Amaya, Luther, and Stanislav all successfully bed themselves down for the night in their respective rooms, while Oukonunaka stays awake and watchful throughout the long, dark hours...
At dawn, all the guests at the Pallaver residence are roused by manic screams from the third floor.
"Honor my fate! "
Clark rolls out of bed and drops onto the floor in a crouch with his head down, trying to clear the sleep from his mind. He looks around for a moment, disoriented. Where? Pallaver's house, right.
The screaming -- is that Katherine? "Protect my daughter."
He retrieves his revolver from his nightstand and, having nowhere to put it, holds it aimed downward in his right hand. Damned nightclothes.
Upstairs -- but the two staircases. Downstairs first. His grey cotton nightrobes trail behind him as he runs through the house, heading for the third floor.
He briefly pauses as he reaches the door that he presumes to be to the daughter's bedroom, to assess the situation before entering.
Certain that no one has enter the house from the first two floors Oukonunaka rushes upstairs to Katherine's room.
The Iroqouis brave reaches the stairs just ahead of the New England engineer. Together they reach the closed door to Katherine Pallaver's room.
Amaya is sleeping deeply when Katherine screams. Amaya is nudged toward wakefulness by the screams, but it is a minute or more before she is awake enough to be in control of her thoughts. She is not aware of the screams; the first sounds that she registers are a door and running feet on the stairs.
Amaya is wearing a simple calico floorlength nightshirt, buttoned high in the front and with sleeves too long so that the cuffs hang down over both hands. The fabric is heavy enough that she does not travel with a coat. She rises from bed and slowly approaches her door, still groggy from sleep.
What time is it?
She cracks open her door to look out into the hallway, then opens it wider to lean out her head. She cannot make out any light coming up the stairs from the ground floor. She cannot make out for sure the other doors to the bedrooms, but more than one seem open. She is aware of peoples' movement and footsteps on the floor above and on stairs that she cannot see at the back of the hall.
Did the Indian fall down the stairs on his watch?
Clark, looking rather ridiculous in his nightshirt and with a revolver pointed at the ceiling, pauses a moment and echanges a glance with Oukununaka to confirm that he is ready. This is going to be embarassing if there is noone in there. But the doctor seemed to think the threat is real. I can't risk it.
He then throws open the door with his left hand, and takes a quick look around the doorframe.
"Are you all right?" he calls.
Adrenaline floods Oukonunaka's body as he races up the stairs, his senses becoming sharper and time seeming to slow. He smells the cedar and tastes the dust in the stuffy third floor air. He hears the creaking of the floor boards as he takes two steps at a time. He feels the balance, and the grooves his hands have worn into the leather grip his Bowie knife. Finally, he sees the confidence in Luther's posture and actions. He has seen battle.
As he reaches Katherine's door he drops into a crouch, tightly coiling his legs beneath him like a puma ready to pounce on its prey. In his right hand he reverses his grip on his Bowie knife; twelve inches of well worn steel. Oukonunaka then meets Luther's eyes, grins slightly, and nods his readiness.
Woe to any attacker behind that door.
Stanislav steps out from his bedroom door, bleary-eyed in a velvet robe.
"Что это за волнение?"
Luther opens the door into a fairly large room, 15' x 15', with a four poster bed directly across from the door. At the mens' entrance, Katherine sits bolt upright in her bed, staring wide-eyed at the pair and whispering...
"Honor my fate..."
She then faints, slumping over on her side, unconscious.
Amaya is not sure how long she has been listening from her door: probably not as long as it feels. Amaya is more aware of the outline of the stairs and doors now―perhaps her eyes are more used to the dark, perhaps the breaking dawn is beginning to illuminate the house, or perhaps the sleep clearing from her head is allowing a recollection of her surroundings. She is aware of sounds as Stanislav makes his way to his door.
Ah! The Russian.
"Да, да," Amaya utters in order to draw Stanislav's attention. "Я не знаю. Возможно Oukonunaka упал."
"See to the girl."
Oukonunaka begins investigating the room, checking the windows, floor, and any likely hiding places for signs of intruders.
"Индеец упал?" He looks up at the ceiling, where the footfalls continue. "No, that does not seem right..." He makes his way downstairs in the morning half-light, his pace steadily increasing as he heads towards the back stair.
Oukonunaka's search of the bedroom finds no signs of entry or intruders. There is a single small window latched shut from the inside and a wardrobe full of clothes; he also makes sure no one is hiding under the bed. The only other furniture is a small vanity and a bedside table; this room lacks the home's otherwise ubiquitous stacks of books.
Amaya also looks up at the sounds of footsteps from the storey above. Surely more than one person. Who all is up there? She looks back to Stanislav as he is moving to leave his room.
Oh, dear―shall we wander in our nightclothes? I've at least slippers and a coat...
Putting her toes into a pair of bath slippers and throwing her green wool coat from the day before over her shoulders, she leaves her room. She feels naked without a hat, but it would be comical to add a bowler to these clothes. She also decides not to try to stuff the sleeves of her nightshirt into her coat. The coat hangs closed at the front, even as she reaches out from underneath it for the railing on her way down the stairs. Her hair is brushed and in a long braid down her back.
She catches up to Stanislav but stays a step or two behind as she follows.
No one seems about the house or kitchen. What is happening on the upper floor? I think that this Russian is right to wonder.
Clark nods to Oukonunaka and carefully steps into the room. After a few moments looking around, he sets his weapon down on the bedside table and awkwardly examines Katherine for any obvious signs of injury. Well, I can tell that she wasn't shot...
He places his forefinger against her neck and feels for a pulse. "I... think she's all right. I'm no doctor."
He retrieves his revolver and backs toward the door. "I suppose we should let her rest. Perhaps we can send the woman up to have a look in on her in a bit, and look for a doctor later in the morning." He proceeds more quietly as he reaches the doorway. "Damned strange though, isn't it? Perhaps just nightmares... the stress of all of this, getting to her. I admit that this affair may have me a bit spooked..." Am I prattling on? At this indian boy? I must be shaken.
Luther confirms that Katherine Pallaver is, in fact, still alive, but beyond that he cannot say...
Stanislav hurries up the rear stairs and enters the bedchamber, Amaya close behind. His eyes go wide at the sight of Oukonunaka peering under the bed, Luther retreating with gun in hand, and Katherine slumped over on the bed.
"What has happened?!" he barks, his surprise turning to anger as he rushes to the bedside. He begins a more professional and thorough examination of the young woman, quickly checking her pulse, opening her eyelids, and listening at her chest. "Bring me the black bag from my room - now!" he commands to the room, his voice ringing with authority and cutting off any replies the two men may be in the middle of making.
Amaya, already preoccupied by the fact that she is moving about the house in her nightclothes, is further discomforted to find herself now in full company whens she enters the bedroom. The sight of Katherine on the bed and of Luther and Oukonunaka moving about the room heightens her unease. However, Amaya quickly notes Katherine's debilitated slump and moves toward the bed, occupying the bedside opposite Stanislav as he rushes over. As Amaya worriedly watches Stanislav handle the unconscious woman, she is deaf to the content of his shouts. She seats herself on the edge of the bed, out of the way of the ongoing examination, eyes fixed on Katherine's face.
"I'll get it." Clark briefly meets Stanislav's eyes as he brushes past him and quickly heads down the stairs, relieved at his show of apparent confidence in this situation. I didn't know he had it in him. It's a good thing he's here.
He finds the man's door still ajar, and passes inside. After a quick scan of the room, he selects a likely-looking bag and confirms that it contains medical-looking equipment. He turns and heads back to join the others, taking the stairs two at a time.
The Russian takes various medical instruments from the bag to further inspect the unconscious Katherine Pallaver; after several minutes he uncorks a small vial and holds it under her nose. She suddenly awakes in a fit of coughing and snorting. Stanislav begins putting his instruments away, looking slightly relieved.
"I'm afraid you've suffered from a sort of fit, Miss Pallaver," he says gently to the bewildered-looking young woman. "You were screaming in your sleep." Katherine rubs her eyes. "I fear the stress of recent events has overcome you. You must - "take it easy" - for a few days. There is nothing so important as your health, no?" He gives a nod to the trio of guests in the bedchamber.
"Now I must get dressed. I will meet you all downstairs, yes?" He gives Katherine a reassuring smile before heading down the stairs.
"Screaming?" Katherine shakes the cobwebs from her head as Stanislav leaves. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you all! And on your first night as my guests, no less. Please forgive me. I fear Dr. Vredovsky is right - these past two weeks have been very difficult for me.
"Please, if you'll but give me some time to collect myself, I'll make ready a breakfast for us all."
Amaya is startled by Katherine’s convulsive awakening. As Stanislav regains his calm, so too does Amaya begin to return to normalcy—and to her discomfort at Katherine and herself in their nightclothes in company. At Katherine’s mention of the guests, Amaya somewhat absently rests her hand on the comforter covering one of Katherine’s legs in a futile attempt to shield them both from the eyes of the men.
Make us breakfast? Nonsense!
Some dignity right away, then recovery at your leisure.
Amaya meaningfully eyes Luther and Oukonunaka in turn, then glances at the door.
Amaya adjusts the coat on her shoulders to cover herself a bit more. As the coat tugs at her braid, Amaya is reminded that her hair is down without her hat and she becomes more unnerved by the bedroom scene. She exhales heavily and slowly blinks in order to give herself some calm.
Amaya looks into Katherine’s weary face. She offers Katherine comfort in the form of a tired smile; Amaya rests her other hand near her first atop the bed.
Clark leans against the back wall, watching with concern as Stanislav conducts his examination.
As Ms. Pallaver regains consciousness and the Russian departs, he looks around a bit sheepishly. "Right. Yes. Please don't put yourself out; we can manage a breakfast I'm sure. I'm sorry for the intrusion." He looks to the others. "I'll see you downstairs." He turns and follows Stanislav out.
He quickly chooses a grey summer suit of modest quality and dresses for the day. He ineffectually combs his fingers through his thinning hair, locks up his revolver, and then heads downstairs to try to catch a few moments to discuss the events with the others before Katherine makes her way downstairs.
Feeling that things are under control for the moment
Oukonunaka retires to his bedroom to sleep.
This house should be cleansed by a Shaman, evil spirits linger here. I shall do the ritual of meditation at dusk. Perhaps the spirits will guide me.
Amaya turns at the waist to watch Luther and Oukonunaka leave the room, a motion which nearly causes her coat to slip off of her shoulder. Once the men are gone, Amaya exhales and turns back to face Katherine, ignoring the open coat.
"Katherine," begins Amaya with another smile, "I really must insist that you stay here and rest." Amaya gently pats Katherine's leg through the comforter. "We will manage breakfast on our own just fine. We are all keeping our own schedules, besides, so there is by no means a party downstairs expecting you to play hostess."
We should all have a down day.
"Now," states Amaya, with a bit of cheer, "what may I get for you so that you might rest?" Amaya raises her eyebrows in question. "Perhaps a book to read from downstairs? or a fresh pitcher of water for your nightstand?" Amaya looks around the room.
"May I bring you a gown to keep here on the bed? for when Dr Vredovky visits you again. Really, you are lightheaded and should not walk about the room."
I should not pepper her with questions and instructions.
Amaya folds her hands in her own lap and awaits a response.
Luther finds Stanislav ensconced in an armchair in the sitting room, now dressed in a black suit.
"Mister Clark, I see you are the only one to decide to join me." The Russian waves at the other chair nearby. "Miss Harvey has yet to come down, and the Indian went to bed! Perhaps this is for the best; after all, decisions are best made by civilized men, I think.
"Young Katherine is probably just suffering from the stress of her father's death, undoubtedly made worse by his comments in his will. I can prepare her a sleeping tonic if need be. To the matter of these books, I think it best if we leave them locked up, as Miss Harvey has suggested. Oчаровательная женщина. Perhaps the box should remain in your room?
"It would seem August got himself into something dangerous. It may be that the priest knows something of what troubled him. I fear I have little patience for the clergy, even those who serve my own faith; always they are telling you what to do and little else, no? But if you wish to speak with him, I will accompany you - perhaps after this morning's mass?"
"I... I suppose I should listen to Dr. Vredovsky." The young woman looks down and frowns. "I've been so useless since my father died. Mister Keel took care of all the funeral arrangements, and until yesterday there was nothing to do but wait. And then old Mayer and his cronies; why, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have even managed to get my father buried. And now I'm to lay in bed because I can't even sleep without making a mess of it."
She looks up, her eyes red. "I'm sorry, none of this is really your concern. Yes, a gown would be appropriate, I suppose. Thank you."
As Katherine speaks, Amaya again empathetically echoes the young woman’s fatigue by smiling with weary eyes and audibly breathing slowly. As Katherine looks down, Amaya bends her head to maintain eye contact.
“Katherine,” Amaya replies. “You are not useless and you are not making a mess of anything.” Amaya again presses Katherine’s leg gently through the comforter.
“Mr Keel was happy to help, just as we are. And,” Amaya looks away slightly. What trouble will this town continue to cause this poor girl? Amaya looks back into Katherine’s face. “No one who disrupts a funeral deserves any more thought from you.” Amaya nods in punctuation, then rises to retrieve a gown from across the room.
Don’t patronize her. “You are our concern, Katherine,” intentionally sounding more like a lawyer than a mother. “The rest of us will be perfectly fine while you have a rest.” Amaya lays the gown across the foot of the bed and remains standing. “I plan to stay about the house reading today, so I can help you with whatever you need. I’ll check back up in a while and I suspect Dr Vredovsky will, as well.” Amaya smiles to conclude her remarks. As she awaits any response from Katherine, Amaya begins adjusting her jacket and obviously steeling herself against the walk back through the house in her nightclothes.
Clark sets his hat on an end table as he sits with Stanislav. "Thank you. Perhaps it is..."
"It is good that you were there -- I felt helpless. You've seen this kind of thing before? There were men who cracked in the war, of course. Maybe it is not so different..."
"I have to confess, the comments in the will and all of this," he waves vaguely and continues in a lower voice, "appear to have me a bit spooked as well. I may have overreacted when I heard the screaming. I do think there is real danger here, though -- Pallaver was not the sort of man to jump at shadows."
"And he mentioned that his daughter specifically may be in danger. Perhaps he was just concerned for his child, as anyone would be? But he may have feared something specific. He suggested that someone -- Albert -- was manipulating his dreams? Could something like that be possible?"
"Bah. Yes, we need more information -- we're crawling about in the dark. Talking to the priest after the mass is a good idea; let us do that. Actually, I have found that often such men are wise from their years of experience and contemplation. Though, I grant you, it does seem less likely in this case..."
"And I agree about the books. Someone should keep an eye on the books overnight. I am willing to do it."
"Thank you, Miss Harvey. I suppose I'll just relax here for now."
"Good, good, Mister Clark. It seems unlikely we'll get a meal here. Perhaps we should breakfast at the Inn and bring something back for Katherine, after which we may make our way to the church. That way we should avoid any attempts at proselytizing, no?"
Amaya enters the front hall on her way back from Katherine's chamber.
"Ah, Miss Harvey! доброе утро. было бы честью, если бы вы присоединились к нам на завтрак, когда вы одеты. вы это сделаете?"
"The breakfast is a good idea, Doctor Vredovsky. But I think I would like to attend the mass -- I'd like to try to get a better feel for the town, and perhaps talk to some of the other folk if the opportunity presents itself. I will look to meet you there afterwards?"
"Of course, Katherine," replies Amaya with a concluding smile and a gentle nod. Amaya does not look at Katherine as she steps out of the room and closes the door.
Amaya adjusts her coat one last time about her shoulders as she looks down the stairs. She exhales and begins her descent to the ground floor; her only distractions from her hat-less head are the uncertain, heel-less footfalls of her slippers.
As she reaches the bottom and begins to move toward the main stairs, she hears the men's voices nearer the front of the house. Oh, let them be occupied so that I might get upstairs on my own. Amaya emerges into the hall to find Stanislav speaking to her. Ugh!
"Dr Vredovsky, доброе утро." Amaya straightens her back and squares her shoulders. "Yes, I should like to get dressed." Amaya lets her comment linger a moment. Who stops a woman to discuss her not being dressed?! "Then, yes, thank you, I suspect I'd like breakfast." She blinks at the sound of her own disagreeable attitude. Oh, come of it, Amaya. None of us asked for such an awakening. Тhis Russian was certainly capable. While paused, Amaya mentally surveys the last twenty-four hours. And, this is getting interesting. She relaxes a bit and exhales. "As with all of this business, аппетит приходит во время еды."
She excuses herself as a small, tight-lipped smile escapes onto her face and she heads up the stairs.
Amaya spends the morning reading On Verified Madness. Stanislav returns with breakfast for her and Katherine and checks on the latter's condition. Afterwards he putters about the house, but doesn't disturb Amaya as she studiously devours her book.
By Dr. Byron Pallaver & Dr. Hoyt Foramen, printed 1808. This grey book is a treatise on the insane, including a variety of case studies from the Helorus Catholicon, or so claims the title page. The preface to the book states that Doctor Pallaver was granted his M.D. from the University of the State of Pennsylvania in 1781, and founded the Helorus Catholicon in Helorus, New York in 1795, an institution dedicated to the study and treatment of disturbances and maladies of the mind. Doctor Foramen was granted his M.D. from the University of Edinburgh in 1792, and began work at the Helorus Catholicon in 1801. The purpose of the book is to prove that while a variety of mental aberrations may be curbed or cured by surgical intervention, there are some derangements that occur without any physical trauma or abnormalities and which are therefore immune to any conventional attempts at medical treatment beyond constant sedation or the infliction of permanent idiocy. The authors consider such cases to be examples of the eponymous "verified madness." In these cases, the authors hope to show that alternative methods of therapy they have devised may have greater effect in curing the afflicted.
The book is very technical, obviously meant for trained medical professionals, and much of the referential information and supporting data is lost on Amaya. She does understand that Doctors Pallaver and Foramen suggest that a sympathetic approach to the mentally disturbed, encouraging the patient to describe and "fully realize" their madness, allows them to then confront and overcome their affliction under the guidance of a doctor. Three cases of complete success from this method are described, all achieved through the efforts of Dr. Foramen. These patients were a man who suffered hallucinations of being burned alive, believing that the fires of Perdition would find and torment him whenever he had un-Christian thoughts; a woman haunted by visions of a hunched, ghoulish figure stinking of sulfur and rotting meat; and a man convinced that rats followed him everywhere: inside walls, floors, ceiling, and even the ground and trees when outdoors, unseen by him but not unheard. Other cases from both doctors report lesser degrees of success.
Regardless of her personal opinions on the matter, objectively Amaya is unable to tell if the claims made in the book are scientifically credible due to her unfamiliarity with the field.
The morning is pleasant and sunny as Luther takes the mile walk through town, joining the tail end of arriving churchgoers when he reaches the chapel. Taking a seat in the back pew, he sees that most of the congregation appear to be modestly dressed laborers. A single gentleman, perhaps in his fifties, is dressed in a more expensive, tailored suit, though it's at least ten years out of style.
Father Grimsby's shrill, piercing voice cuts through the room as he gives a sermon on service to the Lord regardless of worldly recognition. He finishes with a reading from the gospel of Matthew:
"And seeing the multitudes, he went up into a mountain: and when he was set, his disciples came unto him. And he opened his mouth, and taught them, saying: Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.
"Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you."
The service complete, people begin to stand and make their way out.
When Stanislav sees that Amaya has finished studying the book, he approaches her with a smile.
"I hope it was a 'good read', as they say. I am off to meet Mr. Clark at the church; we intend to speak with the priest about some of the things from August's journal. Не могли бы вы присоединиться к нам?"
Amaya stands to address Stanislav. She smiles in return and pats the book at his mention of it.
"Yes! Some dedicated work was done at that hospital." Ugh. A slog to read, though. Amaya sets it down on the folder in which she took her notes while reading.
"No, thank you," she answers to his question. "I'll stay here with Katherine. Did she take her breakfast? How is she?"
After Stanislav heads out to the church Amaya peruses the Pallaver residence. In the sitting room and the room adjacent, amidst the items that Dr. Pallaver acquired in his travels, she finds a shrunken ape's head, a forked ceremonial dagger which appears covered in dried blood, and a necklace strung with scores of human teeth. She's soon able to discern a simple system to the arrangement of the books, as they are divided into broad categories by room: history in the sitting room, newspapers and maps in the room adjacent, anthropology in the dining room, art in the main hall, etc. The books themselves vary in size, age, and condition; it would appear Dr. Pallaver was quite a bibliophile.
The exterior of the Pallaver residence seems to be in good repair. It sits at the front of a parcel of land perhaps five acres in size; the property is bordered by a simple wooden fence and grows more overgrown the farther from the house one goes, until the far fence is hidden behind waist-high grass and a copse of wild apple trees.
Stanislav makes his way into the church through the exiting crowd, nodding to Luther with a smile and joining him in the last pew.
"Are you a changed man, Mr. Clark?" he asks with a grin. A few minutes later when the church has emptied, he accompanies the engineer to the front to speak with Father Grimsby.
"Good morning, gentlemen." Father Grimsby smiles at the pair. "Mr. Clark, is it? I hope you found some small enjoyment in my sermon.
"Now, you have the look of men who have not come to make small talk. How can I help you both?"
Clark maintains a contemplative demeanor, scanning the townsmen as they file out of the church.
He stands as Stanislav approaches, picking up his hat in his left hand.
The corners of his mouth curl slightly at the Russian's query. "Ha. Perhaps not. But it was...heartfelt."
* * *
Clark holds out his hand as the priest addresses him. "Indeed. Some small comfort as well; thank you. And a good morning to you as well, Father Grimsby."
He averts his eyes somewhat sheepishly and glances around the church to confirm that there is no one else within earshot. "As you say, there is something that we would like to ask you about. Thank you for sparing the time."
"From some comments in his will, and some notes we were able to find at the house, it seems that August was quite worried about something in his last few weeks. It seemed that you were close -- do you have any idea of what might have been bothering him so?"
- "His notes also mentioned a man by the name of Albert. Do you know who he might have been referring to?"
- "We also saw mention of a mausoleum in the graveyard here. Would you mind if I took a look up there to try to better understand what he was talking about?"
- "Can you tell us anything about the history of the Catholicon?"
"We do not mean to pry, of course, but some of August's notes have left poor Katherine confused and distressed. We only seek to know more so we may calm her fears. We will of course be discreet in what we share with her on topics of a more complicated nature; some things are best left for men to worry over, no?"
Father Grimsby lets out a sigh and nods at the men's request. "Of course, anything to help Katherine. What would you like to know?"
"From some comments in his will, and some notes we were able to find at the house, it seems that August was quite worried about something in his last few weeks. It seemed that you were close -- do you have any idea of what might have been bothering him so?"
"He did seem a bit troubled of late, but didn't mention why to me. I didn't press him on the matter. He could be quite stubborn when he was in the mood to be, and I knew that if he needed my help he would ask."
"His notes also mentioned a man by the name of Albert. Do you know who he might have been referring to?"
Father Grimsby's face visibly darkens. "Albert." He almost spits the name. "A heathen and a traitor. He left years ago and we've neither seen nor heard of him since. Good riddance. That man was possessed of an arrogance, a vicious contrariness, that made him turn his back on everything that can be considered godly and decent. August swore him off, but I know his betrayal at that man's hands pained him every day of his life. I'd hoped that he wouldn't spend any more of his time blaming himself for the man's character, but if he was writing of him, then obviously he still did." He shakes his head. "T'was no fault of August's that Albert turned from the light as he did. Every man and woman is responsible for their own sins."
"We also saw mention of a mausoleum in the graveyard here. Would you mind if I took a look up there to try to better understand what he was talking about?"
"Ah, the mausoleum. You're more than welcome to take a look. August always was obsessed with that old crypt, even when we were boys. I don't think he ever did solve it's mystery. It pre-dates the town itself, you see; made no doubt by some early settlers who either moved on or perished."
"Can you tell us anything about the history of the Catholicon?"
"It was founded by his father, of course. A hospital for the disturbed. It ran for years before the tragedy - the fire of 1809. Byron Pallaver died in that blaze, along with all of the patients and the rest of the staff. I believe that his father's intentions were good, if not his judgment. I'm afraid most don't share my sentiment."
The old priest looks between the two men. "I'll not repeat rumor and conjecture, which you'll hear plenty of if you begin asking around town on the matter. Byron Pallaver's colleague, Hoyt Foramen, was discovered to have kidnapped a local girl who'd been presumed drowned in the lake. He'd kept her locked up in the Catholicon and tortured her to death; he was caught trying to dispose of the body. They found he'd secretly been torturing some of the patients as well, though he claimed that what he was doing to them were 'medical procedures'.
"When they caught him, Byron argued in court that the man was unfit for trial due to mental disorder. He then used his wealth and influence to have Foramen committed at the Catholicon under his care. People were understandably furious.
"I don't think August's father ever really understood why everyone was so upset. He seemed to believe that Foramen truly wasn't responsible for his actions, and that he could return the man to sanity. In any event, he didn't get the chance. Two months after Foramen was committed the hospital burned to the ground."
Grimsby stares thoughtfully into the middle distance. "August certainly believed that his father had done the right thing, and would have words with anyone who said otherwise. Which was, of course, everyone here in Helorus. But August always held firm that no one was irredeemable, no matter how evil they may have become. That, in the end, we are all human, and we are all worthy of a second chance." He comes back to himself and gives a sad smile to Luther and Stanislav.
"Was there anything else?"
Clark is taken aback at the mild-mannered old priest's vitriolic response regarding Albert. "I'm sorry to ask about this, but it may be important. Did Albert work with August? Do you know what happened? Or who might know?"
* * *
Luther looks to Stanislav to see if he has anything to ask.
* * *
Clark offers his hand to the priest. "I think we've imposed enough -- it's been very helpful. Thank you very much for taking the time, Father. And for your sermon this morning -- our friend will be missed."
He looks to Stanslav. "I'd like to take a quick look at the mausoleum before heading back. Interested in coming along?"
"I'm sorry to ask about this, but it may be important. Did Albert work with August? Do you know what happened? Or who might know?"
Father Grimsby's mouth pulls downwards into grim frown and his eyes smolder. "Albert renounced the Christian faith, disavowed any good in mankind, and branded August's works and ideals as worthless. The works and ideals of his father."
***
"I think we've imposed enough -- it's been very helpful. Thank you very much for taking the time, Father. And for your sermon this morning -- our friend will be missed."
Grimsby gives Luther a curt handshake. "Indeed he will. Good day, gentlemen."
Oukonunaka wakes, cleans up, and eats breakfast. He then sits on the porch, lights his pipe, and reflects on the previous day.
This house needs a Shaman, bad spirits remain here. Things will get worse before they get better.
With Katherine and Oukonunaka in their rooms, presumably asleep, and Stanislav departed to join Luther in town, Amaya is alone on the ground floor. Every since she saw some books in French during her survey of the collections earlier in the morning, she has been in the mood for that language.
Before selecting a volume and a chair for reading, she heads into the kitchen to make some tea. In searching the cupboards, she finds a fine pot and a quilted cozy and decides to steep enough for herself and for her housemates. As the kettle is heating, Amaya steps into the dining room to look out of the window over the property. Once the kettle boils and the tea is steeping, she returns to the window. The landscape and grass and trees are similar to her native Michigan—she feels no tug for home, but she nevertheless draws conscious and unconscious comfort from the familiarity.
Amaya brings her tea to the sitting room, selects a French monograph on Iberian history from the shelf, and seats herself near a window to read. In choosing the book, she had no intention of studying the exposition in the text and, indeed, leaps around the prose phrase by phrase in order to be affected by the structure of the language—the Latin letters, the manufactured liaisons.
Amaya hears someone come down the front stairs: Oukonunaka. She hears him get breakfast. She reads on in her book but the stirring in the house is a welcome distraction. Her mind wanders to inquiries about the young Indian just as he walks past the sitting room and out onto the porch.
Go out and speak with him, Amaya. She looks back to her book to find that she has closed it, apparently committing herself to head out for a conversation. She sips the last of her tea and reshelves the book. She walks back to the kitchen through the parlor and dining room in order to refill her cup. He is more quiet than me, she thinks as she anticipates her discourse with the Iroquois. We hardly spoke on the trip to the Inn last night. I hope that I have not insulted him by forgetting his name.
Her tea produces thin wisps of steam as she walks out onto the porch. She sees Oukonunaka quietly smoking. Perhaps I have interrupted a reverie—or prayer. She seats herself on the opposite side of the front door from the young man and sets her cup on a small side table. She quietly straightens her skirt and leaves her hands on her knees for a moment so as not to make too much fuss.
Oukonunaka is seated to her left and so her shorter arm is in full view. Amaya sometimes feels the need to hide it, but not now. She admires her hand as it smooths over the fabric. One day in to a month-long stay and already the women have been seen in their nightclothes. Amaya crosses her legs, leaves her left hand on her knee, and with her right hand sips her tea through a smile—a smile at the thought of this nascent adventure, especially the thought of trying to strike up a conversation with this compatriot.
Not the pipe. Not the clothes. Not this morning with Katherine. With time to think in this quiet company, a legitimate question rises to Amaya’s mind. Once the Indian has acknowledged her enough to convince her that he is not requiring silence, she begins, firmly but not loudly, “Good morning.”
“Please tell me: what is the meaning of your name in your language?”
Oukonunaka takes a drag from his pipe and carefully regards Amaya, then exhales slowly.
She is the Owl's talon, a very powerful omen. I wonder what role she will play?
"In the language of my people my name means White Owl. "
Oukonunaka takes another long slow drag from his pipe, savoring the clarity it brings, and once again exhales slowly, then sets the pipe down on the arm of his chair.
"You bear the mark of the Owl; you have his Talon." He points the stem of his pipe at Amaya's smaller hand, then sets the pipe on the arm of his chair. He then raises his left hand finger's spread, "Your fate," he then raises his right hand fingers spread, "and my fate," he then puts his two hands together fingers interlaced, "are bound together."
Oukonunaka smiles a sympathetic smile at Amya, retrieves his pipe, and takes a deep pull and exhales. His expression then becomes somber, his tone deepens, and his voice grows quiet.
"Ms. Harvey there are evil spirits at work here. The house, Katherine, and all those who mourn Dr. Pallaver were not cleansed properly by a Shaman. Dr. Pallaver's unclean possesions should have been burned, and the house cleansed by smoke. You, me, Mr. Clarke, Dr. Vredovsky, and any who associate with us are in great danger."