The Fall of House Pancrazio Chapter Two

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Perhaps what it desired, then," Harold says, "was the blood of the family, in order to help someone specific. ... It seems we have a mystery on our hands. Now kindly grab the cleaver and gather whoever is coming. Some rope, or chains might not be a bad thing to bring, either. It is time to see the remains of Mariabella."

[JMaytr]

Roderigo looks at Agna.

"I'll have her buried sometime today. You needn't concern yourself with that, I know the two of you were close, Mariabella was like part of the family. I'll make sure she has a proper burial, at last as proper as I can afford."

The sudden appearance of Tristan and Harold running for the back door causes everyone else in the kitchen to fall deathly silent.

[ewancummins]

Tristan enters the kitchen-

He clears his throat and says-

''Mister Pancrazio, Agna, excuse me. Agna, do you have a cleaver that Harold could perhaps borrow? Oh, and does anyone know if we've got some rope laid by, or maybe...ummm..chains?''

Tristan glances at Tahl, then again at Goran.


''Harold and I, we're going out to check on something and we might need your help.''

[JMaytr]

Roderigo regains some composure.

"What is it Tristan? Come on man speak up! I need you men with my son to look in the greenhouse. Why the devil would you need a cleaver?"

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"He needs a cleaver," Harold rasps as he limps over to stand next to Tristan; in a gesture that is half support for the younger man and half leaning on him, the ageing scholar puts a hand on his shoulder. "He needs a cleaver, rope and chains, because I hear you have only put poor Mariabella's body in the shed. You have not called for a priest to make sure her remains were not contaminated by the undead which killed her. Depending on the undead, that means she might rise herself, if she is simply left to lie."

[ewancummins]

Tristan says-

''Oh, well I've got a perfectly good hatchet. No need for the cleaver, then. ''

[Griselda]

At Harold's blunt assessment of the situation, Agna blanches quite white. Her lips part, but all that emerges is a faint, strangled note. Her head shaking in tiny bursts, she makes her way blindly toward the scullery where the cleaver and other large knives are kept.

[ewancummins]

Tristan tries to smile, a strained sort of expression.

''Mister Pancrazio, it won't take long, I should think. Still, we'd really better take a look in that shed. ''

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Here now, girl," Harold grumbles as he limps into the kitchen, breath wheezing in his throat. He at least tries to catch Agna up before she gets to the scullery, one hand catching hers with surprising genleness. "There now, don't fret, don't fret. We've surely caught it in time."

[ewancummins]

Tristan stands in the doorway, carefully priming his pistol.

[Griselda]

Still shaking her head, Agna makes a half-hearted attempt to draw away from Harold. A sob escapes her and the tears that had been starting to gather drop as twin tracks from both eyes. She struggles to keep her grief in check, but so much from last night -- the monster in the door, Mariabella's poor torn throat, so much blood. The tears dry into struggling breaths and near-inaudible words.

"No, she wouldn't, would she? She wouldn't come back tonight and...."

The idea is nearly too much to bear, and she puts a hand over her mouth to deny it.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Hush now, child," Harold says, his general demeanor belying his gruff voice. Slowly, gently, he uses the hand not holding onto his staff for dear life to pull Agna's head down onto his shoulder. The gesture is clearly purely paternal, a token of support. Gently, the old man pats the girl's shoulders. "There now. We'll see to it that her rest is not disturbed. You may rely on it. Isn't that right, Tristan?"

[ewancummins]

Tristan, who is now squatting next to the door, checking his gear [he hasn't been back long, so he still has this stuff with him], looks up at Harold.


''Right, Harold. ''

[Griselda]

After a long moment, Agna's breathing begins to settle and some of the color returns to her face, although she is still clearly upset. She makes a few abortive attempts to say something, before finally managing, "Will-will you still need--"

She can't quite bring herself to say the last word.

[Irving the Meek]

In between Goran's remonstration and the news of the celebration to come, Tuke has fallen very silent. Upon seeing Agna's distress, though, Tuke hops down from the counter and squeezes Agna's hand. Tuke's fingers feel oddly long and slender for a hand so tiny.

"Don't worry about it, Agna. I'll take care of things. You just worry about supper and getting things in order before the help arrives. We'll have enough to worry about with Lord Dilsnya coming to visit."

Tuke goes to the larder, fetches a boning knife, and discreetly hands it to Tristan. Quietly, he says: "I don't know if this'll do much good - whatever foul power is at work is copying bodies, not animating them. But it costs us little and might save us much, so..." Tuke shrugs. " Use the axe by the woodshed if you have to. Don't bring the knife back to the kitchen."

Tuke turns back to to the others. "By your leave, gentles, I need to make my own plans. After all, one does not often get the chance to perform for such august company, and I must prepare a masterpiece."

Very carefully, Tuke steps outside and walks towards the apple tree. When he is sure that no one can see him or hear him, he leans against the tree and is thoroughly, noisily sick. His hands are white in terror.

Dilsnya. Dear Ezra, not him. Not him. I've heard the tales of what he does to entertainments he dislikes. I've heard what he does to those he likes! What am I going to do? Dear Ezra, what am I going to do?