Fourteen

Agueda regained her composure.

''Certainly!'' she replied sweetly, before realising she didn't know anything about the place. But she did have a fall back, and a willing one at that.

''Baskerville, darling'', her eyelashes fluttered madly, ''Perhaps we would benefit from your vast knowledge in this particular area. I shall keep our friend... I'm sorry I didn't catch your name... company, since he feels unwell.''

And with that, she took him by the arm, to support his injured hand, of course.

Baskerville was quiet for several beats. Then his expression leapt from blank to a genial (one might even say enthusiastic) grin.

"Why of course! Practically nothing would give me greater pleasure!" He positively beamed.

"Shall we begin with the main building? Don't worry, it's perfectly safe. Fairly safe. Ah, you can run fast." Oh, you thought he was joking?

He waved Agueda inside, and didn't wait for Kerak before prowling in behind her.

"Kerak." The man introduced himself, not mentioning his second name or title. Smiling as he introduced himself, he didn't seem to mind at all being taken by the arm.

"How kind of you." He smiled at the two, speaking more to Agueda than to Baskerville. He knew there was something funny about the other man, but put it down to the effects of the demon inside as he headed inside with Agueda.

The back door, indeed the only unblocked door, led into the kitchen: a fairly high-ceilinged room and not, in its current state, particularly hygienic-looking. A locked trap door in the floor apparently led downwards - probably a wine cellar or storeroom, but Baskerville wasn't certain. The fireplace was a basic but very large affair. It seemed that cooking had been a low-tech business when the building was designed. So had plumbing. A hand pump in one corner, in considerable disrepair, attested to that.

"The building's maybe a hundred'n thirty years old, we reckon," Baskerville said, casting his eyes about the place as if looking for something. "There are all sorts of interesting legends about the site, which we'll get to later. When we bought it, which was 'bout a week ago, it'd been standing empty for, well, almost a decade, they reckon. Dirt cheap, even with the grounds."

He pointed out a stone in the wall around the doorframe, which had "Gerard built me ~ Royal year of 1254" scratched into it.

''It's all very interesting'', Agueda said, enjoying the competition between Basky and Kerak immensely.

''I'd love to hear more about these legends. Mythical creatures always fascinated me. You know, werewolves and the like.''

She felt Kerak tense beside her and, misinterpretting it, held onto his arm a little tighter.

"Land of the living, huh. You call this living?" Jaina belatedly asked Suitov. She tried to pull herself fully upright and groaned. "It sounds like people are moving heavy tables across the floor of my brain!"

"Werewolves?" Kerak replied, in a far too casual tone. He was suddenly rather tense.

"You know a lot about Werewolves and these, uh, mythical creatures then?" He asked Agueda, hoping like hell the answer was No.

''I wouldn't profess to be an expert, Kerak'', Agueda said, relishing the sound of his name and glad to have found some common ground with the rather shy, yet desperately handsome specimen whose arm she held.

They moved around the kitchen in the pretence of investigating nooks and crannies.

''I hear things about them on my travels, you know, the full moon, child sacrifices, burning temples and so on. It's all very interesting but it contradicts with information from town to town... I say are you feeling quite alright?''

Kerak had suddenly turned very pale. Agueda sat him down on an upturned box and stroked his hair.

''Are you feeling quite alright?'' she repeated.

"No, only the floor of my inn," Suitov muttered.

Baskerville's head appeared around the kitchen door. "Agueda's seen the bar room already, but for completeness' sake, behold a furnitureless - beg pardine, almost furnitureless room full of pansy layabouts.

"Werewolves?" he added. "You don't want to get involved with those. Wimps, the lot of them. Can make comfortable pillows, though."

"But why is the table gone?" Jaina asked as plaintively as she could manage through her haze.

The kitten stared at her.

"Oh, shut up," said Jaina. "I was -- indisposed."

"And a very charming pose it is," the mage said oh-so-innocently. "Oh, the tables? They wanted some fresh air."

Sitting on the upturned box, Kerak was rather distracted by the hair-stroking. So it was a short time before he collected himself enough to say “I’m fine, really.”

Giving Agueda a sheepish half-smile, the man suddenly winced as though he’d been struck. Baskerville’s comment had caused the demon to suddenly push at the bounds of his control, snarling and angry. It was with a little difficulty he pushed it back under his control, by which time it had made a mockery of his claim to be fine.

It might have been the liquor, but Jaina's cheeks seemed awfully red. Weren't they paler than that when she first woke? "Oh," she said regarding the tables' whereabouts, then "...flatterer." Her gaze ducked to the floor as she ran a self-conscious hand over her mussed hair.

"Maybe I should go join the tables," she told her boots instead of Suitov. "I think they had the right idea." And she slipped around the doorjamb and outside.

No, leave her alone. / Ar. / I mean it. You play with yours. / Whatchoo doing? / Being friendly. / Ooh. ... I like her. / Yes.

Suitov shoved past a grinning Baskerville (who didn't move aside), twinkled absentmindedly at the moon-crossed pair and leaned on the balustrade of the back porch, an act of bravery. He was visible, but not close enough to harry. He observed the pre-dawn air.

"Ah, are you feeling delicate?" Baskerville asked Kerak genially and not at all provocatively, oh no, would he do that? "I don't think we stretch to - sacrificed kiddies, you say, Agueda? - but I think there's brandy. Was brandy. Somewhere."

Something was wrong. As Kerak had winced, Agueda had sensed something very... she couldn't describe it. But she knew she didn't like it. Her hand had jerked back in a reflex and, as a result, was no longer stroking Kerak's hair.

Seeing Suitov pass through, she turned and gave him a little smile as he disappeared onto the back porch.

She turned back to face Kerak again, but as Baskerville began to speak there was another wince from Kerak, and another disturbing pain for Agueda. This time, though, as he winced, his hand opened wide from the shock of it, and she saw clearly the burn on his palm.

''I could do with a brandy,'' she said, getting up and moving away from Kerak.

''Are you sure there's any alcohol left?'' Agueda asked Baskerville dubiously, watching the back of Jaina disappear through the door.

Bowman, meanwhile, was still clung tightly to Basky's ankle. He had chosen to remain quiet, but the way he wiggled his processes clearly conveyed excitement. You see, he'd noticed a rather cute red fluffy thing stalking a mouse.

"No, no." Kerak shook his head, standing as Agueda moved away. For a moment he seemed to glare at Baskerville, but it could well have been a trick of the light or connected to his wincing.

It was plain, whatever he originally thought, he couldn't stay here. Not even until the full moon. There was a reason he'd withdrawn from human society, and Baskerville seemed intent on causing him to lose control. And he couldn't let that happen.

"I just need some air." He murmured, heading towards the nearest door that led outside. He found himself on a back porch, and a few steps down took him to a garden in which there was a large, no longer working, fountain. He regarded it with a sour expression.

Ah, Kerry had found the fountain.

It was one of Baskerville's favourite features: encircled by a wall no more than waist height, it was filled with stagnant water (less than fragrant) with no discernable bottom. The centrepiece was either a siren or a mermaid, and she was either smirking or flirting.

To anyone paying attention to him, Baskerville wore an intent - nay, a conniving demeanour as he eyeballed the werewolf's back.

Suitov cared not.

Agueda had followed them, despite being a little unnerved after Kerak's behaviour. As a result, she hung closer to the Skerv, feeling suddenly like a scared little girl.

''Is he going to be alright, do you think?'' she asked, hugging Baskerville's right arm for protection whilst hardly noticing she was doing it.

Bowman kept quiet, but was ready to scuttle off, should this tense situation explode.

Oh, now he couldn't deny it was good to have a gal hanging off his arm again. But yes, what of the competition?

He patted Agueda's hand reassuringly, then disengaged it so that he could stroll up to Kerak. For his part, Kerak seemed not to be paying attention to Baskerville; almost as though he was struggling to keep control.

Coming alongside the fellow, Baskerville began, "Hey man, I wanted to make sure you were all--"

The attack came from nowhere. One quick shove, with as much weight behind as the beast could muster, and there was a great sploosh. Kerak hit the water more or less head first, and sank.

Baskerville sank too, into a giggle fit. He didn't even get as far as some pretence at "oops".

Kerak was completely taken aback, and didn't even really register what was happening until the thick, inky, waters closed over his head.

Suddenly he found himself in a whole new world. No light penetrated the apparently bottomless depths he was sinking through, and as Kerak thrashed around in a desperate struggle to reach air and breathe again he was reminded he wasn't all that great at swimming. Didn't actually know how to swim, in fact.

Waves of emotion overwhelmed him as water filled his lungs. Terror, panic....and more than anything else, a burning anger. An inferno of all-consuming rage. And just like that he was in the control of the demon inside him, his head jerking back in a silent scream as his bones began to lengthen and contort.

Through all this the surface of the fountain had been perfectly fill, having closed over the man as though he had never existed. Suddenly they were rent apart, spray filling the air, as a towering creature errupted from the depths. Standing at least eight foot at the shoulder, the fur of the beast was black as midnight with eyes that glowed with an eerie redness, reflecting the fires in which they were born. Long claws glinted wickedly, the water that dripped from them catching the light. A mouth open in a silent snarl revealed teeth perfectly made for brutally tearing flesh from bone.

And it was staring straight at Baskerville.