Phillips Harbour.
Friday, October 30. Evening.
Caliban and Shaft return to the boathouse first, and start preparing things for the arrival of the others. By the time Yotee and Marseilles swim in beneath the boat door, Englishman and chimp have cleared plenty of space to work in. Mr. Shaft's array of tools is laid out on the table, varying between arcane and scientific. The Analytical Engine is uncovered but not powered on.
The coyote arrives in a shivering splash, followed by the black-lace fox, who seems less troubled by the water's temperature. It's Cold! Swimming the bay is a neat trick, but it's very cold this time of year, in this part of the world. Odd that Trouble didn't notice last time. He shakes himself off in a cold spray that spatters about the boathouse.
"Ack!" Herbert complains as the cold water goes everywhere. "Well, at least you're here. Can you show Caliban the particular.. ah.. 'tricks'.. that you identified in the necroplasm stream?" the human asks.
The chimpanzee wrinkles his nose. Wet dog smell! Here, lemme get you a towel, he suggests to Trouble and Marseilles as he goes to do just that. You're gonna catch a cold, you stand around dripping like that.
The fox slips out, fur slicked back and gleaming with water. It drips off the tip of her tail and puddles in the ground. She looks comfortable, not shaking with cold like the coyote. But she watches him, and after he shakes, she does so too, almost as vigorously. Then makes a yipping down, a foxish giggle.
The coyote grins at the fox, Like that! Yes. Good! Yotee consents to being towelled off, waiting. You have to put some in a bowl again so I can show him. He instructs, then heads over to point the tasty pieces out once the drying and pouring is done.
"Marseilles can see them too, right?" Shaft asks, just to be certain. After all, the ghost can project the information into Caliban's head if needed.
The fox yips an answer, then realizes there's no one around to translate. She turns into a fox-tailed girl and replies, "Kind of. It's hard to describe."
The chimpanzee looks bemused. Towel-ape to coyotes and foxes, yep, that's me, he mutters as he tosses the dampened towel to the side for later washing. Okay, Boss, so what do we do?
Herbert begins rerouting some the fluid tubes on the Engine. "Well, once you know what to look for Cal, we'll do a variation of the original spirit-filtering. Instead of connecting to the Spirit Trap though, you'll be connected to the flow from the affected battery through the helmet. You should be able to route the proper 'flavor' back out over the trap leads that are fused to the Engine, and Yotee can pick it up from the bare wire, like Marseilles had earlier."
"You just have to think backwards," the man notes.
The chimpanzee scratches behind an ear. I'm not so good at sdrawkcab gnikniht! he complains.
There's a sudden rapping at the window, followed by a beady bird eye pushed up against the glass. It's Horus! Or, at least, it looks like Horus. It could be some other peregrin falcon who just so happens to want in to a room full of strange people.
"The Professor is here, it seems," Shaft notes while working.
Besides I'm still having trouble making out exactly what that stuff is. The chimpanzee goes over to peer at the bowl with Yotee. I missed it, what was it again?
Caliban pauses to open the window.
I would have to roll in it to get the trick. Drinking wouldn't work for me. Yotee elaborates, I can think of it having smells, but it doesn't. It's there, do you see Caliban? He noses at the fluid, indicating... something.
Despite Yotee's help, Caliban can't -- quite -- tell what he's supposed to be looking at.
Yeah, it's like tryin' to find the shilling you dropped in the middle of a thick fog, the chimpanzee says mournfully.
"Marseilles, can you show Caliban the 'trick'?" Herbert asks. "The way you show us.. uh.. illusions and such?"
Horus hops inside, then drops down to perch on the Analytical Engine. Pardon my tardiness, I was examining the ley lines inherent to this area. We may draw upon them, in time. I see you have begun. I shall examine your work.
Marseilles squats beside the bowl. "I think I see it. I ... I don't think I can show it to you. The things I project, it's just the emotion. It's like I tell you 'Be scared' and then your mind comes up with something to be scared of. I don't actually know what's scaring you." She looks at the helmet. "Can you hook me up to your machine, instead of Caliban? And it can use me to see what it's looking for?"
You are attempting to locate the 'trick,' yes, I see. Horus's head bobs, then tilts. He attempts to scan out the trick himself, as he had done before.
Herbert considers that. "Well.. it's calibrated for Caliban. He's the only one to ever use it successfully." He looks to the ape, and shrugs. "I suppose if you could 'possess' him it would work, but of course he has to be willing to let you do that."
With his head cocked to one side and his right eye fixed on the bowl, Horus can spy out the threads of the former spirit's talent, that distinct 'flavor' to the aura that marks them.
Caliban looks up at this. I what? He looks worried, then gives Marseilles a thoughtful look. She's come a long way from when we first met her, huh, Boss? What do you think, Miss?
Yes, I see it now. Once you know where to look, and what to look for, the detail is apparent. The bird clicks his beak, seemingly glad for his discovery. The auric manifestation is distinct, but without identification, would easily be lost. It is, I think, akin to medical texts explaining the flesh. What one sees as a mass of red hues, another sees as an organ, a vein, a capilary.
Herbert finishes his modifications to allow energy to flow from the necroplasm stream through the helmet and back into the Spirit Trap, instead of the other way around. Hopefully.
The coyote sits back, Caliban will have to see it in a way that means something to him.
The ghost girl flats back her foxish ears and wrinkles her nose. "I don't want to possess you," she says to Caliban. "I'm not sure I know how to do it right."
"Well, we can proceed by trial and error then," Shaft says. "Caliban can filter every stream he comes across until the correct one is found, if one of you can sense it in the wire."
That will depend on several factors, such as the aura's penetration of your tubular artifice and any inherent resistance it has to such things, Horus advises.
The chimpanzee looks a little relieved, but scratches behind Marseilles's ears. You're a good lady, miss, he comments. Though sometimes I wonder if you're going to turn all the way fox. Yeah, boss, maybe the Engine'll give me a better view. That's kinda what it's for, huh?
Marseilles tilts her head into the scratching, then giggles and stands up with a swish of her tail. She combs her fingers through her hair, beneath the lace, nervously.
"We only know that Marseilles has been able to absorb things through the wire as well," Shaft notes, as he prepares the helmet for Caliban. "An embodied spirit may need more direct contact. Although it would be nice if I could transfer the trick to Mrs. Everchild so that she could recharge herself."
The ghost girl looks uncertainly at Mr. Shaft. "Is she still ... there?"
"I can understand Caliban and Trouble," Herbert tells the ghost. "So I assume she's still there, just.. sleeping."
"Oh." Marseilles looks a bit relieved at that. "I guess it is late. Maybe that's it."
Caliban smiles at Marseilles, then out of habit, connects the Ouija board to the Analytic Engine, along with the plotter. He moves the planchet with several fingers to make sure it's floating free, then pauses and looks at the planchet.
"Do have something in mind, Cal?" Shaft asks as he watches his partner.
Horus hops off the Analytical Engine, least it analytically squash him in a fit if sound and fury. On the table, the bird begins to pace, hopping several 'steps' one way, then back again, as he tries to keep an eye on everything at once.
Yeah, boss, just thinkin' about whether we should, like... Spread the spirit-stuff on top of the ouija board an' I can move the planchet around 'til it's pointing at what Trouble an' Horus say is this 'trick' stuff, Caliban ooks.
'Trick' is merely a borrowed word I use out of convienence, Horus insists. It is more accurate to refer to it as a spirit or soul shard, an aspect of form and function that may be incorporated by like entities, if it can be acquired in the proper manner.
Can Horus and Caliban wear that helmet? Yotee asks. Then maybe he could help him see.
"Well, I have it rigged to send the 'shard' over the wire to one of the working trap crystals," Shaft says. "They should be able to examine it in transit or in the crystal."
In an uncharacteristiacally wordless answer, Horus hops over next to the helmet, putting his head beside it. It's there that the crux of the problem shows itself: Hrous's head is about the size of a large walnut.
The chimpanzee nods and replaces the planchet. He dons the helmet, demonstrating that it's a one-chimp deal, with no real provision to squeeze in a bird head, however undignified (and therefore amusing) that might be. Okay, boss, let's flip the switch an' see which is which!
"Starting up!" Herbert announces and starts the circulation pumps first, then throws the knife-switch to power the helmet. "That lower crystal on the Trap is where things will be shunted to. You seemed able to detect Marseilles when she was in the Trap, Trouble, so I'm assuming you can tell if the proper aura is in there or not."
With the helmey gone, Horous hops over to stand ready to examine the crystal. Let us see what shall be seen.
The ouija board clacks, bouncing between random letters, then settling in purposefully. It taps the letter O twice, then the letter K and finally, a square with a little dot in the center.
Herbert monitors the trap. He's not sure if the crystal will light up for just a 'shard' of a spirit, but then it's not entirely clear how such things work in the first place.
Clatter. Splatter. Trouble succeeds in making a mess. The bowl is flipped. He stepped on it as he hopped up to watch Horus and Caliban squeeze into the helmet. Fortunately, he didn't step in it or splash himself, unfortunately he emptied it, effectively splattering it across the floorboards. He jumps aside and tries to look innocent, but it's pretty obvious: there's something broken, and there he is.
"Oh my, I hope the wood doesn't reanimate now," Herbert notes at the spilled necroplasm.
The Engine hums placidly, and the Spirit Battery makes a faint whining sound. The wire doesn't glow, not to Herbert's sight, but the spirit trap does light up, very faintly. Caliban has a look of intense concentration on his face. The planchet of the Ouija board wiggles from side to side.
Yotee and Horus can tell immediately that Caliban's filtering something into the trap, but it's harder to say what. It's not the devourer's trick. It's not a whole spirit, either. It's a ... thing.
"Well?" Herbert asks, hovering over the trap. "Did he get it?"
No... The coyote trots away from the unenlightening spill, ... he got a thing. I don't know what it is.
Horus peers at the broken bowl, and one might almost imagine his expression turning disapproving, if he had much in the way of expression to begin with. The look lasts only a moment, and then the bird is shifting his haze between the wires, the crystal, and the machine itself. It is anger, Horus replies. To be more precise, it is the raw, animalistic anger of a reduced spirit. Yes, you may well have filtered its fury. Do be cautious, I am certain it would strike at us, if it could.
"So, not safe to release then," Herbert notes. He manipulates some of the control surfaces to shunt the shard off into a different necroplasm stream, one isolated from what Caliban is filtering.
The ouija board clacks between random letters, spelling out, R-A-W-R. Okay, hang on, lemme try that again. the chimpanzee ooks.
The spilled necroplasm starts to seep into the floorboards. The green glow of it spreads, fading in intensity but growing in surface area.
"Be careful not to step in that, Marseilles," Herbert notes of the spreading glow. There's never been a spill before, so he isn't certain of what will happen.
The crystal with what Horus described as the spirit's anger is shunted to one side, and Caliban tries a different crystal. "Oh, yuck," Marseilles says, dodging the puddle as she frowns at the new crystal. "That's not it, either."
"Is it anything dangerous though?" Shaft asks.
The ouija board proclaims, P-O-S-T N-O B-I-L-L-S. The chimpanzee motions for his boss to shunt it aside, so he can try once more.
You are mixing it up, I have a hard time finding it now. The coyote cautions.
"Well, Cal has never done this before," Herbert notes as he drains out that crystal. "It could take a few passes, but if you think you sense it in any of these samples, we can work it further to isolate it."
Let us hope you do not end up with an angry floor, Shaft, Horus offers. His attention remains fixed on the device, his head tilting this way and that.
After a third try, the chimpanzee doffs the helmet and shakes his head. I can tell there're these stream things, but it's like I can't see what color they are, boss.
At this point, the former mansion spirit is in several pieces: three inside the crystal traps, one in the battery, and some spilled on the floor. And an unspecified amount in Marseilles. She's looking at the greenish glowing floor with a peculiar expression. She drifts over to it.
Yotee examines the samples, he noses at the last two, These aren't filtered much, if at all. It might have some of the devourer shard mixed in.
The chimpanzee wrinkles his nose. Maybe we better just dump it all back together, huh?
Turning off the pumps for a moment, Herbert tries to think of a better solution. "Hmmm, we could try starting over with just those samples then," he suggests. "Or just mix those two back together. Is the devourer shard mixed in with anything dangerous, or would it be safe to consume it all?"
Hey, why's the floor glowing? The chimpanzee looks over at the puddle, and connects two as he notices the overturned bowl. Troooouble!
"It's dangerous," Marseilles says automatically. "You don't want that on you." She crouches beside the puddle, runs her hands over the glowing planks.
That might work. I don't know, but it's not safe to consume it all, that's how you get parts you don't want, like the rage. Yotee is distracted by the ghost-fox's activities and trots over to her. Marseilles?
"Well, we can try filtering... what are you doing there, Marseilles?" Herbert asks.
The girl sticks a finger glowing with green goo in her mouth. "Nofing?" she mumbles around her finger, shooting Mr. Shaft a guilty look.
"Did you just taste the devourer shard?" Shaft asks, looking nervous. "Or... something else?"
The chimpanzee sighs. That's our Marseilles, he says to the ceiling.
Marseilles yanks her hand away from her mouth and wipes her fingers on her skirt. The green goo vanishes into the lace. The phosphorescent blue glow of her eyes grows a touch more intense. "Only a little." She still looks guilty. "It's just ... I've got all the rest of it ... "
It would ill benefit our plan for me to be possessed of great rage, and surely for a almagam to be possessed of it. A raging, powerful spirit would only worsen our situation, Horus agrees. The bird turns to examine the floor, now, peering at it this way and that. Would I had more time to study your artifice; there may be a better refinement technique.
Okay, boss, let's get back on track here, the chimpanzee says, clapping his hands together as he is wont to do when his master seems to be getting distracted. The trouble with this thing is, it's like there're twenty silver fish and just one gold fish in a barrel, an' I'm reachin' in, tryin' to get just the gold fish, blindfolded. Any way we can fix that?
"Yes, please don't do that any more, Marseilles," Shaft says. "I think we'll need to clean this up with a hand-pump, Caliban," he comments as he goes to disconnect the 'waste' vial from the Engine where the two shards have been shunted to. "Maybe we can use the centrifuge to separate things further, if there is some pseudophysical property associated with each shard."
Caliban nods, and gets to work cleaning it up, as best as one can clean up a spirit-spill, using thick gloves and a creaking, whirring sort of gizmo that appears to use suction to pull spilled liquids and debris into a bladder.
Marseilles stands back, her ears back and expression disappointed.
Very well, I will examine your 'centrifuge' and report on any findings, the falcon agrees. He turns away from the glowing puddle, and looks about for the device.
"Once we have this worked out and can remove the 'bad' bits, you can have the rest Marseilles," Shaft promises. "Maybe it can be baked into cookies." He sets up the sample in the hand-cranked centrifuge that's part of the necroplasm-distilling apparatus, and starts cranking. "If there are density variations, we can separate them into different containers."
Caliban rubs Marseilles's ears as he pauses in the cleanup duty. We just want you to be who you are, Marseilles, he confides to the little ghost girl. You eat too much House an' you're gonna be more icky black stuff, not enough sweet girl.
Trouble appears to agree with Caliban, more in pose than any specific statement. He watches Marseilles, then examines the machine.
It takes a few minutes, which is just as well since Caliban has to finish collecting the spilled spirit. Eventually Herbert has separated the sample into eight different test tubes. "Now, if these each contain something different, we know we're on the right track," he tells Horus.
A worthy idea, Horus agrees with Shaft. The bird begins examinine the eight test tubes, one by one, peering in to them. His head bobs, tilts, and scans, then he hops to the next one.
The centrifuge seperates the goo into distinct layers -- well, distinct to Yotee and Horus, anyway. They all look the same to Herbert, and Caliban doesn't have much better luck distinguishing them. Marseilles doesn't comment on what she sees. The coyote can tell that there are three parts; the devourer's trick is in the bottom part, as is the despair trick. He's not sure what goes into the other two layers, just that they 'smell' different from each other and the bottom one.
Herbert repeats the process to isolate the denser layers further. "Are the despair and devouring distinct now, or too closely intertwined?" he asks.
The falcon discerns different auras to each layer. The upper one is thin and warm, the middle grey and indiferent, the bottom -- the largest part -- hateful.
The coyote gets entirely too close to the machine as he examines the bottom layer, The useful two are here, I don't think there's anything else.
The centrifuge doesn't separate parts out any further than those three layers, unfortunately. Herbert can skim off the top two, but the bottom layer remains -- even to spirit eyes -- a swirling mass hopelessly intertwined.
"I imagine the happy layers could be quite useful," Herbert notes. He makes sure to set those samples aside.
Horus explains after a moment, The upper layer appears to be light, and warm. The center would be best described as emotionally neutral, while the bottom layer -- the most significant portion -- is hateful. This suggests a connection between fury and devouring, but it is not conclusive.
"Well, do either of you recall the Master spirits ever being happy then?" the man asks.
The chimpanzee sets the only slightly filled bladder apart and washes the rest of the hand-pump fastidiously. Okay, what've ya got for me, boss? he asks.
"Despair, anger and emptiness it seems," Herbert notes. "Although I don't think it worth the risk to try and filter further. The devouring ability seems to be connected to the others, and may be inseparable."
The Masters seemed quite pleased with themselves, but I am not sure I would call it happiness of the sort you may be considering. The Sun is surely deceptive, for it obfuscates the truth, perhaps even to itself, explains the falcon. Only Unicorn, with her pure aura, is most likely to contain true happiness, although not at the current temporal junction.
Yotee's ears perk up! He stares at the middle layer, This one, this one is good. It has a strength trick, it lets a spirit stay without fading, as Marseilles can. Oh, in the top, a trick to see spirits. The bottom, is mixed, too mixed.
"And Marseilles can summon up the emotions within a person," Shaft notes. "So.. if you drank this dark elixir, while she made you focus on happy emotions, would you be able to absorb the key shard without becoming dangerously depressed or angry?"
Herbert skims off the other mentioned layers to different vials as well. "Strength.. I could try giving that to Mrs. Everchild. And being able to see spirits would certainly be handy for everyone in the coming confrontation."
Well, boss, if ya want, I'll give tryin' to separate one of them a try, the chimpanzee offers. Which one do you wanna try first?
"I can't summon any emotion," Marseilles corrects. "Mostly ... only fear. That one's easy. Sometimes I can do things I'm feeling, or just felt, if they were really really strong."
Mother is happy, full of warmth and caring, and love. She always seemed happy to me. Yotee says, as he peers at the layers, She is a master, was a master, before. Like Alorn and the Unicorn.
"Can you make another spirit like yourself feel fear, Marseilles?" Shaft asks. "Or.. sense it in the necroplasm? If we could isolate fear, it would be a potent weapon against the invading spirits."
A dangerous gambit, but it may be the oly gambit we have left to us. Time trickles ever onward, and I require some time to prepare the ritual and make the Calling, Horus answers. As for the central trick, they may be of use to the departed Mrs. Everchild. A pause, and Horus adds, Strong emotions are uncommon to me, and only recently have I flet them in any significant degree.
Herbert takes the 'heavy' sample back to the Engine. "We can try another pass, Caliban. And then I'd like to try separating out more layers from the full spirit sample to see if anything else useful can be found."
"I don't know." Marseilles gives a helpless shrug. "I don't know any other spirits like me."
"We can try to find specific emotions from the main sample while Horus does his ritual, if we can isolate the shard further," Shaft suggests. "Then you'll be able to eat the rest of the Manor safely too, Marseilles."
I wouldn't roll in that bottom layer, Horus. The coyote admits, but I'd be very interested in watching you drink it. I'm sure it'd be something I've never seen before.
This time, with fewer 'fish' to choose from, Caliban grabs the right one. The devourer's trick is sucked into the crystal, where it glows with a sickly purplish hue, like a vivid bruise.
The ritual I refer to is the ritual of Unity, which, to be most accurate, will be several rituals, all of which will require the greatest degree of focus from both myself and my Companion. Once they have begun, I will not be able to assist you until they are complete. Thus, any trick I require must be gained prior to the first ritual, Horus explains. To Trouble, Horus bobs his head. Yes, I agree, and share your reservations. My concern is that we may not have enough time to craft perfection.
"Well then," Herbert says, looking at the glow. "I'll put this into some neutral necroplasm and you have a taste."
The ouija board clacks. H-U-N-G-R-Y, it spells out. Caliban ooks, That one felt like it was tryin' to eat the hook, continuing the fish metaphor.
Looking up, Horus inquires, Have you located the aspect, then?
Herbert frowns at that. "That suggests.. well, that once you have this 'trick', you can't un-have it. If we succeed in merging the two worlds, it shouldn't matter, but if we end up Closing, you could be stuck with a vampiric urge forever."
After a bit more fiddling, a glowing vial of 'how to eat spirits' is produced. Shaft holds it warily. "So, who wants the first sip?" he asks, looking at the bird.
Then you will be required to seal or destroy me, Horus advises, fluffing his feathers up. Do not concern yourself with the idea. I have already dedicated myself to defending this, human world. Please, I will try. Hopping forward, the bird cocks his head back and opens his beak.
I'm not much of a spirit person myself, Caliban demurs. Steak an' bananas are more my speed.
The devouring is harmless, it's never troubled me. Yotee says. His mind wanders to food again with all this talk of eating!
Herbert tilts the vial so the falcon can get a drink. "The important thing is that this gives you the ability to absorb spirit energy to power your spell," he notes.
Yes. I do not like taking risks when a better option is available. However, we no longer have the luxury of time, Horus agrees. Once the fluid is in the bird's mouth, he goes right on telepathtically projecting, which may or may not be a breach of etiquette somewhere. Consuming is not precise, but a metaphor. Would someone put a sheet of paper before me?
Stoppers the vial and returns the lab equipment, where he fixes a label to it and marks down 'devour' on it before setting it into a tube rack. The other identified 'tricks' are labeled and stacked as well. "See to Horus' needs, would you Cal?" he asks. "I'll go prepare a battery for his use."
For the curious, the necroplasm has a singularly foul taste, one that I would not recommend to anyone. Know that I will require a rinse after this task is complete, and do be quick about the paper. Very quick. I do not wish to rediscover the meal I had prior to arrival, nor, do I think, do any of you, the bird goes on to project. Horus begins rocking from foot to foot, as if the necroplasm were so awful that he's forced to move and squirm just to maintain his hold on it.
The chimpanzee does indeed provide a sheet of foolscap and a bowl of water for Horus's use. Also a small bottle of brandy. Bottoms up, Prof, he advises.
Thank you, Caliban. I dare say that this taste is boardering on legendary, and I have eaten many things throughout my incarnations. Shifting to one foot, Horus then reaches his feet leg back, up, then plucks one of his own feathers out! Dipping the tip of the feather in his beak like an ink pot, the falcon then begins writting in precise, small script across the page.
The ink runs out quickly, exactly as Horus finishes the text on the page. The terrible taste lingers in his beak even after the last drop is gone, however.
The taste lingers. Yes. I think I will drink now. What follows is Horus hopping from his page to the bottle of brandy, all but prying the top off with his beak, then lifting the bottle back so that the brandy pours down his throat! Down his throat, down his chest, and in a pool around his talons, but mostly down his throat. When that's all done, the bird falls back on his tail feathers, and projects. Yes. The consumption is successful. Know that I can consume spirits.
Caliban ponders the sight of Horus imbibing deeply. Dang, Prof, that was two-fisted drinkin', all right. He grins and gets out a towel to wipe the brandy up.
Herbert disconnects the medium-sized battery from the Spirit Lamp for the falcon's use, and asks, "Are you sure you can handle this? That was a lot of brandy. You could be flammable."
Marseilles covers her mouth with her hands, giggling at the sight of the brandy-drenched falcon.
Here, let me help you. The coyote graciously assists the falcon, trying to lick the brandy off him.
For some tastes, there can be no answer but brute force, the bird insists. After returning to his feet, Hous explains, It is good that I did not devour the raw sample, for I see now that I would damaged myself greatly in the process. I am fine. I am ... the bird takes a step, wobbles, and then promptly falls over. I am not fine. Know that I will require a moment.
The ghost girl tries not to laugh, and fails.
Herbert returns to the lab table in the meantime, and picks up one of the vials containing the neutral, fortifying element. Can you hear me, Mrs. Everchild? he asks internally.
Horus attempts to flee from the licking, but only manages to partially spin himself around by flailing with his talons. Girard would know what to do about this, he is well versed in the effects of alchohol. To use the contemporary vernacular, I am 'tipsy.'
The answer to Herbert's question is a while coming. Yes, I'm here. Mrs. Everchild's voice is weary.
Yes. Stop tipping. Lay down and let me get what you missed. The coyote is persistent! Alcohol was served, and no one offered him any.
The chimpanzee shakes his head and winks at his master. Think the Prof will lighten up a bit now, boss?
The bird relents, likely because he's not going anywhere but in a slow circle, on his side. Very well, the bird projects, sounding indignant. And please stop spinning, if you would. All of you. It makes it difficult to focus.
I've got something to help you regain your strength, Herbert replies to the spirit. You just need to reach out and absorb it. I'm not certain if my drinking it would be as effective. "Just keep him away from any open flame for now, Caliban," he tells the ape. "I've not know inebriation to necessarily reduce one's verbosity."
How's that? A pause while Mrs. Everchild absorbs the recent events. Oh, Mr. Shaft. Thank you, dear, but I don't want it. Save it for someone else.
But what will happen to you without it? Herbert thinks.
It occurs to me now, that I should convey my feelings for you all, before we march to victory or destruction. Know that I am fond of all of you, and of humanity. It is not imprecise to say I have a great love for you all, and the world, Horus explains in a somewhat distorted psychic projection. His head his the table, and his eyes half-close. I will miss you all, should it come to pass that I must die.
"You gave him the good brandy, didn't you?" Shaft asks Caliban.
Another silence. I suppose I'll die. Again. Oh, don't fret, Mr. Shaft. I had a good long run. But I'm done now. I can't keep doing this. Staying for the end of the Game is one thing, but beyond that? In his mind, Mrs. Everchild seems to shrug. I'm spent.
The chimpanzee whispers back to his master, You can't kill a terrible taste with another one, boss.
I'll miss you, Herbert tells Everchild. It was nice being able to understand Caliban, and to have a spirit again.
I think you always will, Mr. Shaft, Mrs. Everchild says in his mind. Don't worry now.
The coyote finishes cleaning off Horus, and then works at the spill of brandy at the floor, finally licking at the bottle itself. Any more? He asks, looking around with interest. What else were we going to do?
"Wasn't he supposed to be calling his students or something?" Marseilles advances to the table and touches one of the falcon's wings. "Is he going to be able to? Does he know how to reach them all yet?"
Horus, now disheveled looking as well as intoxicated, just lays where the tongue of the coyote has pushed him. I will require some time to recover, the bird answers. I am having some difficulty standing, and this is not the form I wish to speak to my students in. The wing wriggles when touched.
"I've no idea," Shaft says, coming out of his introspection. He returns the vial to the rack. Marseilles can eat it later. "Are there any preparations you need to make still, Trouble?"
The chimpanzee scratches behind an ear as he ponders the intoxicated bird. Maybe I shoulda gotten the honey instead, he ooks.
Randall wished to prepare without my help. He'll tell me what to do when the time comes, and wanted me to help you. The coyote answers, he seems very interested in the vial and where Mr. Shaft places it on the rack. There's a thing or two I might do.
I will ponder my preperations from this spot, Horus explains, sounding sleepy now. There is no need for standing.
Yotee contemplates the rack on top of the table. It's quite crowded, what with the centrifuge, the other tubes, and all the mechanisms of necroplasm distillery. A small cat might be able to jump up there, a large and sloppy canine would cause a disaster. Still, he looks like he's considering it. Uncharacteristically, he asks instead, Give me that vial, the strength one.
Herbert moves to another workbench, and begins tinkering with the modified Seal of Solomon. He disconnects the small battery in preparation of adding an extension wire for the power switch.
"Sure." Marseilles picks up the vial and offers it to Yotee. "This one?"
Yes, thank you. Yotee takes it carefully in his mouth and trots for the door.
The chimpanzee looks after the coyote curiously. Which one was that? he asks of his master. Something about makin' a spirit stronger? An' he didn't just chomp it down...
Herbert blinks and looks up from his work to the vial rack. "That was the spirit strengthener, but.. well, I assumed Marseilles would use it. She's the only who would benefit I think, unless.. maybe the Unicorn."
Somethin' about making a spirit able to last without a body? asks the chimpanzee.
"There are lots of spirits around," Marseilles comments. She doesn't look worried about what Yotee might do with it.
"He must have a specific one in mind though," Shaft notes. "Could it be for Alorn?"
That's what I'm worried about, the chimpanzee says. Want me to follow him and see what he does, boss?
First I contact the individuals, and locate the potent. From there, I will contact the group as a whole, when they are prepared. Each will evoke their own ritual, drawing upon the ley lines and local powers, casting a web across the world, Horus ponders aloud, or at least aloud in everyone's mind.
Herbert nods do the ape. "Or we could just ask him."
"He wouldn't give it to Alorn!" Marseilles looks indignant. "I'll ask him, if you're all worried about it." She turns into a vixen and darts out the door after him.
Herbert looks after the fleeing fox, then to the woozy bird. He finally turns to Caliban and says, "I'm glad we're primates."
When was the last time you got a straight answer out of that... The chimpanzee trails off. He shakes his head and smiles at Marseilles's retreating tail. Yeah, boss. Yeah.