[IC] Chapter 3: Wergynstone

[jp1885]

Kipps makes another sidelong glance into the back room and, obviously considering it safe to talk, leans in to whisper.

“I shouldn’t speak ill of the New Squire, but him and his men don’t let anyone onto his land if he can help it. He’s got them fellers down from Brum and they’s patrolling at all hours. No-one’s allowed anywhere near the estate save the domestic staff and ol’ Sam the gamekeeper.

A loud ‘harrumph’ from the bar indicates that someone wishes to be served, causing the landlord to leave you with a cordial nod.

“I s’pect your rooms’ll be ready by the time you’ve finished your drinks. Take your time though - there ain’t much else to do of a night ‘round here.”

[Mr. Handy]

"How are we to get to the stones, if the land is guarded?" Cynthia asks the others. "Perhaps we could ask Sam the gamekeeper. But where might he be found?"

[speshul]

Tom shadows Grigori trying to look casual, if possible he will sit with his back to the room, torn between hiding his face and keeping a good view, he will try and find somewhere to sit even if it is away slightly from the others. His plan is to observe.

[jp1885]

As the evening wears on, the atmosphere turns from one of sullen curiosity to that of quiet conviviality. You watch the locals as surreptitiously as they watch you, but to all intents and purposes you are left alone with your refreshments.

Clearly most of the patrons are local labourers of one type or another, for with an early start and a full day’s work on the morrow they do not drink to excess or tarry late. Soon the inn begins to empty, save those who have the leisure to remain.

The fire is warm and the drink is palatable. Will you spend the rest of the evening here or explore elsewhere?

[Whitehorse]

Grigori looks out the window, trying to spy throught the fug whether it is any drier out there.

"I feel a midnight stroll to be in order... Would anyone care to join me?"

[LTD1969]

"I'd be happy to join you for a night time constitutional, and perhaps plan our next course of action away from prying eyes, or indeed ears. I'm not sure we should embark on anything adventurous though until it's daylight."

[Mr. Handy]

"I'd be delighted," says Cynthia, "though I don't think we can wait until morning. They're supposed to be coming for the stones tonight."

[Zero]

Henry Joseph Lewis III spent the evening at the bar, listening to the others speculate on a wide array of nonsense he knew little about. The young dilettante appeared to be in a dreadful mood. He stared sullenly into his drink, not daring allow his lips to touch the visibly unclean surface of the glass. In spite of his dour mood, he decided to engage those Eton party members whom decided to remain at the bar in some idle conversation.

"More talk of the supernatural? You're likely to find yourselves committed to the county sanitarium if you continue on this fool's errand. What sort of proof have you?" he said in a low undertone.

[Whitehorse]

"Mr Lewis, I fear you are unlikely to understand, but we each of us were touched by some supernatural entity on our journey here. Snear if you will, but do please take care while you are here. Something malevolent is in this neighbourhood."

With that, Grigori turns away. He borrows a lantern from the innkeeper, enquires as to the direction of the church, pulls his muffler up to his chin, takes his stick in his hand, and steps out into the gloom with his comrades, pleased at least to have some fresh air after the fug of the bar.

[jp1885]

‘Mine Host’ points you up the lane, away from the main road and towards the village, heading across the green. The church, he informs you with a wry smile, is the large building with the steeple on top.

[Mr. Handy]

"That looks like a good place to start," says Cynthia. "Let's go."

[LTD1969]

"Ah well, it appears time is against us. I must say I feel rather unprepared for a confrontation with supernatural evil - a night's sleep would have done a power of good. Needs must, it seems".

The professor moves to follow the others up the lane.

[jp1885]

May I ask, is everyone walking out for an evening constitutional, or is anyone remaining in the inn?

[Mr. Handy]

"Yes, it would have been nice to have a night's sleep," says Cynthia, walking with the others toward the church, "but there's no time for that. At least that cup of tea was quite fortifying."

[Zero]

Henry Joseph Lewis III would ordinarily have preferred to retire for the evening at this hour, but not this night. He surmised that the sooner the Eton group got started on this nonsensical task of theirs the sooner they could depart this awful place. The young dilettante longed to be seated in his study by the fireplace, engrossed in the pages of a new written work. He would certainly be giving his uncle a piece of his mind when he saw him again. Blood relationship be damned, he would not have his time wasted in this manner. The man drew the collar up on his overcoat and followed the others as they struck out into the bleak conditions.

[jp1885]

Leaving the fuggy warmth of the Knight's Head Inn is like stepping into a cold grey void, for night has turned the drizzle that has dogged your journey into a damp mist, made translucent by moonlight.

You make your way down the rutted lane that leads from the inn to the centre of the village. Little more than a rough track, it is bordered by small cottages; the inhabitants abed judging by the mean, lightless windows and rough stone walls. There is some light ahead however, roughly where you judge the village green and hence the church to be situated.

Like moths drawn to a flame you head for this, but as you progress, you become aware of a slight scrabbling noise behind the high, crumbling stone wall to your right. It's as if some animal or person is trying to climb up over it.

[Mr. Handy]

"Maybe there's a dog on the other side of that wall," says Cynthia.

[LTD1969]

I turn to the others and whisper: "Should we call out and ask who's there?"

[Zero]

Henry Joseph Lewis III made his way towards the lighted structure, careful not to step into one of the muck-filled ruts left by repeated wagon traffic. The haughty young man continued to lament his involvement with this motley group, as such when another opportunity presented itself to lighten his own mood at the expense of one of the others, he took full advantage of it.

He shot a glance in Cynthia's direction, then quipped wryly, "Well it's certainly not one of your specters, their ilk can pass straight through walls, isn't that right?"

[Mr. Handy]

"They aren't my specters, Mr. Lewis," says Cynthia. "I do like a good ghost story, but that doesn't mean I believe in such things. I can tell the difference between fiction and reality." Well, most of the time, she thinks.