Chapter Nineteen:
These Roads Aren't Safe
Shadowbrook:
Minutes after his awakening by his mistress – and with the doors to the coach house having been opened by Isabella's skeleton key and lock picks - Gustav got two horses fitted with their harnesses and bound them to one of the carriages. Opening up the door for Isabella, Gustav then stopped as he heard his lady gasp.
Turning around, he saw the pistol pressed against the side of Isabella's head. In the gloom of the unlit coach house, a third figure could now be seen in the light from the torches in the street.
The Reverend Harding, eyes narrowed in determination, looked ready to shoot as he held his gun steady. With his other hand, he grabbed hold of the noblewoman and twisted her arm behind her back.
"What is the meaning of this, reverend?" Isabella hissed.
"I heard you talking between yourselves about your destination… I too could do with a ride to the manor, Madam von Took." Harding sniffed.
"But why the gun, your reverence…?" Gustav blurted.
"I will explain, Gustav." Isabella took pity on her footman. "Whilst I was at the Blacksmiths, Anne Marie was good enough to tell me what the reverend here has been doing. He has been harboring a vicious being in his crypt. A living gargoyle. A gargoyle that has, by magik, animated the grotesques on the church. And this gargoyle has killed people – and turned several others into living statues."
"What! But…wh-why?" Gustav stammered.
"This town is full of sinners! The Gargoyle is punishing them. And I need its aid to defend Shadowbrook from those werewolves! And also to punish the one who killed my father!" Harding spat. One eye twitched. "Now… No more talk. Into the coach you go, madam. Whilst your driver takes us where we both wish to be."
Isabella nodded at Gustav to comply. Shaking, the old man climbed up to his seat, as Isabella and Harding got into the carriage…
Several minutes later, Isabella tried to relax as the stagecoach jolted her and Harding as they headed along the road that led to Hanbrook Manor. The barricade was down and the fires were no longer burning. The dark streets were almost empty, and no one had stopped them. There had been no sign of militia either. As if their attention had been elsewhere, Isabella considered.
She glanced out of the window upon her left-hand side. The countryside here was lit only by the full moon high above. None of the scattered houses had their lanterns or candles burning. The residents were either not in their houses – possibly having fled or were perhaps dead. Or maybe they had barricaded themselves in and snuffed out all light, to sit in the dark, preying that the Grotesques and wolf-creatures would not come a'calling – whilst desperately waiting for the dawn, which was still two-three hours away…
Isabella sneaked a glance to the man facing her. To add insult to injury, Harding had made her sit in the backward-facing seat, whilst he faced forward, his pistol still in his hand, at the ready - though he was resting his hand just above his knee. She tried to think about how to change the situation to her advantage.
"Even if you do discover and kill whoever it was who was responsible for your father's death… What then, Reverend Harding?" she barked at him. "You are a fugitive now. A man who appears to be short on sleep, to look at you."
His eye twitched again. A stab of fear spiked Isabella's heart. She was under no illusion about the state of the vicar's aggravated mind.
"One stage at a time, Madam von Took," he growled.
"You plan to use me as a hostage as you flee the township? Or to kill me - as well as potentially killing Lady Hanbrook?" Isabella ventured. "You have strayed far from God's path, sir!"
Harding raised his pistol at his prisoner. "Be…silent!" he warned her.
Isabella tried to calm her pounding heart, as she furiously thought of different potential ways that she could try to turn matters around. Then, having made her decision, the noblewoman forced herself to smile as she reached up with both hands to remove her black choker.
"What is the meaning of this?" Harding challenged her, his eyes burning with suspicion.
"I am just offering you the ruby set into my choker, reverend. As payment if you will kindly not kill me or Josette," Isabella declared sweetly. "Here!" And with that, she leaned forward and tossed it onto the floor – on Harding's right side. As his eyes flicked down to follow its path, Isabella tensed herself and yelled at the top of her voice.
"STOP!"
Gustav obediently halted the horses immediately – and the carriage continued to move for a second or so longer, from the momentum. As Harding tilted forward on his seat, yelling with surprise, Isabella moved fast – twisting and grabbing the vicar's left arm and yanked it towards her left, unbalancing him further, whilst the pistol in his right arm struggled to find its target. The shot that resounded instead shattered the window. Isabella then proceeded to sink her teeth into Harding's left wrist.
Harding screamed and felt the teeth leaving his flesh only after he had dropped his weapon. He struggled, but Isabella was not as puny as he had thought. He was unable to break free.
"Madam von Took…!?" Gustav called out.
"I have the reverend under control now, Gustav!" Isabella yelled back. "Drive on!"
"Yes, mistress."
With a crack of the whip, the carriage trundled onwards again. Harding found himself at the mercy of a short blade that Isabella had pulled out from a knife sheath tied to her leg, underneath her long black dress.
" 'Never trust a woman…', my father told me," Harding seethed. "Not even my mother."
"What a lovely upbringing and charmed adult life you must have had," Isabella scoffed. "Now, sit there and behave yourself! Do not think that I will hesitate to use this blade against a man of God who has betrayed his township!"
The elder stared at her with a sour expression, but sat back in his seat whilst the coach rocked slightly in its ongoing journey. The pistol remained on the floor to one side. Isabella was not prepared to risk picking it up. In the absence of conversation, she heard only the occasional cracking of Gustav's whip, the snorting of the horses, the steady pace of the wheels, and the rattling of the coach. Isabella silently wished that they were already within the comforting surroundings of Hanbrook Manor, where she could confess her sins to Josette by the fire, and decide what had to be done – once the crisis was over…
The coach rounded a bend in the road. Isabella breathed a sigh of relief. They were now descending a gradual slope that led to a shallow ford. The manor was just beyond the trees on the other side of the stream.
Upon returning her gaze to Harding, Isabella smirked. Eyes closed, the reverend was silently mouthing something to himself. Praying to his God, no doubt. Still, she had learnt the knack of lip-reading years ago from a female friend. It had proved invaluable for learning the secrets of her husband and past servants.
Isabella's brow deepened as she frowned. The reverend seemed to be pleading to be aided from afar. To be rescued, in fact…
She raised her knife, and rested the tip on Harding's cheek, making him stop as he shot his eyes open. "What are you doing? That was no prayer!" she snapped at him.
Harding said nothing, but glared daggers at her.
"I asked what were y-?"
The window on her left provided the answer. But through it, she only glimpsed the incoming shadow in the moment before it emerged from the surrounding darkness - and promptly struck the roof of the coach…
Gustav gave a wailing scream that hinted to Isabella's shocked senses that something airborne had snatched him away. And as she instinctively turned round and cried out for her footman, Harding seized her right wrist and punched her in the face with his other hand.
Yelling, Isabella pushed back with all her might, as the two of them fought for possession of the knife. In the meantime, the horses had bolted. They were hurtling out of control, terrified by whatever had seized Gustav – and now all of them were racing towards the ford…
The crash came moments later, jolting both of the passengers. The carriage toppled over into the stream as a wheel broke off. The horses, now anchored to the spot by the wrecked, tilted carriage, screamed as the hanging shadow returned, flapping its wings…
Moments passed as the ripples in the stream dispersed in the gloom. The carriage door was unlocked before being kicked open. Now twisting herself upright again, Isabella von Took pulled herself out of the wrecked coach with an effort, blood trickling from a gash to her forehead whilst other parts of her body throbbed from the bruises she had just received in the fight and subsequent crash. She rasped, and struggled to get her breath under control in her mounting terror. The padded jacket she had earlier bought from the Blacksmiths on her first visit there had now been cut in several places by Harding's energetic attempts to stab her in the chest. The garment had saved her life, but it had been ruined in the process.
Behind her, slumped against the other door, Harding groaned as he tried to move. Isabella had retrieved the pistol and her dropped knife – both of them now tucked behind the belt of her traveling cloak. She could turn round now and shoot Harding dead – but Isabella wanted to save her next, just-loaded bullet for whatever had struck the coach.
She turned to face the horses, and screamed at what had just become of one of them. The Gargoyle was on top of it, having just apparently drained the life from the poor creature via its taloned hand, going by the evidence of her eyes. It was now a wizened husk. Meanwhile, the second horse was already dead – its neck lying at an angle that suggested it had died at the point of impact.
Before Isabella could fire her pistol, the Gargoyle had bounded from the horse and landed on the uppermost side of the coach. It moved with speed and energy, having apparently fed from the life energy of the horse, Isabella guessed. And in the next instant, it laid its taloned hand upon her left shoulder, where her dress fabric had been torn by Harding in their struggle. The Gargoyle's claws glowed blue…
Isabella screamed again as searing pain lanced through her.
"I Am Recovered! Now I Claim You As One Of My Own, Human Female…," the Gargoyle telepathic voice's stabbed into Isabella's mind.
"N…no… No!" she shrieked, twisting her body round with an effort and pulling out her pistol again with her right hand. Unable to raise the weapon to shoot the monster assaulting her, Isabella instead fired wildly into the carriage below her.
The shot missed the wailing Harding, but shattered the window instead.
"Help! Gargoyle! The water from the stream… It's coming in here!" the reverend hollered. "Don't let me drown!"
"You Pathetic, Whining Mortal! Very well… You May Yet Be Of Use To Me…"
The fiend hissed. Briefly grabbing hold of Isabella with both taloned hands now, it yanked her out of the coach and tossed her aside. With a yelp, she flew in an arc and landed in an undignified heap on the far side of the stream – coming to rest as she rolled over on her other shoulder.
Isabella groaned, and allowed her swimming vision to settle, before fear pushed her on to rise to her feet, gasping. As she did so, the coach's lantern – still on its hook at the front of the partly-submerged carriage – casted enough light for the noblewoman to see the Gargoyle tearing out the side of the coach with its muscular arms, in order to widen the entrance for its winged bulk before rescuing Harding from drowning. In the meanwhile, Isabella saw a shape become dislodged from some stones in the stream, and it proceeded to drift past the back of the coach. The lantern light captured the shape for a moment – long enough for her to identify the husk as the remains of Gustav…
Isabella stifled her scream in time, turning it into a loud sob. She forced herself to clear her head and check herself over. The pistol had been lost in her unexpected toss into the air, but her knife was still tucked in place. But that was not enough to take on the Gargoyle. It had evidently…fed…on Gustav and the now equally-wizened horse – and her shoulder hurt badly from where the beast had gripped her. Fighting was not feasible. Therefore…
"Forgive me, Gustav…," Isabella croaked. Then she turned and half-ran, half-stumbled away – fleeing towards the now just-visible, distant lights of Hanbrook Manor whilst the Gargoyle was preoccupied with saving its human lackey…
For how long the noblewoman tried to get away, she could not tell. Instead of sticking to the road, Isabella fled into the nearest thicket of trees and bushes – desperate to find some sort of cover where the Gargoyle could not reach her without cutting or tearing down the branches and foliage. Behind her, the night air carried the crack of a gunshot, followed shortly by another. Next, there was the pounding of wings and the return of the dark shadow overhead. Isabella stifled her scream and squeezed herself between two sturdy trees, hoping that she would not be found…
Another minute passed. A breeze sprung up, blowing from the north west. Isabella was sweating and losing body heat. She wondered how long she could cope in the dark if she failed to reach the manor. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her rapid breathing – only to be assailed by her memories of seeing Heidi being ripped apart, as well as the image of Gustav's husk floating downstream…
Someone was shouting now. But Isabella did not know if it was in her mind or not. She felt like giving up. It would be relief to pass out – but the throbbing pain in her shoulder denied her that luxury.
She shot her eyes open as her hand was touched. Screaming, Isabella lashed out wildly. Moments later, someone had slammed her against a tree and was yelling at her.
"…us! Madam von Took, calm yourself! It is only us!"
Gradually, her breathing became steadier. Her wits returned to her. Isabella took in Inspector Jonathan Cooke, who was holding her tightly. Close by, Anne Marie was holding a lantern in one hand – with a pistol in her other. Both of them looked tired and worn out by the trials of the night so far. Cooke had been treated for wounds.
"The Gargoyle! It was here. It attacked me and Gustav…," Isabella blurted.
"We realized where you were headed - and we arrived on our 'orses in time, to see you being knocked aside, so to speak," Anne Marie declared. "Then, when we shot at the Gargoyle, it pulled out 'arding from the carriage and took to ze air with him!"
"Tell us what happened, Isabella," Cooke urged the traumatized woman, using her first name to reassure her.
It took a few false starts, as Isabella stuttered and rambled. But she made sure to tell them the whole story, and honestly. She trembled in Cooke's arms. "As a re-result of my co-cowardice…and self-importance, both Hei-Heidi and Gustav…are dead…," she whimpered.
"Maybe. But we can do nothing for them right now," Cooke pointed out. "What about you? You were injured?"
Isabella nodded. "My shoulder…"
Cooke gestured for Anne Marie to approach with the lantern. Under its light, the Inspector examined the torn fabric of Isabella's clothes – and he gingerly felt the skin underneath…
Cooke drew in his breath, and slowly released it. "Madam von Took… Your shoulder. The skin has turned both gray and very hard, and the discoloration is slowly spreading. It is as if your flesh is…turning to stone!"
Isabella's heart missed a beat. She pressed her gloved hand against her shoulder, and her prodding confirmed Cooke's words. Fear clawed at her. "No… No…," she breathed. "We must get to the manor! Harding wanted to interrogate Lady Hanbrook. That crazed man believes she - or Lord Hanbrook - killed his father…! Wh-what is it?" Isabella asked, seeing the look pass between Cook and Anne Marie.
"Ze Gargoyle… It was carrying 'arding in its arms," Anne Marie answered. "When they escaped from us, they flew towards ze manor."
"We should get you to see a doctor, Madam von Took," Cooke told her. "By good fortune one of my medical friends is in Shadowbrook. Miss Piaget can escort you back on our horses – whilst I go on to…"
"No! Josette… Lady Hanbrook, I mean. If she is in danger, I must help her!" Isabella pleaded. "I failed Heidi and Gustav. I will not fail my old friend."
Cooke and Anne Marie exchanged another meaningful glance. Then the Inspector nodded.
"Very well. We have some weapons with us – and we will have some strength, honor, cunning and spirit to our credit. We must confront Reverend Harding and this Gargoyle…and do what must be done."
Isabella's eyes flicked across to Anne Marie. "Mr Danforth is not with you now?"
"Non, Isabella," Anne Marie replied. "He is recovering from his injuries from ze Living Statues that diverted our attention at ze Blacksmiths, allowing you to escape."
"And…your sergeant, Inspector? Where is he?" Isabella dared to ask.
He bowed his head. "In the makeshift mortuary at the Doctor's surgery."
Isabella paled in understanding. "I…I am sorry to hear that."
Cooke's eyes were hard. "The being that killed him is dead – and the citizen's militia have found his master, also deceased, on the riverbank at the marsh." He raised his pistol. "Now we should turn our attention to our other enemies. Before darkness engulfs us all!"
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
The Windmill:
Karl Harrison considered his options as he tried to reign in his fear of being eaten by his captors. The female Grotesque that had been appointed as his guard by the Gargoyle seemed more concerned about protecting her unhatched brood – though Karl had no doubt that she would soon intervene if he tried to leave the windmill. Peeping outside through the doorway, he stirred as he saw the Grotesques finish their mating and preening – only for one of them to flap its wings and take off, heading into the still-dark skies. The other curled up outside, watching the entrance to the windmill.
In case I try to escape…, Karl thought ruefully. And where was the other heading? Was it out hunting, for food?
Through the gap of the broken doorway, he felt the wind pick up. Clouds were now racing across the moon. Karl thought of Lucy and Harlow – asking himself where they would be now. What would they do, once they had their own fill of hunted prey? Was he even going to live long enough to see them again? He had examined his lower leg, below the knee. It was gray and heavy – like the inflictions that Thomas and Lucy had been cursed with. But with him, the curse did not seem to be spreading – leading him to conclude that he had received just a light dose of the Gargoyle's Stone Touch. He had to use that to his advantage, despite how stiff his leg was to drag around. Doing nothing was not an option.
The wind tugged at the sails of the windmill, higher up. But something rattled against them – something that was apparently holding them in place…
He straightened himself up and carefully eased himself onto his feet. An idea started to form in Karl's mind. He only hoped that it would work.
The ex-soldier carefully climbed up the ladder to the next floor. It was not easy. Besides trying to leave and lifting his heavy leg without disturbing the slumbering Grotesque, Karl was climbing using one hand only – using the other to hold the handle of the lantern, which he had covered up enough to keep the light low. Then he pushed himself onwards to climb the next ladder also. Once he had reached the dust floor level, gasping from his exertions, Karl located the mechanism that allowed for the turning of the sails. Gathering his strength and gritting his teeth, Karl crawled along the wooden floor, using the dim light from the lantern to guide him. Then, rising upon his knees, he used both hands to pull out the rod that had been used to jam the brake wheel.
The mechanism creaked and began to move, gradually picking up a slow, but constant speed. Karl allowed himself to smile before carefully descending again to the bin floor and dragging himself back to the top of the first ladder. Then, opening the shutters wide on the lantern, he took a deep breath to steady himself. Lifting the lantern with both hands, Karl took careful aim, and threw it into the insulating hay that formed the bedding to the Grotesque mother's nest…
The ear-splitting 'crash', and the flames that broke out, soon had the female Grotesque screaming. With its body alight, the creature tried to flex its wings in order to put out the fire licking away at the large eggs – its maternal instincts focused on them rather than its own self-preservation, at first. Then, unable to endure the agony, the minion rolled itself over on the floor. But nothing was working. Instead, the beating of its wings had fanned the fire, encouraging it to spread and preventing the weakened creature from rescuing its unborn young.
Karl remained at the top of the ladder. He watched to stay long enough to satisfy himself that the Grotesque and the eggs would not survive. But even as the eggs unexpectedly exploded and the young withered and died within moments, the mother raised her head to the ceiling and roared at Karl. Its wings still aflame, the Grotesque began to climb the ladder towards him – murder in its eyes…
Karl gulped, and got up to make again for the dust floor – and the roof beyond.
Time to leave…!
Before he could exit the bin floor level that he was on, Karl was attacked by the furious Grotesque as it squeezed itself through the gap around the top of the stepladder. With no weapons on him to keep it at bay, and with an Stone Touch-inflicted leg, Karl acted as quickly and as best as he could, as he kept the metal drive wheel mechanism for the mill machinery in between the minion and himself. Eventually, he tricked the Grotesque – who was restricted for space – into lunging for him. Then it screamed as it found its burning wing caught up in the ever-turning cogs. Panicking, the fiend tried to free its crushed wing as it was dragged further into the wheel.
And now the fire from its wing, brought up from below, was spreading to the fittings of this level – whilst the floor below was gradually turning into an inferno…
Karl smiled at the creature's fate and waved goodbye – before he turned away and limped onwards as he slowly climbed the ladder to the dust floor again and sought the hatch to the roof. He soon found it, broken down from the outside.
So the Gargoyle and its creatures had come through the gap earlier…
Karl's pained red face was grim by the time he managed to pull himself onto the roof, gasping as he breathed in deep gulps of thankfully-cooler, fresher air. Wiping away the sweat on his forehead with his jacket sleeve, he looked down.
He spied the Grotesque that had remained on the ground to act as the door sentry. It was now screeching its anger. Its burning eyes reflected the blaze that was engulfing the wooden structure. It flapped its bat-like wings in agitation and then glimpsed Karl. The ex-soldier had now edged along the rim of the domed roof, in order to grab hold of the slowly-turning sail that was now edging closer. It was his chance to descend to freedom. Before the fire either threatened to spread to the side of the windmill where the sails where – or before the structure collapsed into itself and took Karl with it…
And even if he managed to hold onto the sail and reach the ground, Karl had the Grotesque below him to contend with. Without any weapons of his own. The Gargoyle and its minions had seen to that.
"I don't have any choice…," he muttered to himself. Taking a deep breath to steady his frayed nerves, Karl carefully grabbed hold of the sail with both hands as it reached his position – and forced himself to hold on tight, even as he started to slip from the combination of heat and sweat…
He dropped down the remaining few feet onto the grass and rolled aside, when the sail turned far enough. His tired body tumbled down the slight incline, and crashed into the nearest tree. He wanted to get away from the windmill as fast as possible. The structure was well and truly ablaze now. Even as he gazed in awe at the results of his handiwork, Karl heard the death cries of the Grotesque that he had trapped inside.
He turned to face the Grotesque that had now torn its screaming face away from the inferno, towards him. It bounded forward and raised a taloned paw – ready to strike him down and shred his flesh…
Then the howling began.
Racing past the nearby miller's house, the two man-sized wolves and the pack of stooped Feral Kin sprinted towards the Grotesque, catching it by surprise. One of the four-legged wolves positioned itself just in front of Karl, snarling at the winged horror – whilst the others leapt at the Gargoyle's minion, slashing and tearing into it with their fangs and claws. One of the Feral Kin was sent flying into the blazing windmill, where it caught fire and soon perished. But the collective attack was too much for the Grotesque – and it fell onto its side, wounded, but still kicking and swiping at the man-beasts that were wearing it down. Its death would soon follow.
Then, as Karl tried to pull himself up against the tree trunk, panting for breath, he spied the other Grotesque gliding in out of the pre-dawn night – returning from its hunt. A slain adult pig hung down from its clawed feet. Screaming at the sight of its mate being killed by the Feral Kin, the Grotesque dropped the dead pig - knocking aside one of the Feral Kin in the process – and wheeled in, to attack the former humans, whilst keeping airborne. In response, the werewolf amongst the Feral Kin pack snarled and snapped orders at them in lupine growls, co-coordinating them to move and make themselves hard to hit. They did so.
Arrested by the fighting, Karl's attention was diverted by the trembling of the ground. He shot his eyes to the wolf that was acting as his guard. It – no, she - had detected the tremors also. She howled a warning to the other lupines.
The ground at the base of the windmill suddenly burst outwards, as if an explosion had occurred just below the soil. Withering tentacles – as thick as a man's arm - whipped into the heated air surrounding the fire, and the beast in the cellar strained to free itself from the hole it had punched into the surface above it. It gave a shrill cry – a scream of agony. Evidently, the fire he had started had reached into the cellar, Karl reasoned to himself.
With the wolf amongst them howling a retreat, the Feral Kin managed to roll aside from the frenzied snatches of the octopus-like creature. But the Grotesque was ensnared by a tentacle wrapping itself around its foot. Screeching its rage, the two beings fought a bizarre tug-of-war – with the Grotesque trying to free itself as it sliced into the tentacle with its claws; and the beast from the cellar still trying to pull itself out of the ground, whilst seeking its fury against anything it could in its plight...
"Get back! The windmill…!" Karl yelled to the werewolves and the Feral Kin. They saw the danger, yelped, and dropped to all fours in order to run away to safety in time. The windmill, now a blazing-hot inferno, broke up close to where the demon had undermined its foundations - and it collapsed onto the last Grotesque and the tentacled horror, scattering burning wood and metal parts onto them both. Within moments, the creatures – or their crushed bodies – were overtaken by the flames and the fumes. Another wail reached their ears, too, as the Living Statue sentry was also destroyed in the devastation.
The she-wolf in front of Karl whined, taking a few paces back from the heat of the wreckage. She turned to Karl and sniffed at him. Then she repeatedly tapped the ground with a forepaw.
Karl's mind sharpened. This was a display of human intellect…
"Lucy…," he breathed.
One of the Feral Kin was drooling and growling as he drew closer to them. Hungry for human flesh.
The Lucy-wolf snapped her head round and snarled, exposing her fangs. Her body tense and erect. Whining, the Feral Kin bowed and backed off. At a snarl from the other four-legged wolf, the minion skulked over to the dropped pig and joined his pack members in the feast.
Minutes later, with their hunger appeased, the Feral Kin pack approached Karl once more. The Lucy-wolf watched them, and then she nuzzled and licked Karl's face, before issuing a warning growl to them. The message was clear. This human is under my protection. If you harm him, you will suffer the consequences…
Shaking, Karl reached out and stroked the fur behind her ears. Fur that shone titian in the flames of the wrecked windmill. Lucy grinned and rubbed her dark nose against Karl's beard. Then she pulled back, and sniffed at his leg. She whined.
"Perceptive as always, Lucy," Karl sighed. He showed her the gray flesh of his calf underneath his torn pants leg. "I now have the Stone Touch, alas."
Then the other wolf shifted form with a stretching and twisting and crunching of skin, tissue, and bone. The creature became more humanoid. Intelligent yellow eyes regarded Karl.
"Harlow Morgan," Karl spoke first, nodding. "Thank you for seeing my message conveyed by the movement of the windmill's sails. Thank you all for rescuing me." He gazed into Lucy's golden eyes.
"You are…welcome, Mr…Harrison. We need…to work…together," Harlow growled, barking out his words as best as he could. He gestured to the Feral Kin with a half-paw. "Lucy and I…now command all…that remains…of them…, as you see."
"What of Major Bruckner?" Karl asked.
"Lucy and I…ended his…reign of terror. His sister…, the Shadow Witch…, had possessed him. She has gone…for now."
"I am very glad to hear it… And the Gargoyle? It left me here, after inflicting me with its Stone Touch... I am cursed! I need a doctor. Or maybe... Maybe the death of the Gargoyle will undo its foul magik."
"I do…not know where…the Gargoyle is…" Harlow loped closer and sniffed at Karl's leg. "I am sorry…for your condition…, sir." He looked thoughtful, and then declared, "There is…a third possibility. You could…join Lucy and me…"
Lucy's head shot up, and her body became rigid - evidently understanding the conversation and its implications all too well. Her gaze alternated between Harlow and Karl. She whined.
Karl took a deep breath, and slowly released it. "Let us…not take that course of action just yet. Lucy clearly seems uncertain about it. So, since I suspect that the Gargoyle is still alive, I proposed that we work as a team and track it down. Then end the evil it has brought upon this township! What say you all?"
Harlow tilted his head, considering Karl's words. "I have…no objection. But the Feral Kin…they cannot become…human again. I sense that… Their lives…are now…my responsibility. As is Lucy's… I need to…protect them…from the humans…who would hate…and hunt them down…"
"Then I would urge you to do what you must, Harlow Morgan," Karl considered, nodding. "Take the Feral Kin somewhere remote, where they and humans will not clash and harm each other. His eyes flicked to Lucy. "As for you, Lucy – perhaps it would be best for you to leave this township and go with Harlow and this pack…"
Lucy eyes widened, and she pawed at Karl's arm – conveyed her agitation. She did not want to leave him…
Karl sighed. He was one of the few friends Lucy had made – and now she had the loyalty of a wolf. And all this was assuming that they would have a future beyond the showdown with the Gargoyle that would come in good time…
One of the Feral Kin suddenly howled and pointed into the air with her half-paw. It was a young female, Karl noted. She must have been a girl before Bruckner and the Shadow Witch had warped her into the wolf-like creature that she would be for the rest of her life. Turning to seek the source of her concern, Karl, Lucy, Harlow, and the rest of the Feral Kin saw the bonfire flare into life on the western horizon. It was surely somewhere near to…
Lucy stood to attention on her four paws, a low growl issuing from her throat.
"It's at the manor! And there's another Grotesque in the sky close by." Karl gasped. "But what…?"
"My suggestion to…Lord and Lady…Hanbrook! To light…a beacon…in time…of emergencies!" Harlow growled. He glanced at Lucy. "She will go there… With…, or without, us… To defend her parents."
"The people who acted as her parents, anyway," Karl interjected.
"That…matter again…"
"Long story…" Karl eased himself off the tree. "Do what you wish to do, Mr Morgan. But I'm going with Lucy!"
"You have…no weapons."
"I will improvise. It's what I do."
"These roads…aren't safe. We saw…that Grotesque…just now…in the air. It is circling. It will see…you approach." Harlow huffed and looked meaningfully at his newly-gained pack. Then he growled. "We are coming…with you both!"
"Thank you, Mr Morgan. Then we will go together! I sense that we will find the Gargoyle at the manor…," Karl answered grimly.
"Yyour…lleg," Lucy growled at Karl.
Karl hesitated as he caught her meaning. How was he going to get to the manor, except slowly – thanks to his afflicted leg? Then he saw Lucy give a lupine grin, as she nudged her friend's hand with her nose.
Karl's eyes widened with surprise. Slowly, his lips formed a smile…
Minutes later, they were on the move, heading westwards as the pack reached the fields. Harlow led the way, running on all fours. The Feral Kin followed suit, forming a guard of honor of sorts around Lucy and Karl. Meanwhile, the ex-soldier was holding on tightly to the brownish-orange fur around Lucy's neck – praying that his werewolf friend would not collapse under his weight as she sprinted, keeping pace with the pack, her paws slamming into the smooth earth of the path, with Karl as her passenger.
At the fields, they came across the Living Statue of the miller, Mr Forbes, who was slowly advancing towards the manor.
That explains why he never showed up whilst we were at the windmill, Karl considered. The Gargoyle claimed him at some point.
Upon their approach, Forbes turned around to regard them with glowing white eyes, and he lifted his arms – ready to snap the neck of anything that he could grasp. Instead, Harlow snarled and slammed into the Living Statue, knocking it over. Seconds later, Lucy jumped upon the animated statue – and the combined weight of herself and Karl was enough to 'crack' the stone neck, destroying the threat. Seeing the glow disappear from the eyes of the statue, its expression now permanently frozen with shock – Lucy carried on, gathering speed with her run. She felt charged with energy under the light of the full moon, not yet feeling the strain of Karl's weight. Instead, she felt joyful to be reunited with him. Now her mind was turned to the task of saving the couple who had acted as her parents – wanting to know who, if either of them, were truly the ones who had brought her into the world…
And so the pack raced on towards Hanbrook Manor – with the first rays of the pre-light dawn chasing after them, as their appointment with fate drew nearer…