Play@YSDC

“Mayhap we should knock politely,” suggests Lepus. “Lest the fellow mistakes us for yonder ragamuffins.”

Henry nods and knocks gently on the door.

Eliza will quietly ask what a polar bear is - upon receipt of the answer she will say "This, the lizard, and the strange deaths of the cats. It begins to seem more than a coincidence, yesno?"

After a moment, the fellow opens the door. He is now wearing spectacles tinted dark green, which apparently restrict his vision, as he inquires "Who is there?" and gazes about from side to side.

“Curious travellers,” Lepus replies. “Here to offer assistance after witnessing you being so roughly treated in yonder inn.”

He quickly turns to Eliza.

“‘tis a wise observation, oh niece. Your wits are sharp.”

"Indeed," says Henry. "That was very perceptive, Eliza."

The fellow shakes his head. "If only they understood --"

His speech is interrupted by a flash of yellow light from within the structure (perhaps explaining the tinted spectacles) accompanied by bubbling sounds, followed by a cloud of a dark gray gaseous substance, which produces a foul odor as it reaches the adventurers. The man, heedless of any danger, rushes inside.

Wrapping a grubby cloth around his face, Lepus scuttles through the doorway in order to assist the fellow.

Henry covers his mouth and nose with a handkerchief and follows him inside.

No doubt our adventurers will have encountered, at some time in their lives, eggs that were beyond the point where one would wish to eat them. Such is the powerful miasma that fills the fellow's workroom-cum-dwelling place, a disorderly set of rooms full of papers scattered hither and yon and apparatus of sundry design. Among the latter is a glass retort, seated upon a miniature brick fireplace, the flames from which surround it, as the milky liquid within boils away to form the noxious cloud now unmistakably present. Stumbling in his confusion, the man drops his spectacles, which shatter upon the stone floor of the place. He drops to his knees and searches for them in the manner of one without sight, completely disregarding the retort.

"I'm afraid they have broken," says Henry, picking up the spectacles and handing them to him. "I can perhaps repair them, given new lenses or the means to make them. But first let us move the retort off of the flames. Britches should be able to do that without getting burnt. Those sulfurous fumes are very unhealthy."

"Eh? Britches you say?" Standing, he continues, "My experiments with vermin-repelling fumes are, I admit, not entirely successful. Let us remove ourselves, as you say."

Outside, he explains that the spectacles were only necessary whilst engaged in this particular experiment, and thus the loss is not a critical one. (It is apparent, however, that his sight is not perfect, blinking as he does and leaning forward to study objects closely.) Once the noxious fumes are no more, he makes inquiry as to how the retort was removed, no serving man being seen.

"I trust that your man has not succumbed. Britches, britches; a most unusual surname. I must remember to search through the church records for such."

"Britches is unharmed," says Henry. "He is Lepus's servant, and he can be difficult to see, especially without spectacles. I believe it's more of an affectionate nickname than a surname, however."

"Ah, I see. Just as the animal most properly designated as Ursus arctos is sometimes known vulgarly as the brown bear, such as inhabits certain parts of the Old and New Worlds, as it once did in our own island. Not to be confused with the white-furred creature of the far north, Ursus maritimus, as named by the late Constantine John Phipps, 2nd Baron Mulgrave, as narrated in his interesting book A voyage towards the North Pole . . ."

The fellow goes on in this manner for quite some time, drifting from one topic to the next in an irregular manner. Recalling himself after a while, he inquires, "By any chance have you seen the Ursus arctos currently residing in this area? Most curious, indeed, as the species is thought to have abandoned England for other climes many centuries ago."

“Nay, no bear, but we chanced upon a salamander on our way hence,” Lepus replies.

“And I can repair your eyeglasses if you so wish, if all the pieces can be found.”

"Ah, yes, I've confused the two types of bear myself once," says Henry. "I haven't seen the Ursus arctos here. It is unusual, but as my friend said, it is not the only unusual specimen around these parts. Perhaps you could identify the salamander."

"I shall do my best, sir, do my best."

Upon first observing the creature, the fellow shakes his head and says "I doubt this is truly of the order Urodela, but rather a specimen of the genus Heloderma, although a most curious one." Taking a closer look, the subdued but not completely inactive animal produces wisps of steam aimed at the man. Drawing back, he continues, "Most curious indeed. If one could harness its caloric flow into a machine . . ." He drifts off into thought, clearly inspired.

Uninterested in the fellow’s scientific babbling, Lepus takes it upon himself to collect the remains of his eyeglasses.

If this affords the hedge wizard a chance to snoop around a little, then all the better.

"Yes, it would make an ideal power source, if it could be contained," says Henry. "One could make a miniature steam engine, perhaps powerful enough to move a vehicle."

Whilst examining the chaotic workroom , Lepus discovers a pair of jars kept in a more secure location than most other such items, which are scattered about in random fashion. Within each is a measure of straw-colored liquid. Upon one is attached a label bearing the inscription attractant; on the other, repellant.

Further examination is delayed by the interruption of a man screaming, followed by other exclamations of distress from other voices.