Carl plucked anxiously at the hem of his robes, snapping upright when he realized what he was doing. There was no reason to be nervous, he chastised himself. None at all. Just because he was mostly alone in this town, with his backup searching out in the woods for traces of evil and too far away to help should anything happen, with the villagers eyeing him in a way he could only describe as hungry, was no cause at all to –
A hush fell over the room, starting in the back and lapping up the aisles towards the front altar. Cresting on the wave of silence was the mayor, Derek Hastings, followed by his family – a wife and two teenage sons, Tyler and Eric. The wife was a pale slip of a woman by the name of Alicia, dwarfed by the tall men of her family. Carl had heard it whispered that she had once, in her childrens' youth, been vibrant and well-known for her sweet energy. Now, she was limpid and often sickly, wasting away. Few expected the petite lady to live out the year, and Carl was surprised by her appearance here, despite her illness.
Looking around from his somewhat dubious seat of honor in the first pew, the friar was able to see many familiar faces, though they were by far outranked by those whom he did not know. Ben, Ned, the Widow Austin and Tanya were absent, however; the lateness of the meetings during the cold months of the year meant that no one expected them to attend, with so far to travel.
He made room for Mrs. Hastings and her two sons. He smiled comfortingly at her faint greeting, briefly shaking hands with her two boys. Tyler was eighteen, his brother Eric a year younger. Both took after their father in height and their dark coloring could have come from either parent, but while Eric had his father's green eyes, Tyler favored his mother with orbs of a startling bright blue.
When the Hastings' were seated, the patriarch of the town moved behind the altar and waited with a patient smile for the last rustlings and shufflings to quiet. "Good evening, and God bless," he began, taking confident control of the group.
"God bless," the town murmured as one.
The difference between political and pompous was never clearer; Hastings epitomized the former, and nothing about his demeanor could be described as falsely officious. He was utterly in command, taking up the reigns of control so gently that few saw it. But Carl was paying close attention, trained to notice the masterful hand guiding the crowd's emotions.
"We meet this night to address matters of the town that have arisen in the past week." Hastings reached into a pocket and pulled out a pair of half-moon spectacles, which he perched upon his thin nose. Peering down at a sheaf of papers which seemed to appear from nowhere, he glanced up and smiled. "Well, it seems we don't have much to speak of tonight," he brandished the papers with a smile.
A few people in the church chuckled, and Hastings grinned back, keeping the mood light.
"First, I would like to re-introduce the members of our Order, Brothers who have traveled from Rome herself to visit with us. Unfortunately, Lamar Al Ghamdi, our Brother who was born in Jerusalem, has taken ill. The weather in Massachusetts is much harsher than he was prepared for, but Doctor Lamborne has assured me that he will recover." Carl frowned at the liberties Hastings was taking with the truth, but it made sense that he would not want to publicly air the fact that Lamar had gotten into a fight. Most of the town probably knew already, the friar thought wryly. Ah, the power of gossip. "Gabriel Van Helsing -"
At the murmur that broke out, a smile that could only be described as smug crossed Hastings' face. "Yes," he interrupted after a time, when it was apparent that the hubbub was only growing. "The Order's most renowned hunter has been sent to us for a time. However, Mrs. Pardoe has informed me that he is feeling the effects of the lengthy journey and asked to be allowed to rest tonight. He will surely join us in a few days' time at our next gathering." Hastings took a deep breath, now, his words strangely proprietary when he spoke, making Carl hunch his shoulders uneasily. "The third member of the party from Rome is Carl Weldon, who is sitting with my family tonight." An upraised hand quelled any noise that might have sounded before it began, thus Carl never learned the general public opinion on his own presence. "I ask you all to give him a bit of time and space before you jump on him with your questions," Derek laughed amiably.
The crowd laughed as well, Carl halfheartedly following suit, somehow feeling as if his presence was being flaunted before the crowd. But that makes no sense, he told himself sternly. And if so, why? For what, or whom?
Try as he might, he couldn't fully dismiss the silly notion. His thoughts were redirected, however, as Hastings began the true business of the meeting.
"Now that pleasantries have been concluded, and our Brothers from Rome know how welcome they are in our humble town, I would like to move on to other concerns.
"Firstly, the matter of the cable system to Acton. We have not yet been able to raise enough money to properly repair and update the system. I will not increase the taxes on the businesses here as with winter we are cut off with most of our trade. But we will need to see a substantial increase through this summer to make up for the lack, if we wish this problem to be fixed before the year is out."
Carl was puzzled by this – Rome would be easily able to accommodate the expense to fix the broken cable, and would be glad to do so to reestablish regular communication with the only colony of the Order on the Eastern Coast of America. Doubtless the American independence of which Carl was also proud was coming into play here, but it simply wasn't practical. He would need to have a word with Hastings. The crowd, however, seemed pleased with this turn of events, and Carl could see several people speaking agreeably with their neighbors about the plan.
Derek Hastings continued in this thread for a short time, openly discussing the predictable drops in economic success for the town as winter closed them off from nearby routes of trade and travel. Carl was a bit surprised that all the store owners had given the mayor such detailed records of sales, profits and losses so that he was able to precisely tally and track the success of any business, which he demonstrated to the entire town. The only revenues doing well were, predictably, the General Store, Payne's Baked Goods, and Caleb Grogan's butchery, along with a few assorted housewives who sold pies or assisted other members of the community.
"Secondly," Hastings' voice had an immediate, sobering effect on the crowd. "The permit modification for division of land that we were discussing last week has passed on to the state court system for a final decision. They plan on hearing the case next month at the soonest."
There was a general grumble at this announcement, and Hastings' smile of tried patience seemed to perfectly mirror the mood of the crowd.
"On another note," Hastings moved on to other news after giving the people of Boxborough some time to chew over these predicted developments. "I would like to announce that Caleb Grogan's courtship of Jennifer Frobisher has come to an end – they are engaged and planning to be married in August."
Why would that be a matter worthy of note by the community? Carl wondered, but was soon answered by the cheer that went up. The bride-to-be blushed prettily from her seat next to her sister, and the shy but loving glance she exchanged with Caleb Grogan was the cause for many knowing smiles.
"Now that the town business is concluded, I'd like to move on to our business for the Order. Project managers, how goes the work?" Unexpectedly, it was Mr. Pardoe who stood.
"Mayor," he began gruffly. "Everything seems to be going well, and many of our projects are close to completion. I was wondering if we might have the loan of Mr. Weldon, as we may have hit a snag on one or two of our latest endeavors."
Hastings smiled. "Of course. Carl, if you would be so kind?"
The friar was openly surprised. "Anything I can do to help," he managed. Pardoe's weathered face split along the seams, a smile forming on the thin lips. "Much obliged."
"Now, our trainer," Hastings continued, as if checking each item off a mental list.
Schoen stood, to Carl's surprise. "All of our candidates are coming along nicely," he began in his soft voice. "I have no complaints about their progress; in fact, several should be ready for advancement before the end of the month."
A general murmur of pleased surprise washed through the crowd at this announcement, and even Hastings' smile seemed genuine at the news.
"I believe congratulations are in order for the candidates," he announced as he began clapping. Schoen joined in as he sat, and applause rippled through the room, though for whom, Carl did not know; none of the candidates distinguished themselves from the crowd.
Hastings glanced down at the papers before him, and raised a hand absently to quell the crowd. As he glanced around, Carl noted the effect of the gesture; an expectant air hung over the townspeople as they waited for the next words from their leader.
"I believe that concludes this evening's scheduled agenda," he said thoughtfully. "I will now open the floor to air any concerns that need to be addressed, be they matters of the town or Order."
With that, he stood back and waited. But not for long. A hand shot boldly into the air, and Carl saw Hastings' eyes, roving over the room, fix on someone. "Robert Ancell, rise and be recognized," he calmly bade him.
"Thank you, mayor."
His voice, and memory of his attack on Lamar, set Carl's teeth on edge. He fisted the hands hidden within his robe, reminding himself to remain calm and listen. Like the others seated between the blacksmith and the altar, he turned sideways in his seat to more easily see both.
"I am concerned about the Widow Austin, and her situation," the brawny blacksmith admitted. His face was furrowed in genuine emotion as he stood before the townspeople.
A wordless murmur of assent, tinged with worry, floated up from the crowd.
"Ah. Yes." Hastings stepped up to the altar once more, resting his hand on the cloth-covered surface as he thought. "I know that many of you are concerned for Mathilde," he began seriously. "With the recent loss of her husband and the fact that she is sequestered so far from the bulk of the town, many of you have a right to be concerned for her. But I believe she is still in mourning, and to uproot her now when she does not wish to leave, even for her own safety and that of her child and Ben, would cause more harm than good. I can assure you all that she is suitably protected -" the pentacle, Carl thought suddenly, "- and her friends in this town watch over her and her young ones. I can promise you no harm will come to her." How can he make a promise like that? Carl wondered.
"Even so -" Ancell rumbled uncertainly, and seemed prepared to continue when Hastings' eyes flashed in anger.
"You doubt my word?" the mayor snapped. The room was suddenly very still. Glancing around uneasily, Carl noticed the strange intensity of the townsfolk, centered piercingly on the mayor and blacksmith. Hastings visibly regained control over himself, and continued in softer tones. "I know you are very concerned for the Widow, Robert, as you were a close friend of Anthony. But let me assure you that everything which can be done, is being done."
There was a long moment, in which Ancell was clearly gauging the quality of the Mayor's answer. Carl caught a flash of something on his face that made him think that perhaps Ancell was a bit more concerned for his friend's wife than he had let on. Perhaps he felt a bit more for the Widow than was readily apparent, Carl mused, almost certain of what he had seen, and what it meant.
"As you say, Mayor," Ancell replied at length, sitting down. The silence flowing throughout the room was less strained than before, and another hand tentatively poked up through the sea of heads and bodies neatly lined in pews.
"Jacob Lamborne, rise and be recognized," Hastings acknowledged the doctor, who stood and in a few succinct, squeaky sentences reminded the townspeople to tell their children to avoid the weak ice of the millpond, and to take appropriate precautions to stave off illness in the winter months.
And so it went – the ritual acknowledgment of individuals by name, before each rose and stated his concerns before the town. One man mentioned that he was intending to expand his farmland west of the town in the coming year, to increase the produce yield from his farm. Another confirmed a decision to raise a new barn once spring had arrived, and was answered with pledges of support and aid from various townsfolk. The miller, an old, grandfatherly man who was barely able to stand and grasped the pew in front of him for support, proudly announced that his twelve-year-old grandson was soon to be apprenticed into the family trade. As a result, if the town could rally to repair the mill, in the near future they would no longer have to expend the money to export their grain and import flour.
That was the sum of issues addressed by the town council, and Carl found himself marveling at the depth of information the townspeople shared among themselves. Then he queasily wondered what he had done to be so quickly entrusted into their confidence. While most of the details addressed were more mundane than interesting, it was still surprising to him that the people would feel this information worthy of notice in the town council, rather than trusting to gossip to spread the news. Other than that, he found the information addressed in relation to the town's status within the Order to be of note.
It made sense, he supposed, for the one colony composed solely of members of the Knights of the Holy Order to act as a semi-independent outpost in America. After all, despite the speed of communication nowadays, they were essentially adrift in this new continent. There was a reason for that, however. Humanity had long been plaguing the Old Country, where as America was newer, fresher, and in the eyes of evil, less pocketed with dark places to thrive and dwell. Europe, with its traditions and history of darkness, was continually a front-line battle. America, though, was different. It had less weight of history bearing down on it, for one. So it made sense that control here would be looser.
But that was not the case. In his youth, Carl had not attended any councils in the small New Jersey town in which he had been born. He had no real idea if this meeting was the norm or not; he had no measurement against which to judge. But he did know that it was not common for a mass to be held immediately following the conclusion of all matters of town importance.
However, a mass was held, led by Mayor Hastings, to Carl's shock. It was unusual, to say the least, to find that the senior politician of the town was also the highest-ranking deacon of Boxborough, and led the people in affairs of state as well as matters of faith.
He listened closely, and it was the typical Catholic mass, complete with presentation of the host and rite of communion. The story chosen by Hastings for the congregation to reflect on was that well-known Biblical tale of David and Goliath, and as Carl listened intently he had to give Hastings credit for being an enthralling speaker. The man's voice captivated the room as it rose to the heights of the clouds, and plunged with the giant's fall.
At the conclusion of mass, people began to mingle within the church, speaking and murmuring contentedly amongst themselves. Carl was almost hesitantly approached by Mr. Pardoe, though his wife drifted from his side to speak with a clump of women chatting with Alicia Hastings.
"Mr. Pardoe," he smiled at the other man, adjusting his robes and stretching his legs.
"Kevin," the other invited him. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Weldon."
Carl nodded. "Just Carl," he introduced himself casually. "How can I help you?"
Pardoe eagerly launched into his tale. "Now, as you may know, as the Order's lone outpost in America, we've taken it upon ourselves to act as a base of resistance against those which you fight in Rome. I can't tell you how grateful we are that you came here to help us, from the heart of the battle itself!"
This man, like Schoen, was quite openly demonstrating his enthusiasm for their cause, and that disconcerted Carl. By now practiced at hiding that emotion, the friar only smiled wanly and replied, "I'm sure."
"Well," Pardoe rocked back on his heels, one hand scratching at his head before falling to his side. "We've been developing our own means of protection, weaponry, and suchlike gadgets for use here at home, and to be sent back to Italy."
"You have?" Interest and caution warred within him; but curiosity won out and shone in his voice. Pardoe smiled, knowing he had snared the other's attention.
"Sure have," he proudly confirmed. "Would it be too much to ask you to come and take a look at what we've developed so far?"
"Of course," Carl accepted eagerly. "Where do you work?"
Pardoe smiled. "There's an outbuilding back behind the smithy that we do most of our designing and building in, but the finished products are housed in backrooms within the General Store. What say you I come to Schoen's tomorrow, around nine, and bring you over?"
Carl thought hard, and then nodded. Should Gabriel not show up tonight, which he doubted, then two hours in the morning should be sufficient for them to go over what he had discovered while Carl was in the meeting. "That would be fine," he assented, though he could not hide his own eagerness. The two continued to speak for a short while, Carl coaxing information about their projects from Pardoe as the church slowly emptied. A small group of men that Carl had never met circled around the two. They worked with Pardoe, apparently, and smiled at Carl's enthusiasm. More than one mentioned bits and pieces of their projects, sparking the scientist's avid interest.
Glancing at the time, he found to his dismay that it was only a quarter to ten – he would have to return to Schoen's immediately to be waiting for Gabriel to return. Taking his leave of the few men remaining, Carl scooted out the door and down the steps of the church, moving to the right to round the building and head for Schoen's.
Harsh words pulled him up before he could turn the corner.
"There's something wrong."
The voice was low, rasping with worry and panting with fear – Carl couldn't tell whose it was though he was certain he'd heard it before.
"I know!" another voice hissed furtively. "I could tell, all through the meeting – the wards were being breached."
A wordless moan of despair was cut off as the second voice continued. "Quiet! This is what I want you to do. Gather the best candidates. The western and north wards have been breached. Head to the eastern ward, past the ravine, and head off whoever is destroying what we've worked so hard for. Whoever it is, I want you to stop them, but do not kill them. Capture and detain. Do you understand?"
"I hear, and obey," the first voice whispered. Carl shivered, pressing himself against the side of the church in fear. They had to be talking about Van Helsing – the hunter must have found something. Whatever it was seemed incredibly important to the speakers. Gathering his courage, Carl took a deep breath, and peeped around the corner.
But the moonlight revealed nothing. They had gone.
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This is for the many reviews (7 at last count, yippee!) I received on the last chap. My goal? To hit 200 with this fic. The more people who review, the faster I go. (grin)