Phillips Harbour
Wednesday, October 28. Morning.
When Bernice wakes in the morning, she is greeted by the curious sight of Islington on her table, pawing through Girard's books. A handful of makeshift bookmarks -- hair ribbons, handkerchiefs, and one catwhisker -- poke out from between the pages of a few books. He's intent on the latest page, and doesn't notice her stirring.
Bernice sits up in bed, her unbraided hair a halo of wisps that the light streaming in through the windows gives a ruddy glow. She rubs her eyes with one fist, then gathers her nightgown around her legs and swings them out of her cot. "G'morning, Islington. Hard at work already?"
G'morning. Yeah, I did lotsa catnapping on the Babbage. Hasn't been much else to do with missus gone. 'Til this. Islington glances up from the book, tail waving slowly. Found a few possibilities for you. Well, three, technically, but I'm pretty sure one of them won't work. Of the other two, one looks real dangerous but will probably be fast. Like, an hour or two to send a message if you're lucky. Longer if you're unlucky. And, well, never if things go real bad. The other way isn't completely safe, but it's a lot less risky. And slower. Half a day, maybe a full day, to get it through.
The doctor squints in thought for a moment, or she may just be blinking some sleepiness away. It's been difficult to sleep lately, not that Bernice has ever been a deep sleeper to begin with. "Well, let's hear about what dangers are involved while I fix you, Slate, and myself some breakfast."
Sure. Islington jumps to the little countertop next to the stove as Bernice moves about. The riskier one amounts to having you take the message yourself. Only not in person, 'cause that's slow. You have to go astral for it. You ever gone outside your body?
Bernice has to think about this a moment, and she answers after returning from the water pump with a filled kettle, which she puts on the stove. She fiddles with lighting the stove, saying, "I don't think I have, despite some strange experiences. But the way Trouble talked about the Hill and everything going on there, I get the impression he did. He looked very drained when he came back."
Oh yeah, that makes sense. It'll wear you out fast, leaving your body. You go through a ritual -- it's pretty straightforward -- and then you pop out of your body. That part's disorienting, because nothing looks the same when you're astral. There's still a connection between you and your body, your 'astral cord'. It gets more attenuated and fragile the farther you go. If you're not careful, or if something attacks you, it can break and you'll be lost, Islington explains. To send a message that way, you would leave your body and then focus very hard on the person you want to find. Since Girard's a mage, you ought to be able to find him -- most people aren't 'real' enough astrally to be found, if that makes sense. But he'll be far away, and there may be obstacles. And your cord might break. Like I said. Dangerous.
The woman's broad mouth twists contemplating this disturbing method. She's gotten used to a lot of strange ideas over the course of the month, but this still sounds unsettling to her. She begins cubing a beefsteak she'd kept chilled with the help of the chilly October weather. "What's the next option entail?"
Different ritual. You catch two mated birds, and put them both in a pentacle. You tell them the message you want to relay, and then ask which will carry it. (There's a little symbolic doohickey you can use to test this, for mages who don't understand animals, but you can just ask.) If one agrees, you feed the other and give it a physical copy of the message. Then wait six hours, then kill the bird you still have while burning a copy of the message. Then the spirit of the dead bird will deliver the message, Islington explains.
Bernice pales a little, her knife nearly slipping. "I can't do that," she says. She shifts uncomfortably where she stands by the stove, trying to explain why. "It's one thing to eat a creature. That's part of the natural cycle of things. And service animals, that's a symbiotic arrangement. Taking a mated pair, and asking one to die.. I think I'd as soon gamble on the astral rope. What's the third option, the one you don't think would work?"
You can eat the body afterwards, if it'll make you feel better, Islington offers. Or I'll eat it. I don't mind. Sacrifice is part of magic.
The doctor shakes her head. "It doesn't work that way. I'm still asking it to die for the wrong reason, and when I can do the task myself. I can cull a threat and I can hunt to eat, but if I can't... oh, I'm probably just sounding irrational now. Still, what's the one you don't think would work?"
Oh, all right. 'S your neck. Islington lies on the counter, obviously thinking Bernice is being irrational about it. The one that won't work says to dig up the body of someone recently buried and cut off the tongue and ear. Then you whisper your message to the ear and burn both tongue and ear in a place of power.
Bernice blinks. She resumes chopping, but at a slow, contemplative pace. "And besides the obvious problems involved in digging up cadavers, what're your misgivings about this one?"
I don't think we can find anyone dead recently enough. Unless you killed him yourself, which I figure if you're not going for the bird you're not going for a person, either. St. John would qualify, maybe, except that she's not properly dead what with being in the Hill and all. Also, you can't ask dead people to cooperate. Well, you can, but you can't tell if they agree or not. At least I can't. The Necromancer could but I never understood how and there's nothing in here explaining that bit, or how to coerce them if they don't agree. So I dunno how this one would work, Islington explains.
"St. John crossed my mind, and I've no qualms with putting that monster to work, but no sense in going on a wild goose chase for something that might not work at all." The woman sighs, and puts the cubed meat into a saucepan, along with some mild seasoning. A touch of this and that soon has the meat cooking in a savory-smelling gravy. "I should have asked how rich you like your fare.. I've more meat if you prefer it uncooked. Anyhow, while the risk entailed in the astral travel is unnerving, I think it's the gamble to take. Potentially, we could save ourselves a day getting Girard back here, and with it already being the 28th, every hour counts." She laughs a little half-heartedly, stirring the saucepan. "And if I break my cord, I'm no great loss."
Islington mewls at her. Don't talk like that. We ain't got so many Players left that we can afford to lose any. I wouldn't trade you for this Girard guy, that's a fact. His bird was a smart cookie but him ... mph. He licks his lips at the smell of cooking meat, leaning forward to sniff at it.
The gravy is thickening now, bubbling into a creamy sauce, the beefsteak tenderizing in it. Some green onion gets chopped into the mix, not so much that it should disagree with the feline. The doctor picks a cube out with her wooden spoon and chews the morsel thoughtfully. Deciding the disk is done, she takes up a dish to spoon Islington a serving, setting the steaming food aside. "I don't know... Girard's a magician, he understands these things. He and Horus should be a solid asset. I'm not really sure what I can do. But... you're right, I shouldn't speak like that." She takes a breath in, straightening her back and puffing her chest out a bit. "What I need to do, I'll do. For now, that'll mean getting the message out and then getting properly back into my body, queer a thought as that is."
Like I said, your neck. Islington laps at the saucer. I'd use the birds, myself. But I said I'd help and I will. We can get started after breakfast.
Bernice nods briskly, moving the saucepan of the remaining cookery to a cooler part, and wiping her hands thoroughly. "Alright, I'll get done up and see to Slate's breakfast. Shouldn't be long."
Once everyone has eaten and the dishes cleared away, Islington and Bernice set about preparing the ritual. It requires a number of arcane supplies, all of which Islington seems to think anyone should have. Several of them are rather too arcane for Bernice to keep on hand. On some they make do with substitutes -- Sure, you can use a rifle instead of a silver knife, it's just symbolic. Not like you have to cut anyone with it -- but there are a couple that she simply has nothing that will do, in Islington's firmly-decided opinion. Let's go back to the Babbage. Shaft's got all kinds of stuff, he'll have a big crystal or something you can use, I'm sure.
The doctor already seems to think she's in over her head, but at this point in for a penny, in for a pound. "Right. Let's be off!"