she settles down after a moment. A bit uneasy still, she explains as best she understands it, while Herbert and Yotee talk.
"She's with Dr. Green, at his clinic," Herbert explains. "But one of the clergymen is always there as well. They think she's a witch. We put a bit of doubt into the minds of others about that, and the good doctor certainly helped, but we couldn't prevent them from posting a guard. Although Pau assured us she can actually escape on her own if she needs to."
Bernice returns with Caliban, bearing a plate of biscuits while the simian carries the tea. She passes a little too close to Herbert as she arrives, her hip bumping him. "Oh, excuse me."
When Caliban returns with the hot tea, Marseilles motions fot the chimp to put it on the floor next to her. The ghost puts her hands around the steaming cup, but she doesn't pick it up or drink from it.
Herbert luckily didn't have any tea in his hand when bumped. "Oh.. uh, that's quite alright, Miss Townes," he manages to get out.
Caliban freshesn up everyone's tea. Hope you enjoy Darjeeling, Miss, he says, before settling in to sip some tea himself, and nibble on a cookie.
Where's the clinic? The coyote stands, starts pacing, looking at the door.
Since no one else is answering the coyote, Slate says, Dr. Greene lives over by the hills, northwest of town. He has an office at his house, that's what they mean by clinic.
"If you're thinking of rushing in to 'save' her, that probably would not do anything to allay suspicion," Herbert warns the coyote. "It might make things worse. Although if you could lead the witch hunters on a wild goose chase, I would be rather appreciative to have them out of the way for a time."
Bernice raises her tea to her lips, but pauses before she sips, glancing at Slate and Herbert. "The clinic is also under my protection," she says firmly. "Dr. Greene is both friend and innocent, and I won't have anyone making more trouble for him than we already have. I already regret dragging him into this as much as I did."
Okay. I'm good at chases. The coyote looks at Slate, You shouldn't. Ask Caliban first. Marseilles, don't let them trap you.
The monkey looks askance at Trouble. Ask me what?
"I won't," Marseilles promises. Slate looks as puzzled as Caliban.
"Wait, are you leaving?" Herbert asks Trouble. "You're the only one here who has any experience with past Games though! We still don't know anything about this staff, even."
About Spirits, about Mother, and what the Shaman said. Yotee starts towards the door. As he passes the table he turns and jumps, grabbing the end of the staff. He runs for the other end of the boathouse, the water exit. I'll let you know if I can do anything with this.
Bernice sets her tea aside, untouched. "Here's something to know about the staff. Trouble tried to st-.. NO!" At this, the woman leaps after the coyote!
"He's going swimming?" Shaft asks, incredulously. The snatching of the staff doesn't phase him though - he assumed it was a tool that belonged to Trouble's old master anyway.
"Stop him!" screams Bernice!
"What?" Herbert asks, still shocked by Bernice's lunge. "Isn't it his though?"
Oh, fer the lovva... The monkey bounds after the coyote, trying to grab the staff away - he knows he won't have much luck trying to grip the dog himself.
Bernice's lunge misses, and she falls to her knees on the floor trying to grab at Yotee's vanishing tail. Caliban's faster, and he manages to get a grip on the staff just as Yotee jumps into the water exit. The chimp teeters at the edge of the waterway. For a moment, he's holding himself, the staff, and the coyote all out of the water.
"What the.." Herbert says, getting up and hurrying towards Caliban now.
Then -- sploosh! Chimp, coyote, and staff alike fall into the water while the two humans scramble to intervene, too late.
The chimp, having seen that coming, grabbed a deep gulp of air. Using that, he tries to improve his grip on the staff with both hands, while using his feet to push the coyote away from the other end. He doesn't waste time or air trying to talk.
Let it go Caliban. The coyote struggles under water, still trying to swim away.
Herbert drops to his knees at the edge of the water. "Caliban!" he cries out, reaching to try and get a grip on his friend.
The chimp's body language says plainly he has no intention of letting it go.
Unfortunately for the coyote, the chimpanzee is much stronger than he is. The shaft of the staff slides between Yotee's teeth as he clings grimly to it. It stops when it reaches one of the capped ends. All three sink out of sight beneath the dark water, as Caliban's weight drags them down and the chimp is using all his limbs to wrestle the staff back from Yotee.
Slate prances nervously at the edge of the berth, having reacted far too slowly to do anything about the coyote's manuever.
The doctor scrambles to her feet at the edge of the boat, casting about in a near panic for anything to use to fish the struggling pair back up, and despairing of it. She's already kicking off her boots and tearing away her skirt.
"Wait a moment!" Herbert urges, and runs for the ramp to the Babbage. "I'll try to light them up!"
There's a net on a pole, half-hidden behind some of the crates lining the walls here. It doesn't look large enough to hold Caliban. Yotee, maybe.
The coyote's teeth grind against the metal cap. he isn't letting go, not that it makes a difference. the ape could probably using him as a flail if the mood struck. Let go Caliban, I have to take this. Think of what the Shaman said, maybe the spirits weren't wrong. Look at Marseilles, you saw how she felt. We have to open the gate, let me go.
Herbert reaches the bridge, and hurries to lift the arc-light from its holster so he can point it back down at the water.
You square it with the doc, the ape communicates back via body language, not letting go, trying to lever the coyote's jaws with the staff. She gave it to us to hold, not to you!
The net's not enough, but then again, Bernice isn't sure she is either. With her skirt stripped away to bare surprisingly sturdy looking legs, the woman takes a great gulp of air and dives into the churning water!
A pull of a lever connects the arc-light to the yacht's batteries, and the spotlight shines down into the water as Herbert tries to hold it steady against the railing.
Yotee has powerful canine jaws; while he can't come close to matching Caliban's strength and there's little risk of him ripping the staff free, he's surprisingly hard to shake loose. Caliban's feet slide against the slippery fur of the coyote's neck, dig in and catch. He must be bruising the other animal, but Yotee's not yet been forced to let go.
Both chimp and coyote are rapidly running out of air, sinking lower and burning oxygen in their desperate struggle over the staff.
Working his hands down the staff, the ape balls one fist and hits Yotee hard on the nose. Talk about it. Up there.
Bubbling in the dark water, the coyote twists, trying to swim away, unable, and unwilling to let go. He doesn't see, he doesn't understand. You think this is all a great game, it's not. When you die you disappear forever. That's what I know, each time, there's less and less. It's never been opened and the ones left behind are vanishing.
Bracing the lantern with his knee and one hand, Herbert tries to snatch a nearby life-preserver with his free arm.
The coyote's teeth slip free, the blow sufficient. They won't listen, they won't understand. They're all smug and sure.
Talk to the hand, grates Caliban. As the staff slips free, he uses his feet to shove the coyote down, then starts kicking his legs to power himself up in the water, raising it over his head.
With hard kicks, Bernice thrusts herself down through the murky water, arms reaching out to the struggling Caliban to try to bouy him up. Though she can't speak in the water, she can hear the voices, and she wills a response as best she can. And you're so sure? Why should we believe you over the Ovates?
Marseilles looks as puzzled as Slate by what's going on. She drifts to the water's edge with a frown on her face, looking down as Bernice siezes the staff and she and Caliban kick their way back to the surface.
Shoved down, outnumbered, with diplomacy one of his weaknesses, the coyote bubbles in a howl. He's sure, so sure, and failing so badly. Marseilles, help me! I need the staff.
"Don't let Trouble drown!" Herbert calls, ready to toss the preserver once someone surfaces. Noticing the ghost, he asks, "Can you get him, Marseilles?"
Trouble's an Opener for sure, Caliban gasps as his head breaks the surface. Dangit, boss, the stunner! Get the stunner!
Herbert has his hands full as it is, even if he could understand Caliban. The stunner is back on the table, next to the pistol.
Bernice's face comes up as well, the woman's hair plastered to her skull. She only takes the time to see that Caliban can be helped to the boat, then sucks in another gulp of air and down she goes again!
"Catch!" Herbert calls, and tosses the life preserver to the ape.
The ape grabs hold of the preserver, wrapping an arm around it before reassuring his death-grip on the staff. He starts dog-paddling toward the ladder.
Marseilles raises her hands, above Caliban and Bernice. She opens her mouth. "Give him the staff." Her voice is hollow and resonant.
Rowan2 finishes her pages and lets people pose again.
"Oh no, not again," Herbert mutters, recognizing that tone of voice. He turns the light on Marseilles, not knowing what the bright beam would do to a ghost, but hoping it would at least break her concentration.
In the light shining in the water, Bernice's long, smooth strokes can suddenly be seen to seize up, as if her body is wracked. Her limbs begin to thrash, and when her pause starts to let her float up, she suddenly claws her way down again. Oh God! The Hunt! The Wolves! No! Slate, save yourself! No! Noooo!
The ape cowers suddenly, seeing something not of this world - it seems to be much larger than himself, and and he is cringing before it. His fingers begin to open from around the staff--
Trouble swims for the surface, at first trying to avoid Bernice, less careful once she cries about wolf. He's heading directly for the staff. Once again his body language is clear.
What? Slate jerks her head up, looking around. What do you mean? Bernice, there not here, it's not happening! She bends her knees and lowers her head, trying to reach her thrashing mistress.
The ape's hands are before his face, as he begs not to be struck. Don't hit me! I'll be good! I'll be good!
The ghost is wavery in the arclight, her outline brilliant and blurring. It's as if she were expanding and thinning. Her skirt and hair flare around her, rising in an unfelt wind.
Herbert sets the light down on the deck, where it can stay aimed at the girl, and then runs for the ramp back to the boathouse.
Running past the Engine, Shaft grabs the armed stunner from the table without stopping, then turns on the ghost-girl and jabs at her with it!
The coyote breaks the surface, grabbing a gulp of air as his mouth clothes around the staff. He feels a second grip, but yanks his prize in desperation, pulling it free. He thrashes through the water, paddling underneath the docks. Marseilles, please be safe. Don't hurt them.
Bernice's fingers close around the staff briefly, desperately trying to hang on only to have it torn away. No! You must've have it! SHE mustn't have it! Wolves... damn them... no, I'll die if I have to!
Marseilles is at the center of an expanding cloud of light, with burning blue eyes. She doesn't even seem aware of Shaft when he reenters the boathouse. When he jabs her with the stunner, she freezes in place. Then the light goes out of her eyes, and out of the cloud around her. A moment later -- and she disappears to sight entirely.
The chimpanzee awakens. Mas-- He looks up at the docks where Mr. Shaft stands, and then his empty hands. His shoulders slump. Sorry, boss. I thought...
Setting aside the discharged stunner, Shaft heads over to the water's edge to help pull the swimmers out. He looks aggravated, to say the least.
The unnatural fear gripping Bernice's heart passes, but the initial fear she had is still there, and she kicks for the surface again for air. "He swam under the dock!" she gasps, a thrashing arm spraying an arc of water. "Slate, meet me on the other side!"
Slate rushes to obey. But even though Bernice is a good swimmer and she doesn't think that the coyote could've gotten far in the minute before Herbert stunned the ghost, she sees no sign of him or the staff in the water. Which is, granted, very dark and has poor visibility even during daylight, never mind night.
The chimpanzee clambers onto the docks. Miss Townes -- tell the boss, warm up the trap! Maybe we can trap Marseilles.
"She left her skirt!" Herbert calls to Slate, then is busy helping the waterlogged chimp, checking the dressings on his neck.
The ape points his master urgently in the direction of the Spirit trap.
"Right!" Shaft says, getting the message immediately for once. He hurries to disconnect the delicate folding trap from Engine, then brings it over to the spot still bathed in the actinic light of the arc lamp, where the ghost fell. "Let's see if she's still here."
Once activated, the trap immediately sucks up a spirit. It's brighter than the first one they caught this evening, but nowhere near as bright as Marseilles, the first time they caught her.
The monkey looks grim. I'm not sure if we got Marseilles... He pantomimes hooking the trap up, then points to the Engine, before moving to hop up into his chair and put on the helmet.
"She must have burned off a lot of energy during that little stunt," Herbert comments, then connects the trap back to the Engine and hurries back to the Babbage to turn off the arc-light before it draws unwanted attention. He also ducks into the cabin to grab a dry blanket for Caliban.
Bernice swims for the boat's side to haul herself back up, drenched and shivering, her ruddy hair and remaining clothes clinging to her dripping frame. "Wh-what happened?! We have to track that coyote down!" But she's not going anywhere half-naked and she knows it. She simply goes to get her skirt and wrap herself in it again, quickly soaking it as well. "... There's nothing to be done for it... no, wait! He'll be headed for Dr. Greene's house!"
Although the glow is wrong for Marseilles, it seems impossible that they could've caught anything else. It took over twenty minutes to grab two spirits earlier, and that was with the Lamp to attract them. It's highly likely that another spirit would've just happened to be hanging out dormant at the same spot Marseilles was stunned.
Herbert hands the blanket to Bernice without a word, a bit ashamed at having forgotten about her! He fetches another blanket for Caliban, then asks, "What will you do if you catch him though? Shoot him?"
As Miss Townes speaks, the ape stops mid-helmet donning. Oh yeah... You're totally right! We can talk to Marseilles later - you and Slate go first, me 'n the boss should try and catch up. He gratefully takes the second blanket.
"We have to get that staff back!" answers Bernice vaguely, looking unhappy and huddling under the blanket. She regains some of her composure, shaking some water out of her face. "The last thing I want to do is shoot him. If not just because I don't want to hurt him, then because gunshots in town will hardly help. But if it comes to his life or the lives of all of us and the balance of our world, I choose us. I won't let him, or Pau, or anyone endanger it. After what he said, the best thing we can do for the Openers is keep them out of the game."
Phillips Harbour
October 26, 1868. Pre-Dawn Monday morning.
When Randall and Yotee set out for the doctor's house, the coyote goes on ahead. As humans go, Randall makes relatively little ruckus moving around at night. But his Companion is noiseless: a far more skillful scout, if not necessarily a reliable one.
The doctor's home is set back a little ways from the road. It's a big A-frame house with two separate entrances at the front and at least four or five spacious rooms. The steps at one of the entrances shows a lot more wear from constant traffic, suggesting that leads to his clinic.
All the windows are shuttered closed against the night breeze. One of them is latched on the ouside and closed with a padlock. Most curious of all is the grey horse standing near that window, head down and apparently asleep.
Yotee pads silently back to Randall, who waits a few hundred yards away, to let him know the situation.
The doctor's house is outside of town. His nearest neighbor is a quarter mile or so away, in a hilly, forested area.
No lights are on in the house.
Slate is by a window, asleep. The coyote noses back in the direction of the house. His ears perk, listening. Bernice might be inside. I might find a way inside.
Randall mulls over the information Yotee brings him, then shrugs. "I had hoped to keep this civil, but I'm not willing to take any risks." he says quietly, looking around. "I think its safe to assume that window has Miss Pau behind it."
Yotee's ears flick, tracking obscure sounds in the dark. I'm all for jumping into a trap. Why leave her horse?
"I'm not sure, to raise the alarm if Miss Pau tries to escape? Or we came to free her?" Randall looks out into the night, picking out a path between here and the house. "Plan, plan, well, lets go with the brutal effective plan, eh?"
Miss Pau's bird doesn't seem to be around. I could talk with Slate, try to convince him he is on the wrong side. Yotee trots after Randall, If I fail, you could go to your plan, it would raise the same amount of alarm.
"No, it will raise more, because my plan is a frontal assault." Randall hunches down beside a tree, rifle in hand. "A simple plan, shoot the horse in the head while asleep, shoot the lock off the window, boost you in to free Miss Pau, and shoot anyone that shows their head." His voice is quiet and firm. "Got a better plan? Because for some reason, I really don't like my plan right now."
I can find a quieter way in. I can see if anyone is in there, awake. Maybe find rope, we could tie off the horse in her sleep. Yotee sits, looking up at Randall, his eyes glowing in the moonlight. Miss Pau could have gotten out if she was determined. The padlock isn't very secure. Some piece is missing to this, I could seek that.
"I'm not sure why you think Miss Pau could have gotten free. I just know,well, mybe Know, that this isn't as simple as it appears." Randall takes a moment to smear a bit of dirt on his forehead, and then ties the black bandana around his face. Pulling it down, he looks at the coyote and asks "How certain are you that you can get inside without drawing attention?"
The small shadow moves, standing, tail curling from side to side. I feel good about it, better than I do about shooting the horse. The townsfolk, they're the ones that were searching for her. She might reckon this a safe place to hide. He trots a few steps. Don't trade the staff for me; Ask for Marseilles.
A quiet snort, and Randall begins to find a good firing position. "Don't get caught, back out before you get in too deep." he mutters, moving around to a clear view of the horse and window.
Randall finds a reasonable position to settle into, with leaves from a tree close to him screening him from view of the house, and the trunk of a tree he can put his back to for cover. If necessary. Yotee pads back to the house.
The padlock, the horse, it makes that window very obvious and inviting, but the coyote prefers the way less travelled. Best not to go in guns blazing. Staring at the windows, trying to glean some sense of the inside layout, he works his way around to the other side and noses at a set of shutters on a darkened window. Maybe they forgot to lock every one. He makes a tiny whining noise, Let me in.
The shutters on the chosen window are unlatched, and in a moment the coyote has nosed them open. The interior is dark, but furnished like a parlor. There are four doors leading out of this room: the front door, plus a door at the back end and two set in the wall adjoining the other side of the house.
From Yotee's sense of the layout, one of the two doors in the adjoining wall would lead into the same room as the padlocked shutters.
There is a surge of motion from the small shadow, a flash of fur in the moonlight as the coyote moves from the ground, to the sill then into the room. He lands quietly on his pads, crouches low in the epitome of sneakiness and crosses the parlour. Four doors to choose from! His cup overfloweth. He heads for the most likely, listening for anything interesting behind the others.
The room smells of medicine, soap, and lye; the reek is even stronger from the other side of the door as he bends his ear to it. Yotee hears breathing from the other side: two people, deep and even, asleep. He can smell Miss Pau, faintly despite the chemical tang in the air. She must have been here a while. He's not sure who the other person with her is.
These old houses with their big doors. Sometimes they settle, sometimes the frame isn't quite right anymore. Yotee noses this one, licking at its bottom corner. Be nice.
The door opens wide without a sound. Yotee's night vision is fortunately pretty good, because with no candle lit and the shutters secured, the only light in this room is a faint glow through the stove grating. There's a narrow bed by the wall, with a sleeping form in it, and a woman in a chair -- Bernice Townes, at a guess -- with her arms folded around a rifle as she sleeps. There're a few tables, cabinets, and medical supplies and utensils in here as well.
Yotee quietly observes, noting the direction the rifle lays. Fortunately it's pointing over her shoulder. If it went off, it'd hit the wall or ceiling. Probably wouldn't hurt anyone... Sure would surprise the heck out of them...
It's hard to pick out scents over the smell of medicines in this room. Miss Pau has spent a lot of time in this room recently, and her scent has been imprinted on it. Miss Townes hasn't -- but judging by her outline and what he can make out of her face, Yotee's pretty sure that's her in the chair.
The bed is more cot than bed. There's enough space between it and the wall for a person to walk, but the cot wouldn't provide much concealmnt from anyone in the room, even from its far side.
Yotee weaves his way across the room, keeping near heavy furniture. Hopefully they'll have already worked the squeaks out of the floor. Those boards in the middle, he can tell they'd love to give him away; Lying, squeaky boards. He threads between the wall and cot. It's not very helpful either, with its thin mattress, tight sheets, he'll have to hide in plain sight. He mounts the bed and wriggles up against the form like he's supposed to be there. Hopefully she's used to animals snuggling close. Hopefully she's facing him.
Pau awakens, but not noisily. Her fingers find his coat, twine into it. Her eyes blink in the darkness. She doesn't speak.
Her face is licked, curiously, frantically. This is followed by a cold nose examining her wrists, checking for ropes. He'll wriggle all the way down her front if he has to, seeking bindings or bandages, any clues to her condition.
Bernice stirs in the chair, shifting the rifle on her shoulder. Her breathing changes, settles again. She doesn't sound like a deep sleeper.
Pau fights not to giggle, a smile on her face. She's not restrained. She puts one finger to Yotee's mouth, a 'shhh' gesture, and shakes her head.
The Chinese woman isn't bandaged, either. She appears to be in good health.
Yotee doesn't speak, and ceases squirming. He lies quietly against Miss Pau, giving Bernice some time to slip deeper into sleep while he waits on some sort of inspiration and jumbles what he knows in his mind. Why would they need him to cause a distraction, when her location was known and Bernice is the jailor?
Bernice's breathing remains a bit uneven. She shifts again. Pau shakes her head in silence at Yotee. She looks around; as her eyes adjust to the near-total darkness, she spots the outline of the open door. She points to Yotee, and then to the door. It looks more like a command than a question.
She doesn't want to be rescued, it doesn't make sense. Maybe he's been hit in the head too many times, maybe not nearly enough. Yotee really wants a drink, the medicines are very tempting. When this is all over, he's going to find some barrel of whiskey and do his best to forget the entire thing. He accepts her command, waits for a regular stretch in Bernice's breathing and slips off the bed. Floor to door, with his tail brushing its edge to convince it to close after him.
A moment later, Yotee is back in the parlor with the door closed silently behind him. This must be a good night! He's rarely been this stealthy, for this long, at any time in the past.
This would be the perfect time to push his luck! Maybe there's a lamp to knock over, some books to chew. The possibilities are endless. Yotee is about to embark on a rampage of destruction when he remembers, a noise will mean failure and likely Slate's death. The subsequent gunbattle wouldn't be pleasant either. Some things Randall was just meant to know, reluctantly the coyote slips out through the window and goes to tell him.
Randall listens quietly to Yotee's report, the dulled brass receiver of the Henry rifle gleaming lightly through his fingers. After a quiet moment, he shrugs and says "That's for it, then. I'm here because you were sure of the need to ride to rescue, and with that out of the way, I think a quiet walk home is in order."
The coyote is not satisfied with this option, he wants to chew it some more. He starts gnawing at his right front paw. The townspeople think she's a witch, that she talks to animals. They were going to kill her, they killed St. John, I think. Bernice convinced Doctor Greene to hold her. Maybe she wants to escape, but it can't be in a magical way, it has to be an obvious way. Maybe Bernice is there to pretend she tried her best to keep her locked up.
Randall stops getting up, and settles back down, back against the tree. After a moment passes, he starts to say something, stops, pulls down the bandana and says simply "What?"
I could howl. I could chase something inside. I could bite the horse, knock over a coal stove. He keeps chewing. He's not actually trying to gnaw his paw off, he isn't actually caught in a leg trap. It's all metaphorical, but the habit remains.
"No, that's daft. Plain and simple. She's here, she's not trying to escape, and she wanted you to leave." Randall shakes his head, and adds "I'm going back to bed, you know, that nice warm bed a cold nosed coyote woke me out of a wee bit ago?"
But the Witchhunters got convinced she wasn't a witch, that instead she's sick, and that's why she's in the doctor's care. Yet that doesn't explain the Closers wanted a distraction. Maybe so they could kill her? Yotee looks up suddenly, eyes illuming in the dark. I know! You go ask the horse, I'll cover you with the gun!
"I think I'm back to 'what?' again. Distraction? What distraction? I'm missing something, where did this come from?" confusion obvious in Randall's tired voice.
That's why the Closers told me where she was, they wanted me to do something, start a chase. I stole the stick before I found out why. He whines and digs at the ground.
"I think I'm more inclined to go with what Miss Pau wants, than with the Closers. If they were the ones to have killed St. John, then they might well want to get Miss Pau out alone, and trim the odds down a bit more in favor of closing the Gate." Randall patiently replies, as he unties the bandana and swipes at the dirt on his face. "If they weren't, and it was those witchhunters getting out of hand, then she may think she's best staying where she is for now. Give it a day or two to settle down, then come back and talk to her again. Or go talk to her bird, see if it can talk to her."
Okay. I'll look for the bird. It's better than gnawing at a limb.
"Well and good, then. Try to not get Miss Pau in more trouble, Trouble, and if you could poke around St. John's lair for anything that might have been overlooked, that might be profitable." Randall slides the rifle into the burlap sack, knowing it really won't hide the fact he's carrying a long gun, and walks off in the darkness, heading home.
Yotee waits. Quietly at first to give Randall time to get some distance, then in an increasingly more agitated fashion. His foreleg is starting to hurt, a result of too much chewing. He sucks on it instead, then he starts biting at ticks and fleas. He has to find a little bird. He'd like to find Marseilles. He'd like to know what's going on, it's as if there's a great big hole he should still recognize from all the clues.
He's not even sure he remembers how Miss Pau acted. She did command him to go, it wasn't a terrified plea that was so suppressed he mistook it for an order? Were they waiting for an excuse to shoot her? Bernice was friendly when she thought Yotee was a closer, killed by St. John, but who killed St. John? Who thought it was a good idea to slaughter all the forest animals.
Miss Pau didn't seem frightened. He can remember her smiling when he licked her face, and the touch of her hand in his fur was firm, not tremulous or shaken.
The coyote paces in a small circle, swaying off in a direction, then deciding against it and going back to chasing his tail. Stir up the Bee's nest and steal the honey! He could howl right now. Or howl later, go to Marseilles' house and call for her and see if anyone shows up. Or find a Nightingale in the night. Or wait till morning. None of these options seem like a full house.
And perhaps what Yotee really wants is a royal flush.
He'll have to bluff. Yotee pads towards the house, looking for a well lit spot directly behind Slate at the edge of the trees. He positions himself so he can be easily seen, but also disappear in an eyeblink. He steps into the moonlight and keeps his bark low intending only the horse to hear. He wuffs, hey.
Slate jerks her head up and spins about. You! She gives a loud, braying whinny and stomps her hoof against the ground.
Yotee turns into the shadows and vanishes, putting a thick tree between him and any bullets that might come a wizzin'. He waits to see what happens next.
Slate shouts, Bernice! Wake up! The coyote's back. She clomps determinedly forward. You! Give me back that staff you stole!
Bernice snaps awake with a little snort, and looks around, briefly disoriented. "Guh!" On hearing her friend's call, she quickly gets to her feet, heart already trying to catch up with a brain trying to lurch into full alert. Shaking off a rush to the head, she takes a quick glance around to get her bearings before heading to the office door, Henry slung over her shoulder.
In the antechamber, Locke is sitting up himself. "What's wrong?" he asks, putting his feet into his boots.
Bernice closes the office door behind her. "I thought I heard my horse whinney, and some noise outside! Did you hear anything?"
"Only the horse," Locke says. "Some animal after it?" Slate's still making noise. His own pistol is in his hand as he goes to the door and steps outside.
Outside, Slate takes a wide berth around the tree Yotee stepped behind. She's cautious about getting too close to him. D'you hear me? What're you doing here? Where's the staff?
The woman starts to hurry after Locke, but pauses, glancing back at the office door. She takes one of the glass jars full of cotton and hefts it.
Slate whickers in frustration. Where'd he go? She circles farther around the tree the coyote disappeared behind, turning her head this way and that as she looks for him. Locke calls out, "Who's there?" He approaches the horse with an open hand. "There now, girl, it's all right."
It takes a second or two to step on a chair and put the jar at the top of the office door, and then Bernice is quickly outside, a hand holding her skirts to catch up to the Reverend. "Did you see anything, Reverend? Is Slate alright?" She casts about in the darkness.
Moonlight, shadows, dark hollows at the base of trees, the barest glimpse of a patch of leaves. Night noises, near, far. Was the coyote even here, or was it a dream?
I'm fine! Slate whickers, shying back from Locke's hand. But I saw that cursed coyote! He was right here, and now he's gone.
The tracker in Bernice quickly brings her lower to the ground, trotting her near the tree to paw at stems of grass.
A cloud passes over the moon, leaving Bernice and the others in near-total darkness. The young woman can't find a thing to tell her if another animal was even out here. Slate stomps her hooves in frustration. It wasn't a dream! she protests. I'm sure of it. He was right here!
"What's gotten into your mare, Miss Townes? I don't hear anything else out here," Locke says.
It's pre-dawn, and dark indeed. But there's a lightening at the edge of the eastern sky that promises the sun will be up before much longer.
A bewildered and very frustrated Bernice stops and nearly puts her foot in a gopher hole, and she peers about helplessly. "She reacts like this when she sees a wild predator, Reverend. Her senses are very keen, I'd trust them over my own.. but I can't see a blessed thing!"
"Me either. Sun'll be up soon, though. We may as well wait out here with her," Locke says, "and make sure whatever it was doesn't come back." He sounds suspicious, though not of Bernice. "No point in going back to sleep now."
Bernice nods, her frown darkening her round face nearly as much as the reluctantly retreating night has. "I suppose not," she says, moving back over to Slate to give her mare a fond pat. "There, girl, whatever it was is gone now. I'm glad you're keeping an eye on us." She turns her head slightly to regard Locke, fidgiting a little now that she's not so very sure what to talk about. "Erm... I hope your rest was untroubled before this, at least, sir."
Locke nods, turning about to survey the area despite the darkness. "I slept fine, thank you, Miss Townes. Perhaps one of us should check on Miss Pau."
Bernice leans close to touch her forehead to Slate, cherishing a moment of closeness before she sighs inwardly and returns Locke's nod. "I'll see to it, sir." Turning back to her mare, she fishes in the pocket of her apron for a bit of paper wrapped around a lump of sugar, and offers the contents up before she has to return to the office.
... and somewhere a coyote is up to good, but that's neither here nor there. Coyotes are always trouble.