Chapter Nine: Reality

No-one was ever so sure of their world

The earth's ending coming on the tide

Carl did not read the paper. He was up late the next morning after spending the night talking to Van Helsing, and was greeted by a cold hard stare from his sister.

"Morning, Hannah."

Hannah cleared her throat pointedly and rattled the papers.

"Where is Mr. Van Helsing?"

"In the kitchen," said Hannah frostily, "interrogating the cook."

Carl regretfully left his eggs and coffee and found his way to the kitchen, where the skinniest woman he'd ever seen was laughing at Van Helsing.

"What?" said Van Helsing, brow furrowed savagely. "What did I say that was so humourous?"

"Nothing," she giggled. "It's just— your hair–"

Van Helsing reached for his head and scowled.

"Morning," said Carl, cheerfully.

"Morning, Mr. Hampton," said the woman, curtseying.

"Morning, Matilde. What are you after, Van Helsing?"

"I was just trying to get the cook here," said Van Helsing irately, gesturing at Matilde, "to make me something edible."

"Matilde? She's not the cook."

Van Helsing glared at him as though he'd turned traitor. "She's not?"

"Dear me, no. Have you ever in your life seen a thin cook?"

Van Helsing considered for a minute before admitting that, no, he never had. The cooks of his acquaintance tended to be roughly spherical and extremely ungainly.

"The cook is in there," said Carl, indicating the pantry. "And if it's the same one it used to be, she fits the profile accurately."

The pantry door was open and snores were emanating from it. Van Helsing and Carl edged around till they could see inside.

"Yes," said Carl, "same one."

"Good Lord," breathed Van Helsing. "She looks like she ate your sister!"

Carl laughed before he could stop himself, and the cook awoke and heaved herself to her feet. It was like watching a mountain begin a leisurely stroll.

"Did you want something?" The voice was even deeper than Van Helsing's, extremely menacing, and she showed no sign of recognizing Carl.

"Yes," said Van Helsing. "I wanted to complement you on your culinary technique and achievements and inquire as to whether you'll be opening a restaurant in the vicinity anytime soon?"

The moutain turned its head from side to side, looking from the tall dark man to the short pale man to the sallow, skinny woman over in the corner still smirking at Van Helsing's hair. "Matilde," she rumbled, "who are these two and what are they doing in my kitchen?"

"They're Mr. Hampton, the son of the house," explained Matilde, "and Mr. Van Helsing, a guest of Mr. Hampton."

Carl smiled nervously at the cook and Van Helsing swept her an exaggerated bow.

"Mr. Hampton?" she boomed. "Little Mr. Hampton?"

Carl's nervous smile stayed put and he began to back away, but suddenly and without warning he found himself engulfed in a strong and matronly embrace. Through the blood pounding in his ears he could hear Van Helsing laughing.

B.r.e.a.k.

"Well, I'm glad we finally got that sorted," said Carl, running a hand over his hair to make sure it was still there."

"It was an adventure," Van Helsing agreed, sitting down next to him and picking up a fork. "But at least now maybe we'll get some decent food. Anyone who eats enough to maintain such a bulk has to be a good cook."

Hannah cleared her throat loudly and rattled her paper.

"Don't worry, sister, we didn't disturb the help," said Carl placatingly.

"Much," said Van Helsing, and they both snickered.

Hannah snorted and rattled the paper louder. Carl ignored this, but Van Helsing looked over and stopped still.

"May I see that, Mrs. Hampton?" he said, and while she was busy spluttering, "Miss!" he plucked it out of her hands. He read for a few minutes, heavy brow savagely furrowed in concentration. Carl looked up from his plate and watched him, a cold worry stealing into his heart.

"What is it, Van Helsing?"

The monster hunter looked up at him slowly. "They've recovered a body from the river," he said, his dark voice unaccustomedly gentle. "They think it is your friend."

B.r.e.a.k.

"Suicide," squeaked Carl sometime later. "No. Not Tamerlaine Gentle, she'd never commit suicide. "

Van Helsing was trying to reason with him, and having a hard time of it. "But they—"

"I don't believe it, I tell you. She— there wasn't such wickedness in her, such disregard for the gift of life. Anyway they say right there 'Identity unknown.' They only suspect it might be Ta— might be her." Carl stopped pacing and folded his arms. "Why only suspect, anyway? Why wouldn't they know?"

"She— the body had— come into contact with several boats in the water. It was— rather a mess."

Carl felt a sick lurching in his stomach and he glared at Van Helsing. "You don't have to be so considerate of my feelings. I know the death of innocents means nothing ot you, merely an everyday occurrence."

"You've seen death, too, Carl," Van Helsing reminded him wearily.

"Yes, but only one was innocent!" Carl shot back. The two men stood and were quiet at the abrupt reminder of the tragic events of the year past. Van Helsing made a soft noise, like he was in pain, and Carl immediately regretted alluding to the incident.

"Will you come with me?" he said, his angry tone replaced by a conciliatory one.

"To where?"

"To the vaults of the morgue." Carl shrugged helplessly at the stare Van Helsing turned on him. "I can't help it, Van Helsing. I have to know for myself. And after all, I was one of the last to see her— I don't expect you to understand, but come with me anyway."

"I do understand," said Van Helsing hollowly, hunching his shoulders and letting a hand drift over the area where some of his largest scars were covered by clothing. They ached on cold mornings such as this. "And I will come with you, if you wish me to."