Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Rowling's work.
Chapter Six Foxy Business
Tonks had the space of a second to make up her mind. Should she cast a Memory Charm on Brodie or leave him be? If Kingsley had been here, she would have gone with the former, no doubt about it. But as it was, Kingsley was in London…and not answering her messages.
Tonks was alone on Willoway. Completely alone. Save for Brodie, of course.
As much as she hated to admit it, she was going to need the Sergeant's help. And if he was going to be of any use to her, he had to have his sharp mind intact. Could she risk altering his memory?
Probably not.
But oh…she was directly violating the Statue of Secrecy!
Moody would understand, of that she was sure. Unexpected situations called for unorthodox thinking. Tonks hesitated, her fingers curling around her wand. Stepping in-between Brodie and his view of the girls tossing about their transfigured frog she whispered, "Repello Muggletum."
The Sergeant stared at her for a moment and with a sudden jolt of fear, Tonks thought her spell had misfired. But then Brodie's face slackened and he turned around, heading back across the green away from the girls.
When he was halfway across the common, she struck out after him, praying that he was too confused to understand what he had seen.
"I've been looking for you," Tonks panted, touching his shoulder lightly.
Brodie had removed his policeman's cap and was running a hand across his cropped, sandy hair. He waited a dreadful moment before replying.
"Sorry. I didn't want to interrupt your conversation with the schoolmistress."
He's not going to say anything, Tonks realized. Probably thinks he's going mad or that the whole thing was a trick of the light. Thank God for rationalism! She was relying on it right now.
From somewhere near the schoolhouse, a bell began to ring. The girls sitting under the willow immediately scurried off back to class, taking their stone/frog with them.
Tonks ignored their departure…and thankfully, so did Brodie.
I'll have to keep on eye on him, she thought. If he started to question things or gave any indication that he was aware of magic being performed, she'd be forced to alter his memory.
But not now, at least. Not now.
Tonks found herself sighing in relief. A cold bead of sweat tracked it's way down her temple and she swiped at it with the back of her hand.
"Did you have any luck with the boys?" she asked him, hoping to keep up the flow of conversation.
Brodie dropped his hat back onto his head, the brim shading his eyes from the sharp sunlight. "No. The children are clueless. But I did stumble upon a rather grisly scene. Funny, it was almost as if someone were waiting for me to come along and see it. Mr. Spens's goat was killed last night. It looked ritualistic."
"Oh." The side of her mouth rose in a half-grimace. "That's a rather violent turn to things."
"Aye."
"Do you need me to come have a look at the crime scene?"
Brodie scowled suddenly and shook his head. "Impossible. It's already been cleaned up. I couldn't even get a bloody photo of the thing. Mr. Spens was of no help."
"Rotten luck," Tonks murmured in response.
"Aye." Brodie looked slightly distracted. His brow furrowed and Tonks could tell he was thinking hard.
Strange. She'd only been with him for a day and already she had picked up on his little mannerisms.
"What are you thinking?" she blurted out.
The Sergeant glanced up at her quickly. "Did you have any luck with the schoolmistress?"
He's avoiding my question, Tonks thought. Not good. I can't let him clam up on me.
"None at all…although she did say a dead chicken had been left on her doorstep a few nights ago."
"More animals?" Brodie lifted a brow. "This is definitely ritualistic then. Sounds sacrificial, almost."
"Like a rite?" Tonks stepped out of the shade of the willows, trying to guide her partner away from the spot. He followed her easily. "But who would do that?"
"A cult?" Brodie offered. But even he seemed unsure. "This is a small island with very entrenched traditions."
"I don't know." Tonks shook her head as they headed back across the green. "I think there would be more obvious signs if that were the case."
"Maybe the signs are obvious," he replied. "Maybe we're overlooking them, eh?"
She fell silent. In all honesty, she had to give some credence to his theory. After all, the children of the island were being deliberately kept from Hogwarts. And the location was extremely isolated.
Unfortunately, she couldn't share those particular facts with Brodie.
They were on the other side of the green, near The Honeybee, when he spoke up again.
"I think it's time we paid a visit to the patriarch of this island."
"Patriarch?" she asked with a frown.
Brodie paused just off the High Street and he looked past the cluster of shops, where the road ran into the lush countryside. "A man by the name of Kentigern Rook. He is the Justice of the Peace on the island and the wealthiest citizen. A sort of gentleman farmer. By all means, the patriarch of the community."
"Oh." Tonks felt an uncomfortable squirming in her gut. A visit to Mr. Rook did seem in order, but she ran the risk of exposing Brodie to more magic.
And yet, there was no other possible way to continue their investigation.
"All right," she said, thankful, nonetheless, that Brodie had asked for her opinion first. "It certainly seems like the thing to do."
Kentigern Rook, as they learned from Dermott the innkeeper, was indeed a popular man. As Brodie had guessed, he served as the de facto patriarch of Willoway and was also a Muggle Justice of the Peace. Tonks was surprised to learn that the man wore so many hats, especially one pertaining to Muggle society. However, since their seemed to be a free mixing of Muggle and magical culture, she decided to put her judgments aside.
Even though he was most welcoming to guests, Kentigern Rook was not easy to visit. The town had no Muggle automobiles to travel by and Flooing was certainly out of the question with Brodie tagging along.
Dermott told them both that they would have to take a pony cart up to Rook's estate and he arranged for the journey himself. Apparently, Mr. Rook was eager to meet them as well.
Tonks and Brodie met the pony cart a little way up the High Street and we're driven out of town along the main thoroughfare. Their driver was a middle-aged man with a wiry thatch of blond hair. He did not speak with them, but kept up an almost constant conversation with his pony, to him he directed many clucks and whistles.
Tonks had never been in a pony cart before. She felt a little bit like a child, looking around with wide-eyed fascination at the pastoral scenery. Most of Willoway seemed to be made up of farms, although there were a few untamed patches boasting small wooden thickets and unplowed fields.
Brodie, for his part, was as stoic as ever. He sat quietly in the seat beside her, his hands folded over his knees. Tonks decided not to trouble him with conversation.
The ride was not a very comfortable one and when they were about halfway up to Rook's estate, a midday rainstorm caught them unawares.
"Ack!" Tonks had only her policewoman's cap to protect her from getting drenched. "Wouldn't you know?"
Brodie pursed his lips, hunkering down further in the seat. The road was becoming steadily more rutted and old cart tracks were no filling with muddy water. Only the driver seemed unaffected by the weather. He did not coax his pony on any faster and ignored Tonks when she asked him to do so.
In fact, he did not directly address them until they rounded a tight bend and the foremost wheel of the cart lurched a foot into the air. This was followed by the sound of cracking wood, which Tonks at first mistook for thunder. But as she leaned over the side of their transport, she noticed that the wheel had indeed cracked and was now hanging limply off it's axel.
"Damn it all to hell!" The driver hopped down from his seat at once.
Brodie and Tonks followed timidly.
"Can you fix it?" the Sergeant asked, his voice somewhat raised to be heard over the steady rainfall.
The man shook his head. "Nah. It's broken. Have to take it to the hooper's in town. Hope you don't mind walking."
"Walking?" Tonks squeaked. She was already quite wet.
"How far is it to Rook's estate?" Brodie asked, ever reasonable.
The driver was barely paid them notice, his attention fixed solely on his disabled vehicle. " 'Bout a mile, maybe less. If ye look to the horizon, ye can just see the top of his house."
Tonks glanced towards the west and saw little but rain clouds.
"Ye just follow the road anyway," the driver muttered. He was already unfastening his pony from between the traces. "Can't get lost."
"Ugh." Tonks groaned audibly and looked at Brodie. "We'll have to find someway to get back to town as well."
"Then we might as well proceed on foot," her partner replied, a small stream of water now dripping off the brim of his cap. "Come on then."
Tonks wasn't nearly as gung ho as the Sergeant. She was even tempted to offer to fix the wheel using magic, but there would be no way getting that one past Brodie. Picking her way through the mud, she headed up the road in the direction the driver had pointed out. After walking for a few woods, they entered a small thicket of oak trees. Rain pattered off bright green leaves, sliding down trunks like sap. The air was deceptively sweet and as she inhaled, Tonks was reminded of the scent of the Apothecary.
She began to feel decidedly dreamy.
Brodie gave no indication that his mood had changed. Instead, he marched quietly by her head, his shoulders slightly stooped as they approached an incline.
Once the trees had thinned. Tonks caught sight of gabled roof some ways down the road. The rest of the house was obscured by a rising dale.
"There we go," she muttered to herself. The walk hadn't been that bad after all. Perhaps her luck was turning….
Something stirred in the high grass off the road. Tonks heard the early clover quiver as a small body moved through it. She paused for a moment and stayed at the overgrown patch.
"What is it?" Brodie was right behind her and surprisingly, he put a hand on her shoulder.
Tonks jumped. "Nothing. Just a hare, I think."
"Probably flooded out of its den."
"Probably."
Brodie's hand left her shoulder and he moved on, his shoes squelching through the rising muck.
Tonks started after him.
The high grass rustled. Shocking crimson caught her eye.
Blood.
Of course not, it was a fox.
Tonks took a startled step back as the creature crossed the road. It was a tiny, gangly animal, with fur that was more scarlet than tawny. She wasn't entirely accustomed to seeing wildlife, but she knew enough to consider its pelt outlandish.
The fox seemed to pay her no mind at first. Head down, tail drooping, it trotted between the puddles, taking care to avoid the deepening ruts in the road. But when it was almost across, it halted, lifted its head and seemed to notice her.
Wet, black nostrils flared.
Tonks discreetly slipped her hand in her pocket and guided her fingers over her wand handle.
The fox stiffened, shook its muzzle and then began to growl.
Not now! She considered edging about the animal, but was too nervous to commit to any sudden movement.
The growl intensified, lengthening into a chilling snarl. White teeth, as sharp as needles, grimaced at her.
Tonks tried to get her wand out in time. She truly did. But the fox darted under her feet, using its claws to rake at her exposed ankles.
"Dammit!" she screamed, pain radiating along her calf. She attempted to take a step back, but only succeeded in sinking her foot into a rut.
And that's how Brodie found her. The Sergeant took one look at his young partner and saw the fox flashing its teeth.
Swiftly, he raised his arm and delivered a heavy blow to the animal's neck. The fox yelped and fell away from Tonks…only to latch on to Brodie's hand.
The man uttered a guttural groan, blood snaking down his wrist in rivulet.
Tonks had her wand free now, but she hesitated.
What to do?
"Fuck," she muttered to herself, jamming it back into her pocket and grabbing the fox by the tail.
"It's bloody rabid!" Brodie howled. "Don't let it bite you!"
But the fox wasn't eager to release his hand in favor of Tonks's. Instead, it sank it's teeth deeper into the Sergeant's freckled flesh.
"I can't get it off!" Tonks cried bitterly. There was more blood now, mixing with the puddles and driving rain.
Wild with pain, Brodie flailed his arm about desperately. "Christ!"
And amidst their panic, over the lush green dale there came a high whistle. It rode the wind, mingling with the chattering leaves and tinkling rain.
The fox pricked up its ears…and let go of Brodie's hand.
The Sergeant doubled over in pain, clutching his wrist. Tonks hurried to his side and inspected the wound. A series of ugly looking punctures decorated his skin, but otherwise, the flesh had not torn. This should be easy to mend…
Once more, she groped for her wand, only to realize with a sinking feeling, that a healing spell was forbidden.
Face pinched, she glanced at Brodie in concern.
"Are you all right, Alan?"
"Bah." He reached for his handkerchief, though Tonks was quicker and provided him with one of her own. "Need to get this cleaned up. Where did that creature get to, eh? If it's rabid…"
"I wouldn't worry myself if I were you. Tis just a silly old fox with bad manners."
Both Tonks and Brodie looked up. Standing a few feet ahead of them was a tall, lanky man, a patched cap pulled far down over his brow.
"Nearly took off my finger, it did," Brodie replied sharply.
The man laughed, pacing towards them in knee-high Wellingtons. "I'm sorry for it, Sergeant Brodie. And Constable Tonks, don't look so vexed. I'm sure your partner is just as strong as he looks."
Tonks found herself gaping at the stranger, her jaw slackened. "How did you-"
"Sorry." The man doffed his cap, revealing a head of thick, grey hair. "I should have introduced myself first. Mother always said I had awful manners." He held out a large hand to them. "Kentigern Rook. Lovely to meet you both."
