A Murder of Crows - Chapter 3

Amelia blinked as the plate hit the floor, shattering a bit of the tension in her as it broke. She bit her lip to suppress what might have been a small smile.
"There's a story in this somewhere," she remarked mildly, accepting the steaming tea with a grateful nod. "But right now it escapes me."
She shot a meaningful look in the Weasel's direction. "Since he seems to be otherwise occupied at present, I'll introduce myself. I am Amelia Fisk. I believe I'm supposed to be here as well, though I must admit, I had hoped that I would arrive to find the place deserted. Wishful thinking on my part."
Amelia sipped at the tea and silently hoped that the Weasel would keep his mouth shut...for once.

"Fisk...", I thought. The name rang a bell. It was a long time ago, a case involving a man named Fisk and an American lawyer named Murdock. I wondered if she was related to this man.
I dismissed the thought, turning my attention to the confrontation between Amelia and Weasel.

"It wasn't my fault..." muttered Weasel, but it was unsure whether he was talking about the shattered plate or something else.
He waved a hand towards Amelia. "People, this is Amy. She was my.. eehr.. We were.. hmm. We know each other." He caught the eyes of some of the men around him.
"It wasn't THAT."
His voice was not entirely convincing.
He walked back into the parlor, carefully avoiding meeting Amelia's eyes.
"Anyway, there is no need to tell you about this. Now, does ANYONE know what we are here for?"

Amelia sighed and peeled the heavy, dripping cloak from her shoulders, thankful at least that her dress still looked dry enough to be presentable. Impatiently she pushed her damp curls out of her face and looked around for a place to hang her cloak.
"Discreet and unflappable as always, William. That's what I like about you," she said, no longer bothering to hide her amusement.
"Be that as it may, if one of you would be kind enough to show me where I might hang this to dry-and allow me to recover a measure of dignity-I will tell you exactly why I'M here. As for the rest of you...I haven't the faintest idea. Perhaps we can tackle that mystery next, hmm?"

I finish locking the door, and take Amelia's cloak., placing it on the rack to dry.
"Don't let them fool you. They all know why they are here. What they don't know is why they all are here."
Chuckling slightly to myself, I run my hand over the cloak one time, then turn back to the crowd.
((If anyone cares to look, the cloak is now perfectly dry.))

Raising my eyes with amusement, I bow towards Amelia.
"Madame, I assure you, my reasons for being here are perfectly public. I represent a group known as the Luna Foundation. We intend to preserve the past for future generations, once they know how to use what we have preserved. I came here on orders, and I have achieved my primary goal here. However, I have another reason for being here. William, I'm sorry I didn't say this earlier, but I feared that I might be doing wrong if I alerted anyone earlier.
"Myself. William. Claude. Sarah. You. The detective. And the last piece of the puzzle, Mr. Briefcase. Seven people here. Seven is a number of ancient power - and I realized that there would be seven people here this night. How I realized this, I do not understand - but realized it is. Seven people in this building, a building of ill repute, on this night. Perhaps somebody here has consulted their calendars? In my home country of Germany this would be called Walpurgis Nacht - Walpurgis Night. A night when all sorts of evil is supposed to be about.
"Somebody, I forget who, commented on the butler leaving when there were going to be so many people here. I propose that another person would have ruined the intentions of whoever took the trouble of bringing us all here. We all have secrets - I suspect that the butler's were not as useful as ours - were they, Mr. Briefcase?
"At any rate, for whatever reason, there are seven troubled souls in a troubled house on a troubled night. This does not bode well, does it? Consider me to be an insurance policy, sent by... God, Fate, what have you. I will speak more over dinner - assuming that you wish to know what little I know about this situation. Perhaps by then," I turn towards Mr. Briefcase, currently surprised at my lengthy statement, "our quiet associate will be able to tell us names and reasons. Or, perhaps, we will find the secret of our being here in our own histories. Perhaps we have all offended a single person - I know that I have my own fair share of enemies in this world." Shrugging, I turn towards the kitchen, muttering something about a sandwich...

Amelia felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She gave another slow, grateful nod to the man who had taken her cloak. She then turned and regarded Mr. Wolfemann thoughtfully, digesting what he had said.
"If what you say is true, sir, I am wondering what secrets-" she flicked a glance in William's direction, "brought certain others here."
She looked back at Mr. Briefcase with an expression of mild reproach in her blue eyes.
"For my part, had I received a WRITTEN invitation, like several of the others, I would have arrived far sooner. One tends to be a bit more hesitant when following the insinuations and images of a dream, no matter how vivid. But of course, it wouldn't be the first time I was blinded to caution, nor will it likely be the last."

I turn from the cloak and view the room once more. I nod my head to Mr. Wolffeman.
"Food sounds nice about now," I say. "And no, Mr. Wolffeman, I am not a vegetarian."
Walks past Amelia and the stunned Weasel towards the kitchen.

"Huh. I don't recall telling you you could call me William.", Weasel sputtered, eyeing Karl with a flare of anger in his eyes. "I haven't been called that dor... for five years. Even Sturb' never called me by that name. It's from a past I lost. The last time I heard it used was at my wedding." There is a flash of pain in his eyes. "It would have been nice if the bride had been there..."
With a sudden shock he gets out of his trance.
"Anyway. I was'nt invited here. My friend and colleague Sturben dissapeared over a week ago. All we found was a letter that summoned him to this place. I'm afraid something happened to him, and that is why I am here.
I cannot see why any of this would relate to Sturben and Amy and me and our pasts. But if your theory is correct, and we are here because of our mutual secrets, then why not start with yours? You have said why you would travel, no matter how vague that reasons eems to be. But why did you come here of all places?"

As I walk by the Weasel on my way to the kitchen, I glance lightly at him and smile.
"Some people, Mr. Fudgick, do not need to be invited."
I turn and face the room one last time before going into the kitchen.
"I am sure this can all wait until after we have all eaten."

"I'm not hungry anymore." muttered Weasel.
But he meekly followed the Briefcase into the kitchen, and took place on one of the seven chairs that were placed around the large table.

Amelia shrugged and followed, sliding into a seat next to William.
"Don't worry," she said, patting his arm lightly. "Your appetite will return in time, I've no doubt. Just let me handle the china this time, eh?" She smiled and added quietly, "There will be time to talk later."

Weasel nodded quietly.
Maybe better to be silent now, he thought. There were too many people who seemed too willing to learn. He wondered what the other knew about him. They couldn't know his secret, could they? Even Amy didn't now everything. She hadn't actually see it happen, though she might suspect.
He shivered at the memory.
The darkness. The cold touch... The sudden pain. If she hadn't come after him, what would have happened? He might have been dead. Might have been better, too.
Weasel stared intently at his fork.
What if I had told her? She wouldn't have been able to comprehend it, right?
He glanced sideways at her, but her face did not reveal what she was thinking.
No. Amy couldn't possibly know.

The kitchen is a simple area, with a table in the center and eight chairs around the table. The table is set for seven, though.
There is a large oven along the back wall, a cutting board with a selection of knives and cleavers in the middle, and a large, walk-in icebox on the side wall. Bread and spices are currently out, and there is some meat in the icebox. Wood is stacked in the corner to be used with the oven.

For once, I feel more at ease than the rest of my roommates here... Must be a blessing, that when we pay more attention to our physical needs, we seem to loose track of our spiritual afflictions...
I study the young woman that so suddenly joined us...
There's is something about her - and her presence here - that I can't help but think... Maybe she belong here.

As if losing the map was not bad enough, the torrent of rain certainly was. Still between his hat and poncho he was not geting totaly soaked. However the poor chestnut he was riding was close to exhaustion and would have to be rested soon. He was not lucky by nature, but when he saw the lights of the large isolated house he almost cried out for joy.
"Not long now girl!" he said patting his tired mount.
It was not that he didn't enjoy travel, but this trip had just gone from bad to worse, but now things were looking up. He guided Discord to the stables and dismounted.
After removing his tack he gave her a quick rub down.
"Well, you deserve it." He muttered as he finished, giving her a last pat on the nose. He turned toward the house and paused a moment. He decided to leave his gear in the stables, but was not sure why. Was it... He smiled and shook his head. No his luck was definatly improving. He walked up to the front door. "Mmm, very solid."
He gently tried it.
"So its locked, oh well, never mind, perhaps it is best to start as you mean to go on" HE thought.
A loud rapping, like wood on wood, coming from the front door is audible throughout most of the downstairs.

Weasel grinned to Karl.
"Well, there goes one theory down the drain." As the knocking persisted, he looked around. "Isn't anyone going to answer that?"

"I suppose you're right. However, if you'll remember, the doors were padlocked by the butler. However, if any of you wish to try the locks, feel free to. Or perhaps open a window and let our new visitor in. Either way, try to leave the outside out, and the inside in." The knocking continues, bothering Karl, now lost in silent thought, but not too badly.
'Perhaps, perhaps Himmel is doing better back in town. I hate having to have left him behind - he gets ill when I do - but I have little choice in the matter.'

"He left a key, remember? Our Mr Briefcase got it, I saw him pocket it after he let in Amy."

"Regardless of who has the key, I believe our visitor continues to stand outside in the rain," Amelia pointed out. "The table does have eight chairs. Perhaps your theory is still valid," she said, glancing at Mr. Wolfemann. "Perhaps this one is a wild card."

Smiling, I pull the key from my pocket and walk over to the door, leaving my briefcase by the fire. Opening the door, I look at the soaked man. "Can I help you?"

"This is starting to resemble one of those cheap literary attempts by that english fop, Conan Doyle..."
They all eye me like I just popped out of a grave.
"Oops. Pardon. Did that come out loud?"

I smile. "That 'literary fop' actually has more going for him than most. Not quite as many as his friend, Doctor Watson, but a great deal, at any rate."

Eyeing the man at the door he returns a large calibre revolver to its cavalry holster, wiping its wooden butt as he does so.
"No, but a fast butler might come in handy." he mutters.
"Well that would depend pal, on how much of a humanitiarian you are. But regardless would you mind letting me get out of the rain for at least a few moments"
Not waiting for an answer he ducks inside, bringing a considerable amount of water with him.
"I would realy appreciate a bed and roof for the night, if it don't put you out." As he peals of his waterlogged poncho and hat he reveals an odd mixture of civilian and military. Besides his army issue holster, he is wearing old cavalry trousers and boots clashing with a deep green shirt. He runs his hand through his wet hair before offering it to the doorman. "Jacob Trent's my name friend."

Noting all the water coming in, and the rain that's beginning to join it, I stand and step back, licking my lips.
"Would somebody please close the door? There's a great deal of water coming in - I don't much relish the idea of sinking this place."

Amelia raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. "Be grateful, sir, that it has not become a tale by Poe. Then again, the night is still young."
She pulled her drying hair back away from her face, adjusting the pins into some semblance of order. Why are you here, Amelia? she asked herself again silently. The odd tension in the room-in the entire house-was unsettling, with the storm as the only accompaniment to the unusual dinner party. It gave her the strangest urge to bolt like a frightened rabbit. She almost smiled at the image that brought to mind.
She glanced up and caught William's eye, her mirth fading. Yes, she thought, that is why you are here. But how on earth do I go about explaining it to him?

"Another wandering soul stumbles upon this place. This is not a tavern, and it's quite the distance to what one might call civilization. Still, one among us came here because she had a vision at night. And Mr. Trent here just 'happens' to pass by. Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not.
"I don't know if you felt it too, but there is something about this place. Something that raises the hair on the back of my neck. As Mr. Wolfemann pointed out earlier, our secrets may be what has brought us here. But it's not just us. The building, it has its secrets too. Some kind of dark past."
My own words almost took me by surprise. I was used to dealing with physical evidence, and with rational deduction. However, this whole situation began to feel like some kind of supernatural story.

I nod, still nervous with the door open and the rain pouring just outside.
"Yes, all things have secrets - the question is how ours mix in with the houses. Now, for God's sake, would somebody close that door?!" Stepping into another room, I try to calm down, pulling a small flask out of my hip pocket and taking a sip from it...