Phillips Harbour.
Friday, October 30. Predawn.
Neither Shaft nor Caliban got much sleep the night before. They spent much of the night experimenting with the seal and the 'spirit-prof' material Shaft has on hand. They ripped apart the walls of the darkroom and Shaft manufactured a couple of test 'shields' from the panels in the floor and ceiling. But the 'shields' don't protect Caliban, at least, from the effects of Solomon's Seal -- no better than mere distance and ordinary air does. The latter does work -- their test Seal isn't potent from more than five yards away, against Caliban, and it loses potency quickly. The dropoff looks to be roughly exponential, with full potency being anything within a foot of it.
Somewhere during all this, Caliban finds time to spy on the Witchhunters. They're saying their bedtime prayers by the time he snoops on them, and all he learns is that those prayers included a request that their 'associates may come on the morrow and not on the next day, and that this assistance shall not arrive too late.'
So it is that on Friday morning, they wake up late. But it's still early enough for the morning memorial service for Mrs. Everchild. It's at the small village church, unsurprisingly. Good as her word, Miss Pau is there with Mrs. Stephenson. Few others are in attendance: Madame Mysteria, the witchhunters and the local pastor, and a few vaguely familiar locals. Rev. Hale delivers a sober eulogy, sparse on details but not without feeling.
The chimpanzee looks sniffly through the funeral, staying close to his master's side. He carries a bouquet of white flowers, bound with a white cord, to be placed on her casket when the time comes.
Given the state of the corpse, it's unsurprisingly a closed casket funeral. After the service, the attendees form a slow procession through town, following the undertaker's horse-drawn hearse and the casket. Mr. Shaft, Caliban and Miss Townes bring up the rear of the procession. Even the chimpanzee attracts little attention on this somber occassion. At the cemetary, Shaft is drafted to be one of the six pallbearers carrying the casket to the grave. They lower it in, and Shaft takes the opportunity to place a bouquet of flowers on the casket before the burial. It's bound with a yarn that includes strands of Islington's fur.
Afterwards, the undertaker and his assistants fill in the grave while the attendees leave. Miss Pau passes the word to Miss Townes in a whisper that the undertaker will be going to Mrs. Stephenson's house for lunch afterwards. In case it's important for them to know when the cemetary will be empty of living occupants.
Caliban ooks softly to Bernice, She was good people.
Dr. Townes has swapped her customary riding skirts and rough-spun blouse for more stately clothing of mourning black, topped with a broad hat. Her normally full lips look like they're drawn into a bow, and her face is a little pale, the funeral bringing many uncomfortable reminders as well as rememberances of the wise old woman. She nods at Caliban, murmuring, "I wish I'd gotten the chance to know her sooner."
"Hopefully you may get a chance to know her further then," Shaft whispers. "If things work out with the seance."
Better later than never, the chimpanzee comments dryly, as they watch the people filtering away. We tied some of Islington's hair into a strand for the bouquet. I figured maybe it'd help us form the side-kick connection.
There's a kind of reception for the mourners in the undertaker's parlor, but most of the attendees stay only as long as is decent, and have withdrawn before the gravediggers are done filling it in. The witchhunters stick to themselves, polite but cool to Shaft and his fellows. Even Shaft and Townes can't linger too long without making the undertaker wonder. They withdraw to wait for him to finish his work and head out.
After what seems like forever, but is only a few hours, the undertaker and his assistant leave the cemetary grounds deserted at last.
When Bernice returns, it's with a furtive and guilty look, her gloved hands wringing themselves nervously. Even with all she's gotten used to over the past month, she seems ill at ease here.
Girard and his falcon meet the others outside of the cemetary. He brings Islington with him, and smiles to put Bernice at ease. "Good day," he says, softly.
Herbert is a bit on edge as well - not because of the location, but because he worries about the witchhunters showing up. "I suppose we're all ready then?" he asks nervously. "What do we need to do?"
The chimpanzee pats his master's hand, though he looks a little nervous as well. He keeps looking up at the trees, inspecting them for birds. Boss, one of us had better keep watch, he suggests. Want me to do it?
Islington wriggles out of Girard's arms and onto the ground. Mrs. Everchild never minded doing daylit seances. Hope she doesn't mind coming for one now. You got the rope for the pentacle, Caliban?
Shaft nods to Caliban, knowing the ape is better at keeping hidden.
Horus appears to be squawking away with the cat that follows Girard, being surprisingly animate with something that's supposedly his arch enemy in the animal kingdom. When Girard nears the others, the bird pauses and looks up, resuming his more sombre and austre presence.
Bernice offers a smile in turn, still fretting but at least relaxing a little with Girard's presence. She looks on quietly and attentively.
Caliban opens his black dress jacket and takes it off so he can reach the coil of rope that was in the back. This may explain why he sat up so straight in church. Right here, Islington, an' I got the weights too. He offers these up to the doc.
Hey, Horus, while I set up why don't you tell them about your idea? Islington says to the falcon. He has got a doozy for you guys, the cat asides to Bernice and Caliban.
Herbert glances at Horus, and asks the bird, "I don't suppose you could teach your 'talking' trick to Caliban as well?"
A good doozy or a bad one? asks Caliban, now curious. He glances toward the road now and then.
Weird one! The cat seems cheerful about it, though. He's a smart bird, I'll be impressed if he can pull this one off. He takes the rope in his mouth and beckons Bernice to the graveside to act as his hands, since she's the only human who can understand him.
The woman dutifully scurries to Islington, kneeling by the graveside to take the rope and wait for the cat's instructions. "What's this idea? I'll share it with Mr. Shaft while you explain it."
Caliban picks out a good vantage spot, not in the trees since his vision could be obscured by branches, but peeking out over the tombstones, to survey the road. If I was youse, he suggests. I'd have some hiding places in mind if someone comes by to see what's up.
Perhaps, the falcon answer with telepathic neutrality, but we lack the time. The hour grows short, and the sand of the hourglass piles like the dust of fallen nations. As for the plan ... Horus's gaze sweeps across those present, as does his amost audible pause, ... Yes, you're correct Islington, the time has arrived. Very well, I shall explain. The first is strategy, the second is resource and foundation. I have come to know that the Masters are powerful, great in their limitless proto-magics. But, they are not wise. Indeed, they are foolish and whimsical -- at weakness. Let the cleverness, knowledge, and wisdom of this world be our sword when we come to face them. That, is the strategy. As for the resource and foundation ... There's another one of those ominious Horus-pauses. The bird seems to be collecting his thoughts.
The gravesite is, thankfully, well back from the road and near the forest line. It's next to Mrs. Albason's defiled grave, and convenient to escape into the wild undergrowth if necessary.
Can you give us the tuppence version, Prof? asks Caliban.
/We have all come to know the spirit-being chimeras, the algamations, the severed halves and broken pieces that have formed greater wholes. The- ... / The bird pauses again, but this time he just sounds plain interupted. His gaze settles on Caliban, and then his head bobs. /Yes, yes, the 'short' version./ He sounds a little disappointed. /Very well. It is within my power to touch the mind of others, within limits. I am in need of assistance, that I may project my mind further. Know that within the world are my student's students, great partitioners of magic and their schoosl. I would contact them. I would speak with you. There is a great question and challenge before me, before us: if I call, will the spirits come? I believe it is within possibility to gather unto us a great many spirits, forming one who is greater still. Knowledge, the wisdom of lives, and the strength of many would be our ally. We might match a Master in terms of raw strength, but more, we would have a great memory to draw from. This
is my plan./
Wait a minute here, you're sayin' you want to call in your buddies an' gang up on the Master? queries Caliban, still keeping a vigilant eye out.
The prof doesn't really do 'short', Islington notes to Caliban. Bernice lays out the pentacle. He uses a paw to straighten out one of the lines of the rope. Oh, it's better than that. He wants to make one gigantic spirit out of everyone. Like a good-guy version of the Hill. No, the candles go on the inside this time, Doc, sorry.
"Create.. how would it function?" Herbert has to ask. "We know that you can fuse spirits together, but without a spirit's knowledge of how to be a spirit, and some unifying will, would it really be effective? Are you suggesting merging all of the worlds wizards into the Unicorn?"
Bernice looks up from the graveside. "Kari said there were problems with combining spirits, didn't she? Doesn't Marseilles have some difficulties with that?" She stops short, then quickly replaces the candles where indicated. "Oops... there, is that right?"
Prof, it's my experience that when you get a whole bunch of 'larned' people together, opines Caliban. You don't get wisdom, you get an argument.
Caliban gives his master a sidelong look, as if expecting confirmation.
"She does indeed," Herbert notes. "She struggles with the remnants of the Manor spirit, and is only 'herself' at all because Mrs. Albason's personality let itself.. die. To coordinate that much knowledge and be able to come to quick decisions would require.. oh."
Yes, that is the ... 'gist' of it, Horus answers. But it is far more than a simple weapon. Know that I dislike to interfere with the actions and fate of mortals, even my student, which I merely guide. But now is not the time for neutrality. Now, I would call the world to speak for, and defend, itself. It is the path of unity. The bird's gaze sweeps again, but at least he doesn't pause. There are difficulties. This is why information is required. The foundation of this great spirit has been set, but there remains details. This is why I put to you all these questions. This is why I would call my disciples.
"What would become of this created spirit afterwards though?" Herbert asks. "What use is victory over the Masters if we're simply replacing them with one of our own creation?"
Mind on the seance, the chimpanzee whispers to Bernice and Islington. We want to get this done before the undertaker gets back.
That's it, doc. Islington nods his furred head in approval. He perches by the gravemarker with his tail curled around his paws. He twitches his whiskers at Caliban's observation. Once Bernice is done with the preparations, he circles the pentacle three times clockwise, then three times widdershins.
The doctor sits back from her handiwork at Islington's nod, and rests her hands in her lap. "Well, if there's a way for all the spirits to put their power to one purpose, maybe if by a temporary amalgam... even then, they might not match the power of the Masters, but I should think every advantage would help."
I still think you're going to get a committee, surmises Caliban gloomily.
Herbert purses his lip in thought, and refocuses on the seance itself.
There is, within this world, a force that does not exist in the spirit world. This force is death, and it is one spoke on the wheel, one point in the Great Cycle. I intend to ground this great spirit to this world, and its cycle. Thus would the great spirit be that of life and death, of birth, and of endings. Thus would it rise when renewal rises, as the sun in morn, only to die as the day is done. In time, might it rise again, that it usher in a new cycle. Horus's feathers ruffle a bit; perhaps he's annoyed for people talking during his lecture. To put is in more simple terms, it will be a great spirit of this world. When its time is done, it should die, and release itself unto the world, only to rise again as the cycle comes to a close. That is how it shall release its souls.
The chimpanzee hssts to Islington. We got Trouble, he reports. And a fox. He pauses. I think it's Marseilles.
As Islington finishes the last circle, he motions for the others to take their places: Horus, Girard, Townes, and Slate each at one point of the pentacle, and himself at the fifth. He's halfway through the summoning ritual, and Girard and Slate can feel something stirring, when Caliban interrupts them. Oh great. Do we pack up for them? Do we care? The cat flags his tail in annoyance. It's not like they don't know we're in it to our eyeballs already.
"We could use Marseilles' help in this," Herbert notes. "A guide spirit to help Mrs. Everchild find her way back."
"I think it's fine," murmurs Bernice, shaking her head. "Trouble just likes to sneak around, it's in his nature... and I think he's sort of adopted Marseilles."
The chimpanzee nods. He waves a hand to them to beckon them over.
I do not trust Trouble. Be wary, and do not confide that which you would not risk, Horus advises.
What else is new? asks Caliban rhetorically.
Islington nods to Caliban and Dr. Townes, and resumes the seance. The fur along his spine bristles, and the candle flames flicker in a cold October wind. There's another presence here, but it's a weak one. Islington stands and mewls plaintively, exerting himself in an effort to make it stronger. Penny! he calls out.
Bernice has taken her place with Slate, and her skin prickles. Not knowing what else she can do, she tries to lend her will to Islington, able to see in her mind the little old lady she met not so very long ago.
The chimpanzee thinks thoughts of tea and cookies toward the spirit. It's how he remembers her best.
Horus remains with his head tilted down, as if deep in thought. He had only met the old woman briefly, and his way has never been to focus on death. Still, calling is something he knows well enough, and he ponders the arcane mysteries of contact beyond the grave.
Being the odd-soul-out, as it were, Herbert just tries to be.. open. He also begins to wonder if he should have brought some necroplasm to try and reinforce the woman's ghost.
At length, Islington sits back down, curling his tail around his feet. She's here, but ... there's not much left of her. She says she spent herself in a death-curse on St. John, and all she wants to do now is rest. He mews sadly.
Trouble enters the graveyard now, with the vixen in black lace following him. She yips a few times, playfully, but the somber mood of the seance catches her and she falls silent. She looks to her coyote companion for reassurance.
Bernice appears quite shocked. "A death curse?!" Once she's over her startlement, she translates for Herbert's benefit.
"No advice for us, or hidden caches of power she left behind?" Herbert asks hopefully.
Horus's head rises. A death-curse? Then did you bind St. John to The Hill, Mrs. Everchild? the bird inquires.
The coyote appears confident and curious, he licks once at her muzzle and then observes, his mouth part-open in a panting grin. For the moment he listens, and seeks out a prominence or tombstone to sit on which will provide a decent view.
Islington looks apologetic at Bernice, his ears flattening. She didn't bind St. John to the Hill, no. She weakened her ... She thinks St. John and Alorn went to the Hill to try to lift the curse, he explains. She's so weak now. She says I know everything she did, but I don't!
The chimpanzee looks saddened, distracted from Trouble by the cat's words. He gives Trouble and Marseilles a brief explanation, We was hopin' Mrs. Everchild might have some information for us, about the spirits or the Game, he ooks softly. Turning to the spirit, he asks, Mrs. Everchild? Did you ever hear anythin' about the first spirits? About what made them come to this world?
Penny! Come back! the cat mewls suddenly.
"If she needs.. someone to stay in.." Herbert starts to say, until the cat mewls.
The first spirits came unto this world that they might escape the tyranical, whimsical rule of the other Masters, explains Horus to his group. So spoke the Unicorn.
That's part of it, Prof, Caliban says annoyedly to Horus. I've got a feelin' that's not all of it.
And moments after he says it, a different timbre of voice emerges from Mr. Shaft's mouth. "Don't be maudlin, Islington. I'll stay, I'll stay. Now, what is it you all need? Is there some nonsense about you Opening now? What's gotten into you all?"
The Unicorn's aura remains as pure and white as it always has, I have no reason to doubt her word. It is not her nature to decieve, Horus insists, fluffing his feathers.
Marseilles blinks fox-eyes perplexedly at Shaft. He's got a soul now! She perches on a tombstone next to Yotee.
Yes, but it's not his. He was empty before, she might be able to stay as long as she wants. The coyote replies.
How'd that happen? I can't take just any body! Can you? Marseilles asks Yotee. I didn't think another soul could just take him like that.
Herbert allowed her, that made it easy, Yotee explains. It's not normal for an adult to be possessable. Usually only works on newborns, or people who've abandoned their shells. I knew a shaman with two bodies, his second body was vulnerable to possession and needed to be guarded when he wasn't using it.
Boss! You okay? You in there? asks Caliban, startled by the voice.
Bernice seems startled and a little discomfitted by the idea of possession, but now's no time to fret. She hurriedly explains the true nature of the game and what lies on the other side, with all its possibilities and dangers. "We'd been left with little other choice but to combine forces now. It's no longer a matter of Opening or Closing, there's no sides... it's a matter of figuring out what's best to do and putting all our bets on that. So far, it looks like we're bidding to confront the Masters."
Oh! The vixen listens wide-eyed to Yotee's explanation.
Herbert blinks suddenly, and looks at Caliban. "That's what you sound like, Caliban? I always thought you would be.. more refined somehow."
Refined? The chimpanzee scoffs. Didn't me sneakin' out at night tell you-- hey! You can understand me! Now I can tell ya... He scratches behind an ear. What was I gonna tell ya?
It takes a bit to bring Mrs. Everchild up to speed, and she seems almost as grumpy about it as Hale was. "I was so looking forward to a rest," Herbert's voice says, with a decidedly feminine cast to it. "Couldn't quite go with the Closing so near, though, and now all of this. Hmp. To think that all those years ago, it might've been the right thing ... well, no sense worrying it now. Anyway! I've no store of power left, I'm afraid, dears. What tools I had were in the house and burned with it."
"Well, you do offer us one advantage at least, so long as you stay with me," Shaft notes. "Communication will be much easier."
Say, Mrs. Everchild? Do we still need the seance-y stuff? asks Caliban practically. Sooner we can clean up, less we have to worry about the undertaker comin' back.
"If you like, Mr. Shaft," Herbert tells himself. "I suppose it's not so much longer. Give me a few more minutes to settle in. He doesn't fit right, you know."
Herbert works his shoulders and adjusts his tie.
Mrs. Everchild. We met but briefly, and we did not speak. But now we havn't much time, and so I must ask: do you know anything about the nature of The Hill, of composite spirits, or a means in which projection might be enhanced? I would touch many minds, Horus inquires.
The chimpanzee pauses to ponder this latest pronouncement.
Sorry, Mrs. Everchild, I don't think we can get the boss a new wardrobe, the chimpanzee says. It'd draw too many funny looks.
Bernice says, "If it's any comfort, Mrs. Everchild, it wasn't a matter of Opening being the right thing as it was Opening the right way. If they had flung Open the Portal a game ago, the Masters would have taken everybody by surprise."
The coyote doesn't have much to say at the moment, so he glances about the graveyard, lingering on a few spots.
"Our experiments last night with the Seal of Solomon indicate that while the Portal is still small, we can probably prevent spirits from crossing," Herbert says. "Once it expands beyond a certain size, however, the effect will not be strong enough. That could give us time to at least find out if whatever element spirits need on this side can flow through from the other."
The chimpanzee looks at the cat. Think we can tidy up now, Islington? It sounds like Mrs. Everchlid's gonna be stayin' a while.
The spirit possessing Herbert doesn't say anything for a few minutes. "Your work with the Seal is quite promising! Are you sure you want me to stay? It'll be much easier to work with the Seal without me here." Islington, meanwhile, nods to Caliban and motions for Bernice to help with the clean up.
Caliban gets to work then, coiling the rope up so he can slip it back under his jacket.
"I'm thinking about your question, dear," Herbert adds to the falcon. "It's been a long time. The Necromancer did work with composite spirits but I never felt right about it. Still don't! What do you remember, Islington?"
"I think we've done all the work we can with it, save for adding a very long on-off switch to it," Shaft says. "And we know the safe distance to be as well."
Messy business, the cat mews. Worked better in the short term than in the long. But if he only needs this mammoth to hold the Portal while we siphon stuff out ... whatever the 'food' is.
If you feel amiss, then know this: it is not something I attempt lightly. It is not something I would try at all, but our time is short, and failure musn't come to pass. For our future, and the future of humanity, even death is not so heavy a price, Horus tells Mrs. Everchild, now in Herbert's body.
"Oh, if you do want the portal Open you'll have to be careful about when you turn the Seal on. It would be an aid to Closing, I'm sure," Herbert's voice tells himself. "If you've got it on before the Opening it might not Open at all. Not that that's a bad thing! Very clever, dear. An on-off switch on a Seal! Who would have though it?"
The boss did, the chimpanzee says proudly.
"Yes.. I learned early on with devices that it is always best to have a prominent 'off' switch," Shaft notes. Especially with that bread slicer..
Have you determined if your trap could hold a master spirit? The coyote asks eventually.
Caliban scuffs the ground to try and hide the tracks of the pentacle. With so many footprints around, it shouldn't be that difficult, but one never knows.
"Our trap is damaged, and could not fully contain even the Manor spirit," Herbert says. "But our Amplifier device should.. process.. a Master spirit adequately."
Herbert's hands fuss with his tie again, making sure the bow is straight. "So he did. So he did. Dear me. Now then ... composite spirits ... Mr. Shaft, you must know something about this. Your work is more like the Necromancer's than anyone's I've seen since his death."
Bernice meticulously gathers all the ritual supplies up, making sure not to leave so much as a drop of crusted candlewax behind. The only thing she has to add is, "Trouble said he'd ask Mr. Waites to see about controlling the Portal's size."
"Controlling the size would be good," Shaft agrees, and then gestures to the lace-backed fox. "Ah, as for composite spirits, Marseilles here is our only test subject. In an effort to strengthen her spirit after it was held in the Trap for some time, I fed her the spirit-essence of a fox. The result was.. well, as you can see, she can appear as a fox now. When human essence was tried, she momentarily became the woman that it belonged to, until that person voluntarily dispersed her ego in Marseilles' favor. She then consumed what was left of the Manor spirit on her own, which was.. well, can you describe it for her, Marseilles?"
Horus's gaze shifts to Mr. Shaft, now. He appears to be listening, but doesn't have anything to add -- at least not yet.
Creepy. The fox lays her head on her paws. The house was bigger than me, and now I'm bigger than it. I left the house and now I've taken it with me. Except that it's always been with me. She sticks her tongue out. And I felt sick afterwards.
"So this machine of yours, processing spirits made them more digestible, so to speak, to other spirits?" Herbert asks himself.
He threw a shoe at me. Yotee replies, more interested in Marseilles' explanations. I'll ask again later.
Herbert adds, "People are going to think I've gone quite mad if I keep talking to myself like this."
Well, that's cleaned up, what do you think, Doc? Islington? Maybe we should move on before someone comes back and wonders what we're doing here, suggests Caliban.
"Yes. The spirits were.. distilled.. along with the mortal remains. What we have not attempted is simply impressing the knowledge or consciousness of one or more people onto a 'blank' spirit," Herbert notes.
"How's that, Mr. Shaft?" the possessed man asks.
"That is, what's a 'blank' spirit? One you've processed already?"
Your machine doesn't know what it's doing. Yotee adds.
Know that I must find a way to reach my disciples before the hour grows too late. To this end, a means of projecting further is required. But, come. We should depart here. Girard? The falcon taps a foot on the man's shoulder.
"We have quite a bit of raw spirit essence stored up that once belonged to the Manor, along with the ego-depleted energy from Mrs. Albason's spirit," Shaft explains. "The Amplifier will also strip away the 'conscious' part of a Master spirit and return only the energy for our use."
Girard nods to his Companion, and the party adjourns from the graveyard to the nearest house -- Bernice's cabin in the woods. The journey seems to wear on Mrs. Everchild; she remains with Mr. Shaft, as shown by his continued ability to understand the animals, but she speaks less.
The cabin is a modest abode a single cot and a couple of mismatched stools in the main room. Girard politely stands that the others may sit.
Yotee instructs Marseilles, Under a seat is best. You're not likely to be stepped on, and you can bit ankles. He takes up a position.
The chimpanzee finishes explaining what he heard of Horus's idea to the coyote and Marseilles as he finds a patch of floor to sit on. Thing is, something or someone's gotta coordinate it. Me, I think it'll wind up bein' some kinda democracy. Lot gets yelled about, nothing much gets done.
"It's a shame we couldn't let the Analytical Engine control the mass-spirit," Herbert comments. "It's built to sift through a spirit's knowledge to solve problems, after all."
The machine doesn't know the trick of counting coup. That's why the spirits end up the way they do. The coyote tells Caliban.
Counting coup? asks Caliban puzzledly.
Coordination begins with the formation of the central foundation. The primary triad wil shape the essential nature, if all goes well. I have approached several individuals to form this central foundation, including Girard, Unicorn, and myself. Know that each place upon the triad carries a specific role. Know that each is important. The spirit must know its task and carry the knowledge to carry it out, it must be possessed of altruisim and kindness, and it must be properly linked, Horus adds.
After due consideration (and a bracing cup of tea), Mrs. Everchild notes to everyone from her vantage inside Mr. Shaft, "I do believe that Mr. Shaft's proposal to 'feed' Masters to other spirits would work better if they were fed into some existing composite entity. Like what your falcon friend is proposing. Or the fox-girl there. But if the falcon can unify a group, feeding new ones into it ought to work better than feeding it to someone like the Unicorn or (heaven forbid!) Alorn. Because a composite understands instinctively how to incorporate composites, and a unified composite, one that's not already at war with itself (my apologies, dear girl, but you are rather struggling) can handle the influx more easily. If you follow me." She stops there to listen to the coyote.
In the security of her (rented) cabin, Bernice is at least able to bring what creature comforts she can, carrying a tea-service and some some snacks, both bready and, for the canid, meaty. She has little to add at the moment, contenting herself to fussily clear furniture to sit on and filling cups.
Whoosh! Right over my head, Mrs. Everchild, says Caliban regretfully, waving a paw over his head.
It's a machine, it doesn't eat. If a spirit was a body, you would eat the flanks, crack the marrow out of the bones, leave the poisonous innards. The machine grinds it all, it has no taste. Yotee tries again, explaining what seems obvious to him. It makes a mess.
Girard clears his throat, glances at Horus, looks at the others, and doesn't actually say anything.
The chimpanzee nods thoughtfully. I dunno, you can make a pretty good tripe stew if you got the right ingredients, but yeah, I guess it's not something that knows how to digest a spirit.
"The only other composite with any 'experience' is The Hill," Shaft notes. "Which St. John and Alorn have taken command of, and incidentally where the banefire will take place. But if three spirits can manage this composite without interference, we can certainly feed it energy. Kara told us that there is a limit to how much a single spirit can absorb. But what sort of vulnerabilities will this method have that we need to address?"
"Lack of unity," Herbert tells himself promptly. "Inability to digest material. The risk of failure or collapse."
Gettin' a whole bunch of spirits together, then gettin' them to cooperate? suggests Caliban.
Mrs. Everchild's spirit moves Herbert's hand to gesture to Caliban. "Exactly."
/I see the meaning in the coyote's words,/ Horus remarks after a moment. /The machine is much like the Masters -- strong but without reason or sound judgement./ A pause, and the bird glances at Girard a moment, before adding, /Know that Kari does not wish to participate. She has great reservations about this plan. The aura of the Unicorn is pure and bright, for she has tried long and hard to be kind and remain true to her beliefs. But know that she has weakened, that she is afraid, and that she, like the Masters, does not possess the cunning we must use. Know that I respect Unicorn, but that she lacks a plan. I believe she lead with her heart, but now is the time of the head. We must use the resources we have./ The bird then bobs his head to the replies. /Yes, these are the concerns. There is also the matter of what becomes of the spirit after, but I will link it to the cycle of life and death, so that it might die and release its composite unto the world. Indeed, should it feed successfully, as propos
proposed, the released spirits may be ... 'well-fed'./
Trouble lays his head on his paws, The hill is Alorn and St. John alone now, the other spirits have spread and I couldn't find one. If I see a spirit, I see what it has, I eat the part I want. That is easy, safe. If I eat it all, it is unsafe, it would make me like the hill. The machine cannot distinguish, takes it all, feeds it all.
"You can try examining the 'denatured' necroplasm that we have in the Engine's main battery, Yotee," Herbert suggests. "If you think it's safe, it may be used to boost Horus' strength for the call he needs to send out."
The cry heard around the world? Caliban grimaces. Wouldn't the Masters hear that too? I think we'd be safer with some kinda pass-the-word system.
"We only have one day, Caliban," Shaft points out. "And even if the Masters do hear it.. can they eavesdrop on all of the replies? Would they even know how to?"
I speak not in voice, nor do I call through the astral. I speak directly unto the minds of those I seek to speak with. I do not seek to speak with the Masters, nor would I be unaware of their presence, should they come to call, explains Horus.
I'd have to see what it holds, Yotee agrees, Maybe I can teach a lump of metal to taste, that would be a trick, or teach the bird to chew words less and substance more.
The chimpanzee grins.
From under the cot, Marseilles-fox giggles. That'd be a trick, too.
For his part, Horus merely ruffles his feathers up, making him look vaguely indignant.
"Well, when one doesn't need to worry about running out of breath, I imagine it's only natural to develop a.. rich.. style of elocution," Shaft says, hoping to mollify Horus slightly.
So, maybe Horus can reach his buddies, but how do you get this big spirit-thingy together? asks the chimpanzee. Are you askin' them all to abandon their bodies an' come join you?
Slate and Caliban depart to fetch a Spirit battery for Yotee to sniff at, leaving the others to stay and chat for a little while. It doesn't take them long, and soon they're back with it.
Yes, Horus answers. Or to be more accurate, I will request the astral forms of my disciplies to join me, as well as those of us who will participate. Further, my disciplies will make their own requests, and their own rituals, in time with my own. We will make of the world a great ritual circle, and of that, a Great Calling shall come. Then, we will see who answers, explains the bird, who at least sounds mollified.
The chimpanzee urfs as he lugs in a short, stubby cylinder about two feet tal. It doesn't appear to be very large, but it's quite heavy to judge from the way he carries it. "Ook!" he tells Mr. Shaft. Here ya go, boss!
Herbert asks Bernice, "May we borrow a teacup or saucer to use?"
"By all means, sir," says the doctor. She takes a clean china cup from her tea service, and offers it up.
Yotee examines the cylinders. They look like large hatboxes to him, and impenetrable. He sniffs, circles.
I wouldn't wash that and use it if I were you, the chimpanzee advises the doctor. Not 'cause it's really unclean but you'd never feel the same drinking tea from it again.
Herbert uses one of the connection valves on the side of the battery to fill the cup half-way with glowing green fluid, and sets it down on the floor for the coyote to inspect. "This is from the same batch that Marseilles drank," he explains. "It is alchemically rendered down from the body in a way which.. well, frankly, I'm not certain how it holds a spirit after the incident with myself and Marseilles."
Bernice pulls something of a face, but says, "Well, I should feel better using this than pouring what was someone's remains into a tin."
I don't think tinned necroplasm would be a big seller, quips Caliban.
Marseilles slithers out from under the bed and trots over to sniff at the green goo, too. Her stomach rumbles.
"This stuff is quite possibly the 'missing ingredient' that spirits need, also," Shaft comments. "It just isn't exactly practical, since you need a spirit to produce it in the first place."
It makes a deer dragged under a train for miles look complete. Yotee explains, not really understanding what he's looking at till Herbert and Caliban partially describe their machine. Don't drink Marseilles, not yet. There are some bits that could be used. A better trick than mine for devouring, another for causing despair.
Caliban shakes his head thoughtfully. I dunno, boss, I think there's something wrong with that idea.
"Well, it's just another version of spirit-cannibalism after all," Shaft says to Caliban. "Animals which can get certain nutrients from what they eat don't need the ability to create those nutrients on their own. That is the issue with the spirits, I think: their environment used to provide the nutrient. But now the only source is other spirits."
Horus remains silent his head cocking this way and that as he examines the goo.
It'd be like saying, oh, you can grind up a pig and feed it to another pig, but what you really want are the plants that they can graze on, Caliban suggests. Maybe when the first spirits came over, they didn't think to bring a crop.
"You should be able to simply drink it to get the energy," Shaft notes to the coyote.
I didn't drink it, Marseilles says. I had it out of the power-line. It's different in a teacup. Funnier.
Grandmother knows how to suck eggs. The coyote answers absently, his attention absorbed by the goup as he sorts through it. Parts of this are useful. You would have to pour it all out so I could find all the parts of the tricks.
The chimpanzee scratches behind an ear. So is this stuff going to work for lettin' the Prof make his call then?
"Funnier?" Herbert asks. "When you were in the Spirit Trap the first time, Trouble here tried to gnaw you out. He could have accidentally swallowed you then. Would that seem funny? And I don't think pouring it all out would be practical."
It is a gruesome thing, reminiscent of the blood sorceries of times past, where age and beauty were sought from the flesh and blood of the youthful, Horus comments telepathtically.
"Yes, yes, I'm a horrible necromancer," Shaft notes. "Can you use it or not, Horus?"
I meant funny-strange, the vixen says to Mr. Shaft, flattening her ears. It smells strange.
It smells, the other animals present notice, a bit like Marseilles.
Yotee points out something in the cup, Can you see that Marseilles, Horus? That is a part of the trick to devouring.
Marseilles squints at the cup. She sniffs at it, hunches down, sniffs at the side of the teacup some more, then opens her mouth and yips. Oh! So it is! I see it! That's so neat. How does it do that? Can I learn how?
Caliban leans over curiously.
Herbert glances to Brenice and Gerard, to see if they have any idea of what the coyote and fox are talking about.
Girard looks lost.
Though I see the fragment, know that I do not possess its ability to consume. Were I to attempt to cosume it with my limited ability, a difficult task, I might acquire that talent, Horus explains, after a moment of looking. It may be more efficent to use the artifice as a means to dilute this power in to a form I could use, or I may attempt the difficult task of attempting the devouring.
Bernice doesn't look to be having any better luck, her brow knitted. "I can understand all the words, but... I'm just not seeing it."
The chimpanzee rubs his chin. Smells a little like Marseilles. I can kinda see what Trouble's talking about but... He shakes his head. I dunno, boss. This stuff is just way past me.
If you eat it, you would understand. You would have to eat just that. I could show you how by eating something else like the trick of despair. Or Horus could eat it. Or I could eat all the useful bits. It is a risk. The coyote elaborates, continuing to peer at the goo.
"When I 'ate' my own spirit, I don't recall learning anything special," Herbert says.
"Any of us could, erm, eat it?" asks Bernice. "Or just you and Marseilles?"
This difficulty is in the proper eating, yes, I see, the bird projects, his head darting this way and that as he, too, peers in to the goo. It may be possible for the artifice to feed the specific piece to me, but it would require modification.
"Why would you want to even.." Shaft starts to say to Bernice, but then wonders if having this 'trick' would allow a person to absorb energy from the Amplifier like a spirit could. "What sort of modification? Are you talking about some kind of filter?"
Yotee says there's a trick to it, the vixen says. If you eat everything, like I did, you're not doing it right. It's bad for you, or maybe you don't learn everything properly? Like trying to learn math by reading cut-up jumbled pieces of a math book.
Yotee looks at Herbert. I would learn not to chew off my foot if I ate my leg.
The trick is the problem, one I would need to overcome. Knowing the devouring ability may prove useful in my plan, but acquiring it is difficult, should I attempt it without aid, Horus explains.
The chimpanzee scratches behind his head and looks confused.
As for the artifice, yes, something quite like a filter would be required. That, at least, I can assist in, adds the falcon.
"I don't suppose it will be something we can manage with a bit of cheesecloth then," Herbert laments.
I believe the coyote would be of use in crafting the proper filter, Horus advises. Then, I might consume the essence correctly, and through the learned trick, the gain the strength needed for the projection.
If I understand this right, Prof, the chimpanzee begins. You can't just gain the energy by drinking this stuff. You have to... I dunno. Absorb just that particular little thing that I can't quite make out, without touching the rest of it. And without that, you won't have the energy to talk to yeah many guys ya used to teach. Am I right?
I think that's it. Marseilles says, nodding.
"Well then, what sets it apart?" Herbert asks. "Density, viscosity.. odor?"
Horus's head bobs. You are correct, he answers, sounding approving. As for what it has that the rets does not, it is a piece of the astral, otherworldly and not measured in the science and numbers of man.
The coyote nods, Caliban, Horus, are right, and destroy the rest so it is not touched accidentally. Drink is not the right word, but it is the closest word. It is a non-physical thing to absorb the trick.
"You're talking about distilled ectoplasm here," Herbert reminds Horus. "Distilled by my science and numbers and.. well.. bizarre alchemy, granted. If you need it separated out instead of distilled directly, you'll have to be a bit more descriptive. Otherwise we can just dip a pipette into it and extract the bit you want."
The chimpanzee scratches behind an ear. Y'know, boss, those little gizmos you had that measured necroplasm? That we never figured out what they meant, like warp and woof and whatnot? I wonder if we could, y'know, get just that little bit out an' run some tests on it...
Then we should begin our work. We know what must be done -- now we must do it, advises the bird.
"Ideally, Caliban. Then we could fine tune the distillation process itself, and work those equations back into the Amplifier," Herbert says, rubbing his chin.
We don't have long, though, the chimpanzee says. The witchhunters said their buddies were comin'. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, maybe we'll get lucky and they'll be late, but I wouldn't count on it. He cracks his knuckles. Let's get this back home and we'll start makin' premium distilled spirit, huh, boss?
"Yes, we need to hurry," Shaft agrees. "Mrs. Everchild needs to rest soon, I think, and to make this happen I need to understand you all."
The coyote, who is named Trouble for good reason, always sounds more confident when he is leaping ahead of his known limits, I could divide it all into separate bowls if you left me alone with it. Mr. Shaft wouldn't need to filter it at all! He seems very enthused by this idea, it's sure to be a very interesting disaster. He presents other options, but his heart doesn't seem to be in them. Or, I could eat one of the tricks, easily. Two tricks as well as I steal chickens, which is as often or not. Two tricks and leave the junk, that would be a challenge! Or, I could help someone, and they would run as well as if on three legs. This wouldn't be as fun as playing with the bowls, but fun none-the-less.
"Separate it into bowls?" Shaft asks. "Like.. separating out an egg yolk?"
I see more will need diluting than simply the fluid, Horus observes after listening to Trouble. This will be a great deal of work. Gird yourself, Mr. Shaft, for you have on your hands a great trial. As do I.
"As the one with the actual hands, I'll do my best," Herbert promises.
Eggs! Yum! Meet you there. The coyote bolts for the door, ensuring Marseilles is with him, I'll show you a few more tricks along the way.
Remember, I must consume the trick, for this to work. It would be of no use to pass the ability to Trouble, as he cannot project as I can, not does he have the arcane knowledge needed for the rest of the ritual, in my understanding. Trouble must either show me how it must be done, or Mr. Shaft must filter it. Only then, can I begin, Horus adds.
The chimpanzee sighs. Work, work, almost more work. He sets the battery up to be lugged out again.