At Rartigillichal:

Godalming *early in the morning, walking down the long path to a house with a strange name, he is beginning to get anxious that he has lost the way, but Malachi had reminded him that it is rather far from the town, and he wonders why a lonely lady would want to settle in such an isolated place, and he keeps on walking, not sure if he's on the right path, and when he has almost lost his hope he sees a house through the trees and comes to a yard, and he sees Miss Manouche who seems like she is leaving somewhere*  Hello, Miss Manouche!  I hope you don't have some urgent business elsewhere now that I finally found you.  *looks around him*  I wondered why you would want to live so far from the town, but now when I see your property, I think that I understand you well.  I was hoping to have a little chat with you, if that is okay.

Manouche *grins at the “Miss” Manouche*  Ay, Mr. … Godalming, is it?  S' good t’ see ye, mate.  *glances back toward where the horses are standing, then back at Godalming*  I reckon I ‘ave a bit o’ time.  I need t’ go into town, but it’s still early, I can do it after we chat.  *she brings him to an outdoor table and chairs outside the main house*  ‘Ere, ‘ave a seat, luv.  It’s so nice out, let’s take advantage of it.  Can I bring ye somethin’, would ye like some coffee or tea, anythin’ to eat?

Godalming:  Yes, thanks, tea would be fine if it isn't too much trouble.  I hope you have recovered enough of your experience, Miss Manouche. I would very much hear more about it.  You seem to be more powerful than any of those few living souls who had the key.  As far as I know, you are the only person to escape that box alive.  I would also like to know how you acquired the key and why, and how that soul box came into your possession.  You didn't buy it from that Dean Corso?  I checked on him, and he has been trading some of my society's most guarded secret manuscripts.  You wouldn't deal with the likes of him?

Manouche:  Tea comin’ up, I’ll be right back.  *she goes into the kitchen to put some water on to boil, then returns, sits down*  I don’t know that I’m more powerful than any before me, an’ I’m not th’ only one who’s escaped th’ box alive.  Inspector Abberline did as well, an’ he survived it without a key.  Don’t be too surprised if he ain’t willin’ to talk about it with ye, though, an’ don’t take it personal if he don’t.  He’s very private, an’ it’s hard fer him t’ think about all that.  I hid th’ box sometime after we helped th’ Inspector escape it … it stayed hidden fer th’ longest time, an’ fer awhile, it was forgotten by everyone ‘cept th’ Guardians, who kept in close contact with me about it.  As fer th’ key, I got it from me mate Alifi … ye met ‘er, she was at th’ house, with th’ Inspector an’ Malachi, when they saved me.  How she come upon th’ key, I’m not sure.  ‘Ang on, mate.  *she jumps up, runs to the kitchen, turns off the flame under the boiling water, sets up a tray with a teapot, two cups, sugar and cream, napkins and spoons, pours water into teapot to let the tea steep, then carries the tray out to the table.  Sets it down, then sits down again, grins at mention of Corso*  I’ve seldom ‘ad dealin’s with Corso … an’ I weren’t aware he’s been barterin’ yer manuscripts.  I do know that he’s interested in keepin’ a low profile fer th’ time bein’, now that he’s finally back in Commander Portsmith’s good graces.  *smiles, pours out tea, hands him a cup*

Godalming:  Thank you, Miss Manouche.  *taking the cup*  This is all very interesting.  I heard that Abberline was there too, but I thought it would be easier to start with you.  He didn't seem to want to talk to me about anything.  It wasn't like that when I met him in Fiji.  *shrugs*  I would leave him be if it wasn't for that wife of his.  I want to hear more of her and see her.  Did you see her in the box?  And can you describe me how it was being in the box.  Were the old souls of the powerful shamans still there or have they withered away?  And I am also interested in why you got the key.  There has to be some connection to that box you have.  *laughs at himself*  I am sorry for being full of questions.  I am planning to write a book on the soul box, I suppose I can do it now that it is rendered harmless.  I shudder at the thought of what would have happened if it had got into wrong hands ...  By the way, I was trying to find the gypsy who did that reading to Malachi, and I do suspect that he was something else than he pretended to be, he knew too much.  I couldn't find him anywhere.  This is a strange place indeed.

Manouche:  I did see Victoria, she come to me t’ take over bein’ th’ key keeper … I didn’t want ‘er to at first, but then I saw that it were th’ right thing to do.  I don’t know how I knew, I jus’ knew.  *sips tea slowly*  It’s hard t’ describe bein’ in th’ box … it were horrible, as ye can well imagine … it’s like ye enter another world, it were all in a thick, chilly mist, an’ all around were th’ voices of th’ souls in torment, flyin’ about overhead, wailin’ … th’ souls are all in different states o’ sufferin’.  A few of ‘em even were able t’ converse with me.  They assured me I ‘ad it made, bein’ a dreamer an’ keeper o’ th’ key, they said me mates would be able t’ get me out, if they could sort it out proper.  Which they did, didn’t they?  *she smiles, pauses*  I couldn’t tell ye if some o’ th’ tormented souls were th’ powerful shamans.  I know that some time ago, Marchand … he’s a necromancer, an’ he’s been wantin’ to get th’ box an’ use its power ... he were in th’ box fer awhile, an’ he absorbed some o’ th’ souls while he were there, an’ he emerged very powerful.  That’s another whole story, though … *she shivers slightly at the memory, takes another drink of tea*  I wish someone would find that gypsy, I’d love to ‘ave a chance t’ thank ‘im.  *grins*  I don’t reckon anyone would argue with ye that this is a strange place.  But it’s a bloody lovely place most times, as well.

At Chateau de Blanchefort:

O’Malley *hides near the castle, aided by the darkness of a moonless night.  She smiles as she sees Corso leaving.  As soon as he’s out of sight she creeps closer to the castle and enters the grounds.  She stays on the path that Corso guided her to last she was here, hoping the cameras are still off.  Even in the darkness, the presence of the Stone Circle doesn’t escape her attention; she stops and glares at the large shadows waiting for that feeling of dizziness it seems to give her.  Nothing happens and she is about to continue on her way when a wave of dizziness suddenly hits her.  She leans against the wall of the castle trying to keep from falling to the ground; muttering*  Blast!

*Knowing it’ll only pass if she gets away from the blasted Stone Circle, O’Malley walks on while continuing to use the wall as support.  As she goes on, the dizziness subsides somewhat, although never disappearing completely, and she is able to walk a bit faster.  Finally, she reaches the back entrance, which is of course locked securely.  She quickly picks the lock and continues quietly towards Corso’s office.  In the office, she takes the chance and turns on the desk lamp to get a better look at all his books.  Wanting to get out of there as fast as possible, she quickly grabs books with a title indicating information about either the Stone Circle or Irish folklore and magic.  She puts a few books into a canvas bag and turns off the desk lamp.*

At Chez Roux:

Abberline *walks out of the house in deep thoughts, lights a cigarette, the question of who will give Kat away has brought Marchand back on his mind, and he knows that Marchand must be weakening, because he himself has what Marchand needs, the heart and soul, and he himself has grown much stronger ... He can't let it be, he concentrates and sends his words to Marchand, saying that he owns what Marchand needs and there is no way he can get at Kat or Raven now .... He walks into Chez Roux, orders a brandy and starts to think about the wedding again.  He has to go to the church and talk with the priest ... But he is already starting to worry about the promise he made to Kat about being present at the birth, and he orders another brandy while trying to figure a way not having to be there, the mere thought of it makes him shudder ... *

Carver *sitting at a table in a corner, sees Abberline enter, order a drink, and he rises up and approaches him*  ‘Evenin’, Inspector.  Don’t mean t’ interrupt ye in yer thoughts, but I felt I should apologize fer me actions at th’ hospital recent.  It were most unseemly, considerin’ th’ time an’ place, as it were.  I won’t deny that I ‘ave a continued interest in th’ lass Miranda, but that weren’t th’ optimal way t’ discuss it, seein’ as how ye’ve taken ‘er on as yer responsibility.  I’ve only jus’ got me crew back in order an’ unafraid after bein’ so easily taken in by th’ daft tales of th’ man-eatin’ dolphins from that blasted twit residin’ with Portsmith, an’ quite frankly, I don’t wish t’ be addin’ a rift with ye to me troubles fer th’ time remainin’ that me ship is docked ‘ere.  Savvy?  No ‘ard feelin’s, ay mate?

Abberline:  I accept the apology.  She clearly doesn't want anything to do with you and I suggest that you just leave her be or you have to deal with me.  She is a sensitive young girl and I am sure she is scared of all pirates.  You scared my wife too, and I don't take that well, especially now when she is expecting.  But I am willing to drop the subject.  And anyway, since you got your crew ready, you probably will soon set sail, I presume.

Carver *nods, sits down across from him*  Aye, we’ll be sailin’ very soon now.  Tortuga beckons, as do other ports o’ call.  *grins, takes out cigarettes, lights one*  It were wrong o’ me to put a fear into yer wife, ‘er bein’ in th’ family way an’ all.  Reckon she ‘as enough t’ keep ‘er worried, bringin’ another descendent o’ Marchand into th’ world.  This is where th’ age-old argument comes into play, innit?  Nature versus nurture.  I don’t ‘ave t’ guess where ye’d be drawin’ yer lot, ay, Inspector?  No worries, mate, there be plenty o’ arguments on th’ side o’ nurture.  *laughs, takes a drink*

Abberline *starts at the mention of Marchand, looks at him sharply and suspiciously*  How do you know about Marchand?  And how do you know so much about my family?  *remembers his journal, the doubts he never entirely has got rid of, but on the other side, Raven has shown all his old arguments to be faulty.  And he thinks of his own father and mother ...*  Yes, I used to believe in heritage, but neither my wife nor my son don't bear any resemblance to him at all.  They have nothing whatever to do with him.  And neither should you.  I have come to realize that heritage is a complicated matter.  The one my wife is expecting is untainted by Marchand, she's a child of hers and mine.  What kind of father would act like that toward his daughter?

Carver:  No offense, Inspector, but word gets around, savvy?  People in a small community talk, so yer in-law's fancies are common knowledge 'round these parts.  *takes another drink*  As fer meself, I ‘ave no need of a necromancer at this particular juncture, but ye never know.  *peers at him intently*  ‘Ave ye never wanted t’ bring someone back from th’ dead, mate?  Necromancers can do that, y’know.  ‘Course, they usually won’t bother unless it’s to fulfill a personal agenda, as it were.  Most likely they be bringin’ souls back fro th’ dead to use ‘em or feed on ‘em somehow.  Blood rituals an’ th’ like, that’s their forte.  I hear tell they also can damage an’ steal yer enemies’ health … a wonderful trick, to be sure, but I wouldn’t want t’ be beholden t’ Marchand fer such a favor.  *pauses, smirks*  From what ye say, I take it Marchand an’ yer wife don’t ‘ave a very cozy father-daughter relationship.  Some dads an’ their lasses never progress past that rebellious stage, do they?  Ah well, with a new granddaughter on th’ way, per’aps ol’ Marchand’ll be mellowin’.  Who knows, before too long ye may be ‘avin’ him in fer Sunday dinner, a little roast beef in that fine dinin’ room at Bournemouth House.  If it comes to that, mate, word of advice … *leans closer*  I wouldn’t give ‘im leave t’ be cuttin’ th’ roast, if ye catch me meanin’.  *laughs*

Abberline:  He is my enemy and will remain that.  And I doubt there is any way he could much damage anyone, he is weakening all the time, and he just has to admit that there is no way for him to reach my family.  There is nothing more he can do to harm me and I am resolved to get rid of him altogether.  I don't believe in stuff like that, the dead are just dead and can't come back, not even with black magic.  It sounds to me that you are threatening me.  What do you have to do with this?

Carver *holds hands up*  No threats intended, mate … it looks like I’m managin’ to speak out o’ turn once again.  Jus’ chat, is all.  I’ve ‘ad a fascination with black magic an’ th’ like fer many years, so to be hearin’ first-‘and accounts of a necromancer is intriguin’, that’s all.  An’ t’ be in near proximity to relations o’ said creature, most intriguin’, indeed.  I’d be curious to know how ye plan t’ get rid of ‘im, though.  I can’t imagine such an undertakin’ bein’ very simple.  Any thoughts on th’ matter ye’d be interested in sharin’?

Abberline:  All right.  But I wish you would stop calling my family any relatives of his.  I haven’t yet found a way, but I will.  I have to free my family from him.  *looks at him, intrigued*  But if you are so into black magic, you perhaps would be able to know some way.  You seem to know a lot about necromancers …

Carver *shrugs*  Can’t say I ‘ave much t’ offer in th’ area of removal.  I understand yer aversion to mention o’ familial ties, mate, but there could be strength in that, savvy?  To vanquish a foe good an’ proper, ye need t’ know ‘im well.  So despite th’ unpleasantness of yer wife’s family tree, it could be advantageous -- easier t’ predict th’ actions of one ye share bloodline with.  I don’t mean you yerself, mind.  An’ with th’ missus in ‘er condition, I wouldn’t be worryin’ her about it.  But there’s th’ boy … he’s capable o’ great insight, an’ no doubt can read Marchand’s thought processes, actions an’ weaknesses all the more clearly due to his ties to ‘im … if he should choose to, that is.  From what little I know o’ necromancers in general, I would suggest ye bring th’ boy into yer confidence, an’ let him help ye.  Between th’ pair o’ ye, ye may find yer answer.  Me final advice would be what ye no doubt already know, but I’ll say it anyway … don’t be underestimatin’ him.  While it’s true he weakens with time, he ‘as his ways o’ replenishin’. 

Abberline: *looks at him sharply and indignantly for long*  What?  That I should use my son baiting Marchand.  That's preposterous.  That is completely out of question.  I would never do that.  I will keep him as far from Marchand as possible.  And I can do it alone.  Marchand doesn't know that I have grown much stronger since he last saw me.  And he weakens, I doubt he can find any replenishment soon that will help him.  He is after my wife and my son, but he will never get them, not as long as I live.

Carver:  Steady on, I didn’t say nothin’ about usin’ th’ lad as bait!  That weren’t what I meant.  I meant let ‘im tune into his granddad, read his thoughts.  Aye, th’ more distance ye keep between ‘em, the better.  Jus’ ‘ave a care, all right?  I’m only sayin’ there may be things about Marchand that ye don’t know.  Th’ necromancer is a mysterious creature an’ full o’ surprises.  Who would’ve thought he could’ve used his time in th’ soul box to absorb th’ very souls around ‘im, addin’ to his strength?  I appreciate yer feelin’ about wantin’ to handle this alone.  Typical Victorian gent, protectin’ his family … *his tone is a little condescending as he says this, then he relents as he sees Abberline glare at him*  But jus’ don’t be foolhardy about it.  Know when ye need to ask fer help, an’ from what source.  Savvy?  *finishes his drink*  I reckon I'd best be on me way.  I'm glad we 'ad this opportunity to clear th' air, mate.  If I don't see ye again before we sail, good luck with all this.  Ye 'ave me sympathies ... that's a hell of a father-in-law ye 'ave there.  *laughs, stands up to leave*

Abberline *stands up*  Wait, don't go yet.  Is there any way then you could provide any help?  What could you do?  I admit that I don't know much about necromancers and their art.  There must be some other way than using Raven, I can't do that to him.  Believe me, I know how it is when Marchand invades the mind.  Too dangerous.  As for that father-in-law, Kat was not able to choose her father.

Carver *looks at him carefully, his eyes widen*  Aye, ye do know how it is, don’t ye?  I see … y’ve ‘ad sufficient interaction with Marchand yerself … an’ yer powers are stronger now, I see that.  Blimey … wish I could tell ye more.  I will say, don’t let yer increased powers give ye leave t’ do anythin’ stupid.  An’ don’t give me that look, mate, it’s a common mistake – when a man knows he’s capable o’ more than he was before, that’s jus’ when he gets careless.  Ye want t’ know more about necromancers in general?  I’d suggest ye approach it th’ way ye always approach a challenge … yer an investigator, so investigate.  Ye learned a great deal when ye were in Fiji, ay?  *holds up a hand when Abberline looks at him in amazement*  Don’t look so surprised that I know about that.  It’s common knowledge, yer investigations.  I been t’ Fiji, as well, an’ yer time there remained a topic o’ discussion at th’ taverns long after ye’d left.  Anyway, I’d surmise that th’ optimum would be fer ye to return to Fiji fer a brief visit … th’ place is teemin’ with sources on all things otherworldly, an’ Marchand an’ Nate are both legendary there.  Barrin’ that, ye might scour th’ pubs at From Hell Court … someone there may be able t’ offer assist.  An’ I agree, it is a pity about yer missus … it’s so true, innit, ye can choose yer friends, but not yer relatives.  *pulls out pack of cigarettes, frowns*  Blimey, me last two … *takes one, hands the other one to Abberline*  ‘Ere ye are, Inspector, two on a match, fer luck.  *he lights first his, then Abberline’s cigarette, then motions him to sit back down*  Let’s ‘ave one more fer th’ road, it’s on me, savvy?  *waves to waitress, signals for another round*

*A well dressed lady approaches the men and smiles* Pray excuse my interruption, gentleman, but I was sitting nearby and could not help but overhear.  *Turns to Abberline, smiles warmly*  You're just the man I want to see.  I understand you're married to Kat.  Please forgive me, I should introduce myself.  I'm Metrea, Kat's my sister.  I hope you'll assist me in healing a rift between Kat and myself that has gone on for much too long.  She has always been so wild, it's her nature, I suppose.

Abberline:  Yes, I believe I have to do some investigating first ...  How interesting that everyone I meet seems to have some connection to that damned island ...  *his voice trails off as the lady approaches them, he stands again up, looks at the lady, utterly confused for long, unable to reply, forgetting Carver completely*  Oh, yes, she is my wife.  I  - I never knew she had a sister.  I am pleased to know you, Metrea.  Please be seated and tell me more about you and this rift.  I can see … *he smiles* … that you two are very different.  *he moves her a chair and helps her to sit down*  Can I order something for you?

Metrea:  How very kind of you.  I would simply adore a cup of tea.  *Sighs*  I'm not surprised that she's never spoken of me.  As you said yourself, we are very different in our personalities despite the strong resemblance in our appearance.  Even our father saw that and there in lay the problem.  Kat was always resentful that father and I were so close and that he was my real father and not hers and when he saw fit to send me off to finishing school and not her.  It went from bad to worse.  Poor dear she could never accept the fact that it was her wild ways that caused him to decide against it.  It would have been a total disaster.  She never forgave me for it.  I have my doubts that she ever will.  She can be quite spiteful.  Even Gili took her side, but then they were so close to each other.

Abberline:  I see, so you don't have the same father.... *orders the tea, thinks that Marchand is not her father ... and she looks at her more carefully, she really looks like what Kat could be if she would dress with style and have good manners ...*  This is all so sad to hear.  Was it then she decided to be a pirate?  I know how she can be, but I would be glad to give you any help to bring you two back together.  I just don't know what to do.  Would you like to meet her at once?  Maybe it would be better to talk with her first.  I don't want to upset her.  *the waitress brings the tea, he pays for it*  I don't know if you have heard it, but she is expecting and she has been somewhat ... unbalanced at times.  You haven't been in touch with her at all, then?   I am sure it will all work out, and I have to say that I am very pleased to have a sister-in-law.  Where are you staying?

Metrea:  Kat expecting?  How very interesting.  You're right of course, we would not want to upset her.  Maybe it'd be best for you and I to spend some time together discussing what the best approach would be.  Actually, I've only just arrived in town and haven't had time to locate a suitable residence as yet.  Perhaps you could recommend a respectable place.

Carver *watching them both keenly, finishes his drink, rises*  Well, it’s time I were on me way.  Me best to th’ pair o’ ye.  Good luck, Inspector … an’ enjoy yer visit, miss.  *he nods toward Abberline, tips his hat slightly to Metrea, and leaves the restaurant.  He stands outside for a moment, thinking; then something comes to him, and he grins*  T’ be sure, this could be to me advantage.  *he glances around, then quickly leaves, heads toward the docks to return to his ship*