Chapter Text
He returns to the first floor to find the man receiving quite the scolding from a woman, who Hershel could only assume was his wife.
“What on earth were you thinking?” She hisses shrilly, “Taking more guests, and without even registering them.”
“Awh, don’t be mad, sweetie.” He makes a pleading motion, “The kid was all covered in mud!”
Hershel clears his throat, and the couple freezes.
“Hello, sir. Did you need something?” The woman flashes a cheery smile, tucking some mouse brown hair behind her ear.
“I was hoping to discuss payment, unless this is a bad time…?”
She chirps, “Oh, not at all!” She shoos her husband away from the desk, and then checks him in. All things considered, it was inexpensive.
Hershel has been through his fair share of haggling and bartering with prices, and exhausted as he was, he’d been ready for a battle of wits with the woman. Instead, she gives him the rates without a hint that she was potentially overcharging him. Perhaps she simply had the best poker-face Hershel has ever seen. Even if she was overcharging, it was still far less than what he’d expect from an inn, though the professor might just be used to the high prices that come with travelling cities.
“What did you and your son come into town for?” She makes small talk as she searches for a pen.
“ Luke is my apprentice,” He gently corrects the mousy-haired woman, “And we’re here on business. A woman named Mrs. Kings requested our help with a personal affair.”
“That old bat?” She whistles, “Good luck. Can I ask- is it about little Diana from down the block?”
“If ‘little Diana’ is her neighbor, than yes. She was quite adamant that the woman next door was… less than savoury.”
“Are we talking about Annie?” The husband peeks out from around the corner, and the wife beckons him over.
“Yes. This poor gentleman has the misfortune of being hired by her.”
“Awh, Grace, she’s not all that bad.”
The couple bicker back and forth for a minute or two, and Hershel felt rather like a fly on the wall as he passively gathered more information.
It appears that Harlan had some kind of personal connection to her, having been some sort of caretaker for the elderly woman. ‘Little Diana’ wasn’t exactly little, but rather the daughter of one of Grace’s friends that moved to the little village after her engagement. It was quite the small world.
Mrs. Kings, or Annie, had been harassing the woman since she moved to the neighboring house with her betrothed.
“I don’t understand how you can be so kind after the things she’s said to that girl.” In the heat of their argument it was drawing out some kind of southern accent.
“She’s just sick, Gracie. She needs a friend!”
“If she wanted friends, she wouldn’a been yellin’ at anyone that so much as walks by her house!”
Hershel is feeling rather uncomfortable now, and he clears his throat.
“Sorry sir, madame, but I believe I have some work to get done with this case.”
The couple apologize profusely, and he dismisses it the best that he can.
“Ah- before you leave, Mr. Layton, I’ve got to ask…” Grace stops him as he approaches the stairs, and he pauses politely, “You’re not another exorcist, are you?”
Another?
“No. I’m a professor of archeology, actually. I do some private investigating on the side.”
“I see. It wouldn’t be the first time that crazy lady has called a priest or the like.”
Hershel tips his hat and heads back up the stairs. He’d quite like to change into fresh clothes now, as the mud has dried uncomfortably on his knees and front. His hands itch to pick at his sleeve where the dirtied edge is beginning to flake.
As he enters the room, Luke is sitting on one of the beds, curled up against the headboard with his face pressed against the fur of his teddy bear. He looks up as Hershel enters, and sits up properly.
“Hi, professor.”
“Hello, Luke. Do you feel any better?” Hershel sits at the end of the bed, ensuring that none of the mud on his pants touches the clean sheets.
Luke mumbles an affirmation. He’s got his hat laying on the beside table, and its damp appearance indicates that Luke had cleaned it. The lack of sweater also clues Hershel that he’d likely scrubbed off all his clothes, rather than having left them to be cleaned later. What a clever boy. The professor wouldn’t have minded doing it for him, but it’s always nice to see his apprentice be so proactive.
“Are you certain?”
The boy mumbles a “Yes, professor.” as he buries his face into the stuffed animal once more.
“If you say so. I’m going to wash up and head back out, alright? You’re welcome to stay here.” He pats the boy’s knee and heads to the bathroom with his trunk.
Luke’s sweater is hung up upon a towel rack to dry. The heavyweight cotton would likely take hours to dry, but by the time they depart back to London it should be dry. Hershel shrugs off his coat, running the sleeve under the sink to rid it of the mud. He did deteste having dirty clothing, and in this case there was literal dirt marring every garment.
He’s quick to change into his secondary outfit, cringing at the thought of scrubbing the mud from his favorite orange sweater. It must be done, however, so he gets it over with. The water in the sink runs clear eventually, and Hershel washes his hands thoroughly. His clothing is draped upon the edge of the tub to dry, and he does one last cursory glance at his hat to ensure that it had been left untarnished.
The professor was always very careful with the silk. Claire’s final gift wasn’t something that he took lightly, and Hershel was rather neurotic about it’s appearance. One must always keep precious possessions in pristine condition.
By the time he emerges, Luke is looking a bit better. He’s taken out a book and seems rather absorbed in it until he notices the professor and sets it aside.
“Are you leaving now?”
“I’m going to get us some food from the cafe we spotted earlier, if that’s alright with you.”
Luke, as large as his appetite was, tended to be picky with what food he chose to eat. He gravitated towards dishes that he knew well, and on the days when he was sensitive he preferred blander dishes that were safe. Hershel always kept a few snacks about that he knew Luke was alright with, in case they ended up in a place where his boy wasn’t happy with any options.
The professor didn’t mind ordering multiple dishes for Luke if he tried something new and it wasn’t to his taste. He was well aware that his apprentice felt guilty for wasting it, but Hershel was careful not to hesitate or mention the cost of the additional dish. Hershel also tended to prefer dishes without too much spice or flavor, as he found them overwhelming, so in the case where Luke didn’t want to order another dish, they simply swapped. The man could make do with eating something he didn’t like if it meant that Luke was happier.
Of course, Luke did prefer to order for himself, but in the case that he was too overwhelmed or tired to go out, Hershel was good at bringing back something from the menu that the boy would eat.
“I wanna go with you.”
“Are you sure, Luke?” Hershel asks as the boy hops off the bed and starts buckling his shoes, “I wouldn’t want you to overwhelm yourself.”
“I’ll be fine, professor. I’m feeling better already.”
It feels odd to leave without his coat, but the wet fabric would surely aggravate him to feel. Instead he offers his apprentice a hand as he opens the door.
Grace and Harlan were back to arguing as they descend the steps, and the professor slips out before the two of them can be trapped in the middle.
The cafe was a delightful little wooden building, and the air was heavily aromatic. Hershel did love the scent of fresh bread, as most people do, and his apprentice was practically drooling as he peered over the counter for the menu. He ordered for the two of them, getting Luke an egg and cress sandwich and himself a more modest one of ham and cheese.
His apprentice seemed more and more ravenous as he began to eat, quickly getting over his nervousness of eating at a new establishment. After ensuring that Luke wouldn’t want to trade dishes, the professor ate as well. Outbursts and strong emotions tended to leave the boy rather hungry, so Hershel didn’t hesitate to order another sandwich for him when he finished the first.
“Did you want any, professor?” Luke offers politely, but Hershel turns him down. A growing boy should eat as much as he likes, and the professor’s appetite wasn’t all that large to begin with.
Luke begins to yawn shortly after he finishes his food, and Hershel herds him out of his seat. He returns the boy to the inn for a well-deserved nap. Luke protests, of course, but Hershel absolutely refuses to put the boy in the line of fire as he returns to Mrs. Kings’ home. He’s going to have to break the news that he’s taking the boy home, and the professor doesn’t imagine that the woman will take the news well.
The professor hesitates for only a moment on her doorstep before he knocks.
“Oh, you’re back!” The little old lady croons as she opens the door, “I was afraid some looney in town got to you and scared you off.”
“Unfortunately, my apprentice has taken ill and we’ll be departing for London shortly. I will return the train fare that you spent to get us here.”
There was still a chance that Hershel would return, but he was waiting for the reaction to solidify whether or not it would be worth it.
“What? He seemed perfectly fine earlier.”
“Yes, well-”
“I’ll bet he’s just got his knickers in a twist ‘cause I told him off.” Mrs. Kings huffs, “Too sensitive. You ought to toughen up that boy, you know. He’ll never be a real man if he cries over a harsh word or two. Kids these days are all raised too softly. Back in my day, if a boy cried he’d be-”
He gently cuts off the woman, tipping the brim of his top hat. “Yes, well, I can assure you that he must have eaten something bad. I’m taking him back home.”
“You can’t just leave!” She sputters, grabbing his sleeve with a surprisingly strong grip for such a frail-looking woman. Fire blazes in her eyes. “What about my husband? And that demon in the house over? You’re really going to just abandon me here?”
“I have a potential emergency on my hands, madame,” the lie slips from his tongue coolly. “I am not abandoning you.”
“I am a paying customer! You promised you would help me, and now you’re just leaving?” Her voice grows shrill in pitch as she rouges.
Hershel tugs his sleeve, hoping that the wrinkled hand would release it. Mrs. Kings does not. “For the record, you are not a customer. I am giving you back your money, and I am in my right to refuse service from anyone I please.”
‘“You can’t!” The little old lady is screaming now, and the professor resists the urge to wince. One wouldn’t think so much rage could be contained in such a small space. “You promised that you would help me!”
Hershel ponders his situation as the woman begins to rant and rave about betrayal and sacrilege and leaving her to rot. He ought to think about it like a puzzle. What to say to make her let him go, so he could turn on his heel and walk away as fast as possible? He allots himself 30 picarats for this one.
“Annie?” croaks a voice from inside, and the professor breathes an internal sigh of relief as Mrs. Kings stops in her hissy-fit to peer back inside.
“What is it, George? Did I wake you?”
She lets go of Hershel’s sleeve, and he immediately takes a hard step back and out of reach. Thank god for the husband.
“What’s all this shouting for?”
“Stay right here.” She hisses at him, then steps inside. The professor does the opposite, and books it back to the inn. He checks behind him, not certain there won’t be a flaming demon of a woman hobbling after him yelling slurs. As it ends up, though, he has escaped from the situation well, and can find the nearest train for him and Luke to board. Perhaps it wasn’t the most gentlemanly way to exit, but the professor is entirely certain that she wouldn’t have let him leave by any conversational means.
He wasted no time in heading to the Briarsburn train station and procuring a ticket for London at the earliest opportunity, which ended up being for 5 pm. More than enough time to finish up anything they needed. He thanks the clerk and returns to the inn.
The clock in the lobby reads 3:30 pm. They’ll have plenty of time. Hershel spotted a park on their way about town, and he imagines Luke would love to meet some new friends.
Luke is laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling and evidently bored.
“Our tickets are for 5. Did you want to walk around town a bit before we depart?”
Luke is putting his shoes back on before Hershel can even finish his sentence, “yes, professor!”
So the pair head down to the little park, and Hershel finds a dry spot on one of the metal benches as his boy speaks with the birds in the trees.
Luke did seem to prefer speaking to mammals and land-dwelling animals, though he did occasionally complain about the difficulties of the language barrier between them. It was easier for him to understand the animals than speak back to him. He lacked some necessary parts for full and proper conversation; Luke had no fur or feathers or tail.
What a wonderful ability the boy had, Hershel thought to himself as he took out his journal to write. He hadn’t had the chance to log anything about his investigation nor his apprentice’s meltdown. The chirps of the birds mingle with Luke’s throatier ones as ambient noise as he gets to writing.
It has been a while since he and Luke had gotten the chance to simply relax. The past few weeks were filled with grading and classes and mysteries. One of his students had lost an essay, or a cat, or needed help with some other class, or his new coworker was once again complaining about his wife and he simply had to grin and bear it. Honestly, he was a tad exhausted. He had assumed that this mystery- a smaller town, something clearly suspected to be paranormal- would be easy to solve, and thus he hadn’t quite anticipated the events to come. If St. Mystere should have taught him anything, it’s that the most mundane of mysteries can spiral wildly out of control.
At some point, Luke sat beside him, kicking his feet.
“Did they have anything interesting to say?”
Luke’s spirits seem higher than they have been all day as he recounts how Bridger, the smaller brown bird, had been looking for a life mate as of recently, and there were two other little birds who were nestmates together. They were all very pleased that the weather was warming.
The rest of their time was spent swapping puzzles. Ones of safely transferring ceramic birds and of splashing in bird baths and of birds on wires. The sun said hello by peeking her golden rays out from behind the gloomy clouds. It shimmered upon the puddles that littered the beaten trail.
No more was the chilly gale that had breathed down their necks when arriving in Briarsburn. Instead, the early evening blanketed the pair with warmth and comfort, and the stillness that one would only find in tranquility. It wasn’t a silence that came with the holding of breathe, but one of the contentedness of the mind.
The moment is broken when Hershel checks his watch to realize that they had just over half an hour to pack their bags and get to the station. Luke dawdled a tad on their way back to the inn, but the professor didn’t comment or try to stop him. He too would prefer to stay here for a tad longer, to avoid the hubbub of city-life. Perhaps this is why his parents preferred the countryside. It was far less noisy.
The professor checked once, twice, and then a third time to ensure they’d gathered each and every of their belonging and clothing, and then they headed to the desk to check out.
“You can have your money back since you aren’t staying the night,” Grace lives up to her name as Hershel picks up the pen to sign his name upon the form.
“No, no. We used your facilities, and you will be embursed as such. I apologize for cutting our stay short at this fine establishment.”
“Oh, you flatter us. It was our pleasure to house you. I hope you return some day.”
“As do I.” He finishes signing and tips his hat, and then the pair are off again.
The sun was on its descent as they get their tickets checked, illuminating the platform through the rose window high above. It’s not long before the train makes its appearance and the two board and find empty seats. It will likely be a few hours before they return home, so Hershel is quick to make himself comfortable. Luke pulls his knees to his shoulders and leans his head on his mentor’s shoulder.
It’s been a long day, he thinks as he wraps his arm around the boy’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Luke mumbles, “I didn’t mean to act like a baby about it all.”
“Nonsense, my boy.” Hershel smiles as the train begins to pick up speed, taking them home. “You’re far more important.”