Ward of the White Worm

The ropes and lashes were tightened, checked, tightened again, and then finally a great heavy canvas was tossed over the strapped down luggage which was again lashed down and tightened with ropes. The road was muddy, a dark wide streak that snaked off in the distance surrounded by the sparse shrubbery and thin grasses of the moor. Yet the rain had washed away a surprising amount of tamped down dirt and filth, revealing ancient well-fitted stones upon the road that peeked hesitantly from amongst the muck.

The sky was a clear bright blue, entirely unlike the normal grey murk the moor was afflicted with. Even the air felt like it had been renewed and full of new vigor and life.

Theodore was disgusted by it.

Everything was too bright, clean, and fresh. As though the birth of spring was rolling over the land rather than the dying gasps of summer. Ever since his childhood, and even in his mother’s, it had been known as a desolate place.Before then, even when it was still inhabited by the sparsely placed farmers with their little churches, it had been dreary.

In truth, the Brynemoor was the actual ancient seat of the Graef, and somewhere in its bleak domain were the crumbling remnants of the ancestral manor but more importantly the grey edifice of a crypt as ancient as the manor built by the second Earl of Brynebourne to house his father and mother’s remains. It would in turn house what remained of his and his wife, and their child and their child’s child and so on. His mother’s remains were also entombed there, as meager as they were, and he expected to also meet his ancestors likewise.

Thus the sweet breath of life overtaking the moor felt offensive, not just to his nature but to his heritage as well. He stood beside the door of his coach, watching as Miss Marsh and Olli were finishing their walk around the inn. Olli was just as full of life and vigor as the air around her, and Miss Marsh walked briskly with her slight limp not holding her back in the slightest in keeping up with her young charge. Even Miss Marsh’s cold face, however, was touched with the unseasonal freshness. It brightened her complexion from the sickbed pallor, and made her eyes brighter. Theodore found the combination not entirely disagreeable on her.

“Sir, the coaches are ready to leave whenever we are,” Mister Burke said as he walked over to Theodore’s side, keeping his eyes differentially to the ground. “Weather is quite lovely after all the rain, isn’t it sir?”

“It’s fantastic,” Theodore replied evenly.

“The roads, sir I didn’t know they had gotten so covered. We should try getting them macadamized.”

“I agree, the problem becomes how to pay for it. The southern counties and parishes have their turnpikes but such a solution would not work here,” Theodore rubbed his temple with one hand. “I doubt a tax for maintaining the roads would also be well received. We have the emergency fund for repairing bridges, and if I recall that is nearly dried up after fixing the ones that collapsed early spring.” His head began to ache. He was already imaging a loud furious debate in parliament over the idea of a tax raise for the northern lands to have decent roads. It was not possible to simply leave it to parishes anymore.

“Oh, uh, sir,” Mister Burke continued. “I was speaking with some of the… some of the miners. They were talking about the highwaymen sir, the ones we saw.”

“I spoke with Mister Sterwart about them. They have all died in mysterious circumstances, Mister Burke, fancy that?”

Mister Burke nodded, and then wrung his hands anxiously, “sir. I was thinking, sir, well, one of the men. He said he’s got a cousin in Ketch Gaol, a-a guard, he says. He said that his cousin was on duty for three of the deaths, the hanged ones.”

“Did he see anything?” Theodore asked, looking at the anxious grim.

“No, no… it’s what he didn’t see that was odd. Now, sir, with all respect to the miners, they are all known to tell tales. But I do not think this one was lying. He said that the hanged men his cousin found? None had a stool, a chair, a barrel, nothing. Nobody could understand how they hung themselves without something to stand on.”

Theodore frowned at this new bit of information. How does a man hang himself with only a rope and no air to dangle from? How do multiple men do the same thing?

Mister Burke glanced around, noticing the two ladies were approaching. “Sir, I do not think those men killed themselves. I think someone else killed them! I… I think…”

“That the Welltraveler is behind it?”

Mister Burke quickly shook his head, “no, sir I… I don’t think he’s that smart. I think, maybe, he may be in league with someone else.” He turned around as the ladies came close, and bowed his head. “Good morning, Miss Marsh, Miss Olli.”

“Good morning, Mister Burke,” Miss Marsh greeted.

“Hi!” Olli said, ignoring the sharp look Miss Marsh gave her.

“Lord Graef, we have completed our morning constitutional,” Miss Marsh said, “and I believe we are ready to continue.”

“Excellent,” Theodore put his hands together. “We will be going through Graeffeld and going over the Parfum Bridge, so if all goes right we will reach Stowell before night completely falls.”

“Graeffeld?” Miss Marsh’s face was the same still mask, but her voice was curious, “that is a way to go compared to Paeth.”

“Yes, but at the moment most of Paeth’s barges are going to be laden with the earliest tonnes of coal for the autumn and there will be little room for us to comfortably cross straight to Stowell’s docks across the lake,” Theodore explained, “I would not ask two ladies to share the cramped holds with coal and rats, by going through to Graeffeld we avoid miasma and discomfort, and we will also stop shortly for a meal before continuing onwards so we will not spend the next…” he paused to reach into his vest to take out his pocketwatch. “Nine hours completely entombed in our coaches!”

“Nine hours?” Olli’s face was aghast at the thought.

“Yes, nine hours,” Theodore replied. “Please do not give us another fright during that time frame, and save it for when we are in Stowell when a physician is on hand.”