Vellum and Green Vitriol
Copyright © 2007, S. Y. Affolee
The Third Conjuration
Seal XXVI
Acrid smoke spilled out from beneath the wheels of the Hinterland Express. The passengers hurried off the train cars, one hand on their baggage, the other hand at their faces, attempting to filter out the foul air. I stepped onto the platform of Newcomb station and my eyes watered. I fumbled for a handkerchief and put it against my nose. I had never recalled stopping at a station to be so bad. Perhaps that essential part that had broken from the locomotive was important for things other than getting a train up a mountain as well.
Inside the station, the place was swamped with passengers jostling in lines at the ticket windows, demanding either refunds or alternate lines that may be passing through Newcomb. Apparently, no one wanted to stick around this town.
I managed to carry my own luggage across the station and back out to the entrance on the other side. An old cab sat at the curb--a Studebaker by the looks of it--accompanied by an old driver chewing on something. He smiled at me, revealing gums and stained teeth.
"Eh, miss? Where to?"
Steps halted behind me. "How about Haven?" said Rhys.
The driver's eyes went wide at the sight of my traveling companion. "Now see 'ere mister. She was first. You'll just have to wait your turn."
"Don't worry," I said, feeling a smile tug at the edge of my mouth. "He's with me. So what's the going rate for Haven?"
"I don't go to Haven," the driver responded with a woeful expression. It seemed a bit too dramatic for me--perhaps as a benefit to a potential customer. "The mountain roads are hard on autos. You'll have to take the train."
"That would mean we would have to wait the whole week!" Rhys sounded irritated. "Fine. What's the local hotel?"
The driver brightened. "There's the Montport Inn. It's not far from the station. For only a few quid, you can get a room with a beautiful view of the mountainside. A fair number of travelers who have stayed there will give you recommendations."
"You sound like an advertisement," said Rhys.
I handed my luggage to the driver who chortled as he stored it into the back of his cab. "Well, whatever it is, we can't really be picky, can we? I think it would be better that we reserve a room now, before the crowd in the station realizes that no matter what they do, they will be stuck in this town for the better part of the week."
On the drive through town, I noticed that Newcomb was indeed a rather small village. Most of the buildings were no larger than two stories. Mostly shops lined the main street. But unlike the shop buildings, the church on one side of the street was much older, built with rough hewn stone. Only a thin iron fence separated its graveyard from the rest of the street. The driver turned at the end of the main street and plunged into a more residential part of the town--mostly small one story cottages. The road soon sloped upward to an old stone manor perched on a ledge, overlooking the village and gazing towards the mountains in the north. Sixteenth century, I judged.
"The Montport Inn used to be Newcomb Manor," said the driver as he maneuvered the cab up the steep slope. "It used to be owned by a Baronet until he was found guilty of treason by the crown a few decades ago and was stripped of his titles. The former Baronet went bankrupt and had to sell the place. Now it's owned by a Mr. Middlebury who had found his fortune in ironworks."
"I see that since this Mr. Middlebury turned the place to an inn, he had more mercenary plans for the place than just some extra summer home," I remarked. I looked out the window, seeing the sprawl of the town and the countryside. Just beyond the hill where the Montport Inn stood, there was a fenced field and then a clearing with some odd structures erected in what looked like a rough circle. "What is that?"
"What is what?" said Rhys. He leaned over me to look through my passenger side window. His scent tickled my nose. "Those look like standing stones. Is that a stone circle?"
"Ah, you mean the Bidracon Stones?" said the driver. "That's been here forever. Some say they've been here even longer than Stonehenge. A few archaeologists had stopped by a few years ago and had concluded that they had been used for astrological purposes."
"Aren't they all," I said. "What does Bidracon mean?"
"I have no idea. The name certainly didn't come from the area. Some people think the druids gave this place that name. At any rate, some druids still come here to do their rituals. Some of them are already staying at the inn. They're preparing for All Hallow's Eve, you know."
The cab stopped near the entrance of the inn. As I got out, a small movement caught my eye. I looked up, and saw the movement of a curtain at a window on the upper floor. In front of the manor was a fountain, but there was no water, only a few dry leaves skittered at the bottom as a stiff breeze came up. Gravel crunched under my shoes as I made my way to the front door. From the manor's perch, I could see the bleak fall countryside and a clear view of the standing stones. The late afternoon sun dipped close to the horizon, washing the clouds above in purplish-reds. Down in the town, two cabs were winding their way toward the manor. Soon, the other passengers thwarted from reaching Haven would come to the inn.
Rhys got to the door ahead of me. I pulled my suitcase inside when he opened the door. The lobby seemed small and intimate despite the high ceiling with a few stuffed chairs circling a roaring hearth. An old man with a pipe and a blanket sat at one of the chairs, apparently asleep. Above the mantle was an enormous stuffed head of a stag--fourteen points. At the desk, a woman in a professional looking peach blouse was sorting papers. Her hair was bobbed and waved in the latest style, but her spectacles had an odd frame--that looked like it was made of horn and studded with sparkling rhinestones. She looked up and gave us a professional smile.
"Good afternoon ma'am. Sir. May I help you?"
"Good afternoon. We're looking for rooms," I said as I put down my suitcase.
"You're in luck. We still have openings. In fact, there is one room still facing the north. It has a wonderful view. Shall I book it for both of you?"
"Actually, we'd like two rooms," I replied. "I suppose it doesn't matter which ones."
"Oh? You're not staying in Newcomb for the New Hallow's Eve celebrations?"
"Sorry, no," said Rhys. "We were heading to Haven until the train broke down."
"How unfortunate! Well, here are two keys to the rooms. They are on the second floor, to your left, at the end of the hall." The clerk handled our transaction for the rooms quickly and efficiently. "Are you sure I can't convince you to stay for the Newcomb festivities? They are rather spectacular. The Order of the Silver Moon really does put on a performance over at the Bidracon Stones."
"The Order of the Silver Moon?" I said. "The druids, you mean."
"No, no. They're not druids." The clerk shook her head. "Well, they do call themselves priestesses, but they aren't druids. They're part of some sort of new religious group that claims to practice magick--with a "k" at the end--derived from the moon goddess that they worship. Yet I don't understand why people have to alter the spelling to a perfectly fine word just to be unique or special. It just makes them seem odd and not particularly serious."
"Ah."
"Well, I shouldn't complain. They do bring in business." The clerk grinned. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"In fact you can," I said. "I would like to make a telephone call if it is possible."
"Of course!" The clerk pulled out a telephone from underneath the counter.
"Are you contacting the Haven operator?" asked Rhys.
I nodded as I took up the receiver and began dialing.
"I'll take your luggage up as well and put it in your room," he offered as he hefted my suitcase along with his.
Glancing at the stairs that led to the level above, I said, "Are you sure you will make those stairs?"
"I'm fine."
The operator's voice soon came on the line. After I put in my request and jotted down some information on some paper that the clerk helpfully provided, I was connected to Archibald Chesterfield's number in Haven. I waited for a while, hearing the ring on the other end. Then, I sighed and put down the receiver. Apparently, Chesterfield was not at home. I would have to try later.
"No luck?" queried the clerk.
"I'm afraid not. I will try to call again tomorrow."
"I'll be here to help. If you need to find me, my name is Thomasina Chambers. But I'm sure any of the other hotel employees will be happy to help. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, the dining hall is on the first floor at the back. There will be some double doors which you can't miss. There's a bar and we will be serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner. On the lower levels, we also have some hot baths--powered by the local hot springs. This place was built on top of an ancient Roman bath, in fact. You might want to mention that to your traveling companion."
"I will."
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