The Lost Goats, 7

[avevale_intelligencer]

Ten minutes of vigorous waving and shouting later...

"I suppose he is in," Zander ventured.

"You mean, not down the local nightspot taking in the floor show?" Soren surveyed the desolation pointedly. "Where would he go?"

"He might be retrieving his ship. If you recall, it randomly relocated on attempted incursion."

"Bugged out," Soren translated, and then paused. "You know, this looks an awfully old place to be Adhemar's. GIven that he only left the homeship a few weeks ago."

"The sign's him."

"The sign's practically new. This place has roots." Soren stamped his foot, and a chunk of the landscape about five yards away decorously parted from the parent mass and plummeted down to smash on the surface of the glacier.

"If we could possibly save the Lord of the Dance routine for when we are inside, Soren, thank you so much." Zander was thinking hard. "Jenny said 'Pervilious Snood is your man,' yes?"

"True, O Socrates." Soren eyed the raw edge of cliff, shivered, and stepped very carefully closer to the house and Zander.

"And we thought she meant 'Pervilious Snood is your man.' But what if she just meant 'Pervilious Snood's your man'?"

"As in, he can tell us where Adhemar is now?"

"You follow me like a bloodhound. I wish you wouldn't. However, that still doesn't solve the problem of where the frod is he." Zander began pacing. "Chap comes to visit other chap. Shortly thereafter, two more chaps come looking for first chap at second chap's house. Second chap's house dark and silent--no sign of second chap--but sign outside door discouraging visitors, obviously work of first chap. What does that say to you?"

"Two things. No, three. One, first chap has taken second chap off somewhere. Two, first chap hiding in house with second chap under restraint. Three, first chap now gone, second chap still restrained in house. Four..." Soren produced his bent piece of wire. "Bochkie-hounds or no bochkie-hounds, we're going in."

"What about the minefield and the pit-traps?" Zander sighed. "No, I know this one. 'Don't worry, my Captain, I have a foolproof system. I let you go first.'" He pushed open the gate. "Mark my page, good footsteps--I mean...well, you know."

And slowly, and with much hesitation, but no deviation or repetition, they ventured across the garden towards the front door.

Comments

[soren-nyrond.livejournal.com]

At the front door ....

Oh, all right --

Lacking their own smallship with which (or where-with-all) to fabricate any kind of disguise, semblance or budgie-fur sweaters, both Zander and Soren had eschewed the possibility of pretense, and set out nyrondfully (it's like manfully, but wearing black, with a beard and in many cases a big nose) across the intervening space.

Frankly Soren had little fear of minefields -- firstly because no Nyrond worth his deathblock would have left such a thing lying about, and secondly, because few of them (short of Hilary) could have steeled themselves to *buy* one, and then they certainly wouldn't have left it for another Nyrond to come along and stea --- misappropriate.

As to the bochkie-hounds, while they existed, the Educated Nyrond's Pocket-book of Indigent Species noted that they had been bred for hunting the toothless mink of the uplands, and accordingly were about eight to ten centimeters tall at the shoulder, long in the body, and prone to taking naps if they got the chance (because it gave their owners the impression that the hunting/killing of the mink had taken a longer time, and therefore merited more by way of mealtime reward).

At the front door, Soren took up three garden stakes, which 'Snood' had had about for training ornamental lilies, and, waving Zander to one side, combined them into an improvised trident with which eh pressed all three doorbells at once.

[soren-nyrond.livejournal.com]

Two squares of paving, just about where someone would have had to stand to press the bells without standing squarely in front of the doors sort-of-sagged and, on closer inspection, proved each to lead down, about three feet, to a cery damp and mossy recess. The area in front of the door remained where it was, and a quick stab with the stakes proved it safe to stand on.

And by that time the door had opened, and an elderly man, slightly stooped, with a receding hairline and a sombre suit that had seen better days (and probably on a Tri-D screen at that), intoned; "You rang, Sir ?"

"Ah," Soren said, thrusting the stakes behind his back; "Hello. Yes. My friend and I --- that is, is Master Snood available ?"

The elderly man (whose name proved to be Habbinge, so we shall so call him) looked Soren up and down.

"Either," he said, portentously, "you are the new under-gardener, who has taken a precipitate interest in his duties -- which, frankly, I doubt, since we don't have one -- under, over or intermediate -- and besides Master Snood has always expressed a preference for the wild and untended look ... well, except where young laides are involved ... or, to return to my principal concern, you are seeking himfor mercenary motive, in which case, Good Day."

He was on the point of closing the door again when Zander emerged from his semi-concealment and addressed him.

"Have you considered your soul ?"

[soren-nyrond.livejournal.com]

Habbinge stared at the tall and (courtesy of a quick brush of his hands through his hair) elegant figure, and was on the point of speaking when Zander eeeled his way past Soren to face him, as it were, head-on.

"Many people, I know, find it a delicate issue -- souls and so forth -- but we Bretheren of Yester-Eve spend our lives encouraging our fellow men to face the facts fearlessly, finding fortune in forfending the faith of -- "

Soren swallowed, deeply, and concentrated on somewhat earthly thoughts. It wasn't that Zander *believed* any of his spiel, but once he got into his stride it took a determined man with absolutely no compunction to avoid being drawn in.

Habbinge was not such -- dried up he might have been, and sworn to Snood's service, but he had ears and they could hear ...

It took ten minutes, but by that time Habbinge had invited Zander ("Brother Iandomides") into his butler's pantry, and Soren was at liberty, quietly to roam the house looking for whatever might be useful.