The Lady from the Lake

[Cinnabar]

Governor Burnie

The facsimile of the lakebed artefact is ready. The spider was captured without incident or injury, and has been kept safely contained in the interim; for want of alternatives I have kept it supplied with its customary food, with the cooperation of your research staff who have been most helpful in this matter.

With your approval, I intend to allow Catch to inspect the facsimile and observe his reaction; if he is open to questions I will find out what he knows of the artefact, if anything. You previously recommended Maxwell as an additional observer, which seems a sound choice - his well-developed sense of self-preservation should serve him well in this instance; I will do what I can to ensure his safety, in any case. The meeting will take place in the woods, as before, in case Catch reacts poorly; I shall mark the path taken should others need to find it for whatever reason.

I have passed instructions for the care and feeding of the spider with Miss Ford, whose capable assistance was invaluable in capturing it in the first place.

Sincerely

CC

[Glenn]

Events were afoot and it takes a short while for the letter to reach Burnie and then to be sent back.

Cinnabar,

I'll send Maxwell, though I also could see reasons for you to want to do this alone. I do not share my friends' secrets without absolute need. Feel free to send him away if an unveiling is necessary. I will send him to you at the earliest convenience. Meanwhile, I do hope the spider's customary food is not my staff. Be careful. If there ever was a time to mind how one may go, this would be it.

Glenn

[Cinnabar]

"There's another one." Cinnabar Calomel, sensibly-attired for their hike in the woods, pointed out a piece of bright red yarn tied around the trunk of a nearby tree. "If you stand near it you can see the next one along, all the way back to the road."

It had taken him a little while to mark a route to and from the forest clearing, but it had seemed prudent given that he had no idea of Maxwell's ability as an outdoorsman. This offered an easy way to get there and back, and in a hurry if need be. He'd also hoped that it might be possible to get at least a general idea of directions from the sun, but the autumnal cloud cover was proving unhelpful in that regard. The ground was frequently soft underfoot and his boots would need to be cleaned when he got home again, but the trees were in the process of turning to the rich reds and golds of autumn and all things considered it was a thoroughly pleasant day for a walk.

"It should be fairly straightforward, anyway; we'll say hello, have some tea, and see how things go from there. If he seems in a decent mood we can ask about the lady." Calomel glanced back to the researcher with a grin, giving every impression of enjoying their excursion. He carried a wicker basket of picnic supplies and a long, narrow bundle slung over one shoulder; the plaster copy of the statue was entrusted to Maxwell's diligent care, wrapped in several layers of burlap.

"If not, well. It's a bit of fresh air and exercise, hm?"

[Glenn]

The fairly young Scribe and Researcher Maxwell had certain definitive skills. He could write extremely quickly and in a shorthand that allowed him to record a great deal of information in a short period of time. He could read four different languages and speak three of those fluently. He was an expert debater well versed in all of the rules of logic and discourse. He could also analyze various literary tropes in ancient texts and write long papers about them. All useful skills. Somewhat. Right up until the moment he stepped outdoors.

Here he had the amazing ability to slip on the soft ground and walk into treebranches, ones that initially were nowhere near his head. It was as if the wood itself was reaching out to poke at him. Still, this was important and he soldiered on, albeit without Calomel's good spirits. He had a small pack over his shoulder with his writing implements and something to take notes upon. Even that seemed like too much the burden given their locale. "I find.." He spattered. "The effects of fresh air are highly overrated. Why, i once read a paper suggesting that tiny forest spores get into one's lungs and turn them green."

[Cinnabar]

"Green? I can't say I've spent much time looking at lungs, so I'll take your word for it." Calomel had spent time reading, certainly, but not really investigating with in any great depth into a given subject. There'd been other things, like sparring practice, or lessons at the smithy, or directing the resources of the Constabulary and, later, Myrken Wood itself. "Mind that patch, it's softer than it looks."

It wasn't too much longer before they finally reached the clearing Calomel surveying the scene with a satisfied air. The meadow flowers mostly past their best and fading back into the grass, which was itself beaten down by recent storms. The fallen oak remained, now sprouting toadstools here and there.

"Make yourself comfortable. We might be waiting for a while." He set down his various burdens against the toppled trunk, then retrieved a blanket from the top of the hamper and spread it out to form a barrier against the damp ground. The spirit burner was set out next, lit and adjusted, and the kettle filled and set to boil.

"The tea'll be ready in a few minutes."

[Glenn]

Maxwell had begun a long nasally lecture about lungs, having made it about seventeen words before he sank partially into the very patch Cinnabar had warned him about. After that he stayed mostly quiet and minded where he went a bit more and certainly where the former Governor warned him to look. He could always espouse about the wonders of lungs later, after all.

By the time they reached the clearing, however, he was more than a little worn out and didn't feel much like talking at all. There was no joy on sitting on a fallen tree or a stump or grass or even a blanket, any of the possible options really. Tea on the other hand? "Ah, a shred of hope for civility even in the wilderness!"

[catch]

He trotted with thoughts of the Moonboy on his mind, a steady pace to match his breathing, though he has been at this clip for some time, and still, did not breathe over-hard. He was forgetting to do it, knowing that he should breathe hard, yet there was so many other important things than focusing on what his body cried for, what it needed. Moonboys and Eater dogs, for one thing. And further tea-picnics.

The Catch that broke into the clearing, without making a sound, was one who was oddly centered,
one who was, at least outwardly, calm, thoughtful, and perhaps a little distracted by Things instead of Here-and-Now. And, somehow, his presence, the pale flutter of blood under his skin, brought those autumn-shriveled flowers fresh color, as if his Absence could make for theirs. Unaware, as he always was, the addled man absently picked a broken branch from his beard, mismatched eyes trailing over the spread, the tea, Ser Cinnabar and Maxwell.

"Is it t-t-time for words, again?" Catch asks, and the perplexity in his voice makes it clear that his fleeting grasp of Time is muddled, or that he cannot comprehend any other reason for the two men to be out, here, in the red-gold murk.

[Cinnabar]

"We carry our civility with us." In cities or fields or forest glades, wherever people go. Bricks and tiles and streets don't themselves guarantee civility or indeed civilisation.

The time taken for the kettle to boil was filled with sundry preparations: unpacking the tea set, three cups and a small pot, spooning a measure of leaves into the pot, making things ready. By the time Catch emerged from the trees the kettle was not far from piping and everything else was more-or-less in place, and the former Governor welcomed him with a wave and a pleasant grin.

"I was hoping so, Catch, yes. If it suits you." He was, after all, a busy madman. It'd been a span of some few months, more than time enough for his bruised face to heal, enough for the seasons to turn. "Have you met Maxwell before? He'll be having tea as well." He'd noted that look of recognition in the addled man's gaze, no query as to who the young man might be.

"How have you been since the last time we had words?"

[Glenn]

Flying tables. Dismembered puppets. An assaulted Rhaena Olwak. Chaos. Madness. It.

Did Catch know Maxwell? The answer could only be maybe. So much had happened that day. Had it pushed Catch away from the drow? Had it somehow saved Treadwell's life? No one could really know, despite what the Governor might claim. Certainly, the scribe wished beyond wishes that the madman did not remember him from it. Maybe his presence was not the wisest thing after all? Had Burnie sent him here purposely realizing that? Did he know too much? Had he been too nosy? Had he failed to tell the governor how wonderful he was regularly enough?

They weren't positioned well for him to hide behind Cinnabar. Foolishness! He should have repositioned things to ensure that. All he could do, really, was hide behind his teacup. It was a desperate gamble but it just may work.

[catch]

"Yes", Catch says, dashing Maxwell's hopes with just a single, off-handed word. He remembered those things quite clearly, though any emotion tied to it was as obscure to him as ever. He cannot be upset in remembering it, so he grins at Maxwell, though the man might find a certain menace in those large teeth, set so awkwardly in his psuedo-muzzle. With it, Catch came to the spread, and he hunkered down in the leaf's-death loam, toes splaying to balance himself, arms wrapping over his lap.

"F-f-first th-things first," Catch says, all business, looking between the two men, and then, down at the tea. "Cakes?" That was the most important thing, and Catch seems, for a moment, that he will not answer until he has seen them. Just a moment. "Up and d-d-d-down," he admits. "Here and th-th-there. Th-they let me live in the, the Dagger again."

[Cinnabar]

"Ah, good. We're all friends, then." Wasn't that a splendid coincidence! Well, not really, but that Catch hadn't immediately taken against the researcher was encouraging.

First things first, he said, and that had Calomel grinning to match him, pleased and amused both. Cakes?

"Absolutely." With a small flourish he tipped back a napkin in the hamper to reveal a generously stock of baked goods. Different from the last time, however; after the incident that left Cinnabar's face bruised enough to frighten his own children Cambree had absolutely refused to supply any further cakes for Catch's consumption. These, then, had been bought in town, an assortment of honey pastries and spicy ginger cakes. "Take your pick. Maxwell, you too."

While the others were busy with the cake basket he tended to the teapot, pouring out a cup for Catch and refilling his own and Maxwell's. The blend of tea was familiar from their first meeting, a blend of chamomile and valerian chosen very deliberately for their calming properties. Maybe Maxwell would get some benefit from it, at least.

"About your strings and the other things in your pack - you mentioned those last time, hm?" Pale brows lifted to confirm that the addled man remembered. "I've asked, and they've not been thrown out at all. They're still in your old room, so you can pick them up whenever you like." A glance for Maxwell, in case he wanted to confirm that. Either way it was another piece of their business addressed, and with what was hopefully a quite satisfactory answer.

"Do you like it better in the Dagger?" Better than the woods, better than he'd liked it before, the interpretation was left open.

[Glenn]

Calomel had learned already that there was little Maxwell enjoyed more than his own voice. Not tea. Not pastries. Not walks in the wood certainly. He spent his days reading, a bit of everything really, and while he often went in depth on a subject it was usually some subsection of a subsection so he had a lot of unconnected specialized knowledge that had no bearing on anything at all. Good note taker though.

Now, however, he quickly stuffed his face with a sweet pastry, well-honed manners tossed out the window. Catch REMEMBERED and as such, the last thing he wanted to do was to put any attention at all upon himself. Nothing like abject fear to keep his mouth shut, or in this case, chewing harmlessly. He was a bit pale too. He must have needed that exercise and fresh air after all. So he chewed watched and listened. Before it had seen an honor, and a proper, well thought out one at that, to be included in this. Now he rather wished to be anywhere BUT here, and nothing had even happened yet!

[catch]

Cinnabar had, rather explicitly, indicated that both Catch and Maxwell should share in the delightful pastries. They were his pastries, so it was only natural that he dictate the use of them. That does not stop Catch's smile from vanishing, his handsome, too-bred features suddenly going cold. He glares at Maxwell, eyes riveted in disgust at his gluttony. With one slow, deliberate movement, the addled man reaches his long arms out, picking up the basket, and putting it on his own lap - and he did all this without taking his eyes off Maxwell, who was now regarded with suddenly less benevolence than before.

His pastries secure, the addled man would sample one, gooey-glazed and spicy-ginger, and he nibbles, relishing the sweets, only now with a lurch in his belly and a faint feeling of nausea learning that his body was hungry. "Are th-they?" he asks, somewhat absently, as if the precious pack was no longer worthy. But it was. It was very worthy, and Catch drags his cold gaze from Maxwell so that they may thaw on Cinnabar.

He hesitates. "I'm afraid of g-g-going there," he says. "It. It wasn't horrible, or anything, you understand. And. I love my, my little t-t-t-table, and my chairs. But it is very close. It was like. Like iron bars, a little." Gaol was, perhaps, a harsh way to put it. Catch can look on that horrible time unflinchingly, but he cannot forget the iron bars.

"I like it well enough. The, the D-D-Dagger, I mean. It f-f-felt good, to be out of the insects, but now -" Catch could have shrugged, but instead, he gazed around him at the flowers that leaned ever-so-subtly towards him, and the glory and decay of autumn, and puts a hand down to grip his tea. Restless again.

[Cinnabar]

Hm. That had probably been a mis-step on Cinnabar's part more than Maxwell's, and he shot the researcher an apologetic glance as the young man found himself the target of a less-than-affectionate glare. To make up for it he did his best to draw Catch's attention back to himself.

"They are. But they've waited for you this long, and can probably wait a little longer." He kept his tone conversational, pleasant. "If you liked, I'd be happy to come with you to your room. Hold the door open while you get your things, hm?" It was a friendly enough offer, acknowledging the addled man's fear without patronising him for it. "Or they can stay there for the time being, now you know where they are. They'll be quite safe, along with the table and chairs and the rest."

He took a moment to sip at his tea, nodding at the profusion of colours rivalling those of spring, rich scents that spoke not of beginnings but of endings.

"I've brought a few things you might find interesting. One we talked about last time, and a couple we didn't." He grinned a little, one hand dipping into his coat pocket. "First things first, though - how is your head, nowadays? You said before about getting lost inside it. Is that still happening?"

[Glenn]

It was maddening. He just did what he was asked and he didn't even talk. He was chewing and Catch still ended up glaring at him. Very few people in Myrken had seen the full extent of what the demented man-monster could do. That was the closest Maxwell had ever come to death, which was saying something since people seemed to want to stab him all the time, even when all he was doing was offering constructive criticism. He read a book about brigandy once and he thought that one particular highwayman really needed to adjust his stance and use less contractions. It was hardly a reason to bring knives into the matter!

Did Catch own all the tea too? Because he had this mouthful of pastry and now he was wary about touching that too! Couldn't they just show him the statue and be done with this!