Taking the head back up to his room and storing it somewhere no-one will look (for the moment, it's sure to start smelling soon), Tomasz too will go back to sleep.
Shrike handles the preliminary reports and provides the correct wards before retiring to bed.
Sam goes straight to bed after that bit of excitement.
The rest of the night is uneventful. Come morning, the temperatures have dropped, and a freezing mist is blanketing the city. The clouds are thick enough to cover the sun.
Shrike rises with the sun and dons a heavy wool greatcoat against the cold. Making his way down to the yard where last night's pitched battle took place, he gives the area a thorough examining before returning indoors for a fortifying cup of what will likely be horrible tea and putting his head together with the others over the mystery of their attacker.
After breakfast, Tomasz stows the head in a convenient sack and goes to find the more medically-inclined members of the team. "Together, perhaps, we can make something of this. Shall we find somewhere private?"
Sam wakes up and starts cursing at herself right off the bat. She eats breakfast quickly and goes with Tomasz to examine the Dullahan's head. "I know a little about medicine, and other things besides." 'Damn it, I should have checked last night. If it was conjured or raised, I would have been able to pick up on an aura and identify it, but I don't know if anything will be left now. What a mess.'
"I would like to at least sit in on this," Shrike notes, tagging along with the others, "That thing knew my name. If we can get it talking again I'd like to be there."
"Personally I kinda want to just burn the thing. It ain't natural"
"Talking, I doubt, and we may burn it afterwards. Before then, it may have things to teach." So saying, Tomasz begins a thorough examination - not looking for anything medical, but instead for the signs and symbols of magical bindings. Those, or a 'Hergestellt in Deutschland' tattoo.
Sam gives the head a once-over, wearing gloves as she does so, and casts Detect Magic on the off chance there's still something to find.
Finally yes, the tea is horrible.
Through mundane eyes, the head is just a head, decomposed as if it had spent months underwater. Its teeth are rotten and chipped, and the eyes are completely glazed, without iris or pupil. The neck appears to have been cut with a sharp instrument of sorts.
However, through Sam's enhanced vision and Tomasz' knowledge, the hidden telltale signs of magic appear around the neck edge, in the form of a binding diagram carved into the flesh. Every diagram is as unique as a snowflake, and this is no exception, but its purpose is evidently to bind ectoplasm to the Material Plane, preventing it from losing shape and vanishing, as happened to the body. The dullahan had been summoned, no doubt about it. Whether it was controlled as well... you can only guess.
"This bears bad news. I suspect more will be learned at the meeting tonight, but for now I suggest we rest. And burn this thing."
Taking the severed head by the hair, Shrike begins stuffing it into a handy sack, "How unique is that diagram? Could you identify more work by the same hand based on what you've seen here?"
"maybe we could get a camera?"
"Summoned, then probably not a coincidence that it appeared here." Sam copies the diagram onto a piece of paper.
"I have no doubt that it is not a coincidence, but I see little else to be learned here. Perhaps someone could identify the head, but I am not hopeful in a city this large."
"Then we should prepare for tonight. How are your wounds, Ms. Korematsu?"
Sam touches her bandages. "It won't be a problem. A few terrorists aren't a threat to me."
Clouds give way to soggy sleet, and sleet gives way to a snowstorm. Come evening, Belfast is blanketed in a heavy, soot-stained coat of snow, although the storm has faded.
The requisitioned car moves shakily through the streets, moving towards the factories and leaving a trail in the white blanket over the city. Finally you reach Mathilda Street. The last warehouse, a faint light shining from within, is surrounded by frozen, overgrown weeds speckled with rusty scraps of iron; on the south lies another warehouse, locked with heavy steel chains. On the opposite side you can see a furniture factory and an abandoned, half caved-in cannery. The snow in front of the last warehouse shows a handful of footprints heading inside a large, reddish door.
A young man, just barely into adulthood, shivers next to Sam, his scarf covering half of his face while his beanie covers the rest except his eyes. His blue eyes shifting nervously around showing agitation.
(muffled)"I th-th-think we have ar-r-rived."
Sitting in the driver's seat, well-wrapped, Tomasz checks his mirrors and snorts. "Your generation, they lack fortitude. This is a mild winter compared to those of my youth." He checks again. "What should I be looking for, if you require backup, beyond yourselves running out like the devil's hounds are on your heels?"
"Vat is our plan?" Mina asks, a persistent feeling of jittery and anxious having been with her all day. Between the creature from the night before and spending time with a head, and now snow, she was feeling ready for a warm drink and a bath and a bed. But there was no time for that, not with lives at stake. She checked her guns for the 12th time on the ride.
"Mr. Szymanski, if you could park us behind one of the nearby buildings? Ms. Wagner, you and myself should take positions with lines of sight on the front of the building and also Mr. Szymanski. Agent Brosnan has his pick of the nearby rooftops. Should something go wrong, I am quite capable of providing a distraction. The difficulty is finding a way for Agent L and Ms. Korematsu to signal us from inside the meeting should something go awry."
The young man continues to shiver. "If-f things go b-b-bad we'll jus-st exit out the f-front."
Agent pierce scouts out the buildings adjacent to the meeting point, choosing the building with the second best vantage point and cover, as going for the best perch right off the bat screams ameture.
Nodding, Tomasz pulls around the block and parks. He leaves the engine running.
"I can create a signal, of sorts, but it isn't the kind of thing done subtley, and I cannot cast anything else while the signal is up. Should it become necessary, look for three points of a triangle hanging in the air," Sam says.
She casts 'Disguise Self' and appears as Private Doherty. She also implants 'Psychosomatic Surge' in each herself and L.
"We have our signal then, we'll only need it for a moment. Good luck. Ms. Wagner, if you would accompany me." Shrike said as he got out of the car and disappeared into the snow. He took a moment to straighten the thick greatcoat he wore and make sure his gloves and scarf were sound about him before making his limping way toward an alley with what he hoped was a decent view of the front of the building.
As Sam knocks, the door opens slightly, showing a chain. A pair of green eyes peek outside, and a feminine voice speaks. "Where did we meet?"
Pierce wraps himself in psychic energy, concealing his presence and allowing him to hide in plain sight on top of the warehouse
"Down by the Willow River," Sam-as-Doherty says.
"My love and I."
The door closes and faint sound of metal scraping can be heard, before it opens again. The woman next to it looks as Irish as one can be, sporting red hair, green eyes and freckles. She's dressed in a cheap, old military coat, and carries an old WWI-era pistol. Behind her you can spot a handful of other people sitting on crates and decrepit furniture, watching intently the entry: two burly men, a middle-aged woman, strikes of gray in her blonde hair, and two men in a military haircut. One of them is sitting on a larger chair, his body language suggesting that he's the leader.
He rises, exposing an army-issue gun in his hands, and speaks as the redhead takes a step back.
"I'd heard they'd caught you, Tom, locked you up in the brig. And yet you come here with some boy we've never seen, without talking to me about it first? You'll forgive me if it sounds strange, eh? More importantly, where are the bombs I gave you to bring?"
"I don't know anything about any bombs, been a little busy with those tossers from the military police," she says derisively. "You heard right, yeah, one of the bleedin' thicks caught on to me, but I didn't give 'em a thing, played stupid til they got tired of asking the same questions and let me go. As for the kid, he's an idiot but a useful idiot. Just enough brainpower to understand it's bad for his health to breathe a word of this to anyone. Any other problems?"
The young Irish boy fidgets uncomfortably while the others speak.
"I'm s-sorry s-sir, " he shivers, "M'pa was uh c-cobbler. But them bastards fired him an' left us to starve. Da' died last winter an' I been lookin' fur a way to get back at 'em ever since. When I heard this man say 'Eirinn go brach' when they grabbed him I knew he was a good man. So I waited for him tuh get out."
The young man's facial expression shifts to desperate. "Please let me join ya! I'll be useful! "
The leader grunts at the duo's explanations and sits back down, laying the pistol on the table. "We'll speak later, boyo. Take a seat and keep quiet, and if you breathe one word of what's going on here..." He pointedly drums his fingers next to the gun "Tom, we'll have words about the military police too."
"All of you, there's been a deadly amount o' soldiers moving since before Christmas, some out of town, some coming here. There's something big that's going on, and sure look it they're shipping out troops towards the continent, and the Germans."
"We've been layin' low since the Germans blasted a hole in the roof, but I say we're striking once the main body of soldiers leave. Most of the Tans have been drafted in the Army, giving us leeway. Me, Tom and Georgie will steel all the pràta we can get from the depot and we'll put'em to good use. They'll look like fools for leaving Belfast unguarded, and His ******* Majesty will be the ******** who dragged us into this stupid war. De Valera did the right choice, and we'll show that Ulster, like Eire, shan't fight the wars of the English! Erin go bragh!"
A cry of allegiance rises in answer to the leader.
"So, if you have questions or doubts or advice, now's the time."
Pràta means potato, Eire is Ireland.
Your callsign. This can't be good.
Tomasz picks up the radio, doing his best to enunciated his accent away."Yes, Cavendish? What. Do. You. Need?"
"Understood. Cavendish. Thank. You. Romeo. Whiskey. Out." Tomasz hangs up the radio, taking a few moments to breath and think.
Well then, this is not good. Suddenly, his earlier bouts of paranoia didn't seem nearly as excessive. He could only hope they hadn't had a chance to question Doherty before he died.
Pierce looks around, making note of anyone walking around while hidden by his spell.
Sam cheers with the rest, and silently thanks Lady Luck. "Better 'n sittin' on our hands, and could do a lot of good, I'm with ya."
'Potatoes, they're in survival mode, trying to keep their people fed and stay out of the war.'
When she feels magic in the air, she suppresses a shiver. She glances at L to try and determine if he felt it, and does not let her guard down.
"And here I thought you had a plan, agents." she sighs, pointing the smoking gun at Sam and L. "The best part of today spent tracing you down, and you are just spying on the IRA. I'm honestly disappointed. So, other than you, who did the Laundry send?"
As she's speaking, her skin lightly ripples, cracking like paint from an old canvas. The glamour falls off, revealing her to be blonde, and an evil smile appears on her face.
As soon as he is able, the young irish man plants and pivots on one foot and begins dashing at the blonde with the smoking gun. 10 feet into the dash he uses a seated person to vault over the heads and land on the blonde.
Sighing to himself, Tomasz shifts the car into first and starts driving it around the block to park it outside the front door. Once their he'll hop out - again leaving the engine running - and approach the door.
Sam goes for her gun, focuses her hypnotic gaze on the woman, and says, "Stop!" Her eyes flash with magic and there's a pulse in the air as she casts a spell.
Shrike straightened at the sound of a gunshot from within the building. Tomasz came around the corner and parked next to the doors as Shrike began making his way towards them as well. Though he had little use for it, he reached inside his coat and pulled out his sidarm, a Browning Hi-Power chambered for 10mm rounds. Considering they were facing enemies on the mundane side of things, he considered it wise to have a recognizable weapon to hand.
The blonde woman fights against Sam's psychic onslaught, holding the grasp on her own mind through an extraordinary effort of will. As the other IRA members, shocked by the attack, hide further inside the warehouse, the enemy operative moves her arm quickly through the air, tracing a glyph with her fingers and bringing down the arm in a whip-like motion. L's tackle sends her sprawling, but flesh contact is all that was needed for the malevolent spell to discharge. Flashes of pain run through the man's body as chaotic energy struggles to twist his form.