Pieter & Ithelus

Ithelus' answer was a moody silence. Waiting for a moment or two to see if the contest of wills would go any further, Pieter seemed satisfied that it was settled.

"Alright then," said Leopold, injecting a brittle, up-beat note into the tone of the conversation. "The Flychers, then?" He paused. "I'm coming too."

Outside, the sky was turning a bright, cold grey, the warm colours of morning dissipating with the rising of the sun. The earth of the village's main road squelched slightly underfoot, still damp from yesterday's rain. The wind was rich with the loamy smell of the woods - for the first time, that somehow seemed sinister.

Up on the hill, Pieter could see the tower of Verloren Manor poking its roof above its screen of trees: there was a light in the window, its yellow glow just visible in this wan daylight. The village below hardly seemed alive: the odd soul shuffled quietly between the silent cottages. A trio of children were playing unsupervised in the mud of Faulebrand's yard - aside from what might have been a gathering of men at the foot of the Manor hill, they were the largest group of people in sight.

In the quiet of the morning, the Flychers' house seemed to stick out from its neighbours less than Pieter remembered. When he had first seen the leaning old place, with its split beams and peeling sign, it had seemed to him that it would have been more at home on the streets of Helstrum's Ward than out among these rural fields. Now, the atmosphere of the village had sunk to match its gloom.

The windows were dark. Giving the place a sideways, suspicious kind of look, Leopold advanced to the front door and knocked. It was a full minute before anyone replied.

Very slowly, the door opened, just a crack. Mrs Flycher's face appeared in the gap.

"You ain't Bernhardt," she said, in a small voice. She paused. "We got nothing t'sell. Come back later."

Moving slowly, she began to close the door again...