Chapter Six: Sought

When fire rises at its peak

It hides what we most constant seek

Clods of earth thudded down onto the casket and Carl swallowed and caught his breath. His mother was gone and he felt nothing for her, but was staring fixedly at the young woman across the open grave.

What is wrong with me? After all this time— after all this time— and my mother is dead. What's wrong with me?

He shifted and stumbled. Hannah caught his arm and hauled him straight again. He felt her elbow sharp in his ribs, heard her voice in his hear hiss, "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing a glass of wine and a hot bath wouldn't cure," Carl whispered back reassuringly. Hannah, however, did not look reassured. She looked very, very angry.

"This is the funeral of our mother, and you're thinking about yourself?"

"Actually I was thinking about—" Carl started, then stopped. They'd created something of a disturbance and even the all-but-dead minister was taking an interest.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the— uh— shadow of the— er— um—"

Carl stopped paying attention because Tamerlaine Gentle had noticed him and he was observing her reaction. First her eyes widened in alarm, then a slow, deep red suffused the porcelain of her skin. Her eyes met his and she reached up, very slowly, and pulled her hat down till it covered half her face. All he could see was her lips, which looked a little worried, and chin, which was set and determined. Carl made a heroic attempt at not laughing, and the merriment inside him swelled and turned to choking snorts.

Which created more of a disturbance—

Which threw the minister off again.

"For thou art— are, um— for— um—"

A long, uncomfortable silence filled the air. Then a voice spoke out.

"For thou art with me," said Tamerlaine Gentle.

"Ah, yes," said the minister.

Carl watched her closely but she did not smile. The service went on, but he didn't hear a word of it. Afterwards, Hannah snagged his arm and started a slow, inexorable glide towards the coaches, but Carl detached her fingers and said, "Um," indecisively.

Hannah stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"You say that a lot," pointed out Carl.

"Answer me."

"I'm going to talk to someone, if you don't mind."

"Who?"

"Whom, actually."

"Who?"

Carl didn't answer, just slipped away. He could feel her eyes boring holes in the back of his neck, but he kept on despite it. People were milling about in front of him and he gave a series of tight smiles in reponse to sympathetic looks, brushing past everyone, searching for—

There.

There she was, right underneath the hat. He reached her and, before thinking about it, laid a hand on her shoulder. Everyone turned to stare when she shrieked. Carl jumped back a good six inches.

She spun around to face him, her eyes wide. "What is wrong with you?" she hissed.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" exclaimed Carl petulantly.

She opened her mouth to reply, then took a look at everyone around them and changed her mind. She headed for an unoccupied section of the graveyeard, with six or seven large trees providing partial shelter from the rain that was now beginning to fall. Carl watched after her, open-mouthed. He hadn't been so blatantly snubbed and dismissed since he last spoke to Van Helsing, more than a week ago.

But then Tamerlaine, looking bemused, turned around and beckoned towards him.

He hastened towards her, tripping slightly over the hem of his robe, trying desperately not to attract any more attention and failing. A hundred faces watched them disappear under the cover of the trees, including that of his sister, who narrowed her eyes in stern disapproval.

Carl stopped and stared at her, resting his back against a tree. "I thought you'd decided to ignore me."

She shook her head. "No, I— panicked, I guess. No reason, really, I mean, you're a monk, aren't you— not one to go around gossiping about a drunk you saw on the street." She paused. "Am I right?"

"Oh, of course, of course not, why would I do that—"

"Right, that's what I thought." Rain reached them as it fell harder, damping their shoulders. She took her hat off and raised her face to the rain with a slight smile. Carl huddled under his cloak and shook slightly, though it wasn't cold.

"I thought, um— I thought you were coming to my home? You— you're not following me, are you." She looked delighted rather than anything else. "A holy stalker? That's very original."

"No, I'm not, I—"

"But what are you doing here, then? Did you know Mrs. Hampton?"

Carl suddenly realized that she had no idea who he was. He reached up and pushed his cowl back off his head. Rain started to slick his fair hair down, and run down the back of his neck. "Don't I look at all familiar?" he said.

She began to shake her head, then aborted the gesture and stared at him. Her head was tilted to one side, and she leaned further and further back, as though trying to take him in.

"Carl?" she said. "Carl? The Rock?"

Carl started at the unexpected use of his childhood nickname, smirked involuntarily, and nodded.

"Carl Hampton? Carl my Carl?"

He nodded again, and shrugged slightly.

"Oh my—" she breathed in deep. "You became a monk?"

"A friar, at the moment."

"Oh, sorry."

"It's really not that bad."

"No, I mean— no—" She laughed suddenly and rushed forward, took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. "I can't believe this! After all this time— and I didn't even recognize you!"

"That's alright, I didn't recognize you either," Carl admitted.

"We have to talk, don't we?" she said, and to Carl's surprise and delight he heard hope in her voice. "We'll have to talk about our lives? We'll—"

Carl grinned brightly. "We will. We'll do that."

"Alright!"

The crowd slowly departing the graveyard was duly shocked at what appeared to be an extremely passionate embrace between a lady of somewhat dubious repute and a friar who'd just buried his mother.