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The old pier stood alone, a barrier between the sea of fog and the sea of salt. The mist hung thick and heavy, itself damp as it mingled with the gentle gray waters, themselves saturated with foam. The fog was so dense in the dawn’s faint sun that it swallowed what parts of the pier remained above the surf, leaving only a vague dark shape against the fallen clouds if one were to strain their eyes to see. The pier hung suspended there, obscured from view as it watched over the many barnacles that’d found homes on its legs, tangled seaweed hanging from where it’d gotten caught on aged, worn wood.
Footsteps broke the peace, confident and steady, as they walked toward the ocean. Not fearing a potential loose or missing board, not fearing what may be hiding in the mist, Bosanquet stepped up onto the pier and vanished behind that simple veil, a mere imitation of the true barrier between worlds.
Truthfully, he’d just been on a walk at first, a little time to stretch his legs and recollect his thoughts (such things were important when dealing with a business partner as volatile as his own). The constant stasis the shoreline was locked in during the early morning hours was inherently calming to him, the perfect thing to quiet his nerves after the restless night he’d had. He’d been picking up on little hints of things here and there, little stories and accounts that he swore should’ve connected but failed to form a coherent narrative. The frustration soured his gut and tensed his joints. His intuition told him that everything matched up. He had to be missing some key piece of information…
He smelled it then, that telltale incense. It barely smelled like incense, more akin to pungent, tangy ashes (or burnt flesh, should the day be troubled).
Ferrieres.
He was in luck.
His pace quickened, only moderately. In the back of his head, he felt his dark contact grin.
So that’s why it’d been so flippant lately. No need to spoil the fun for him when he was going to encounter Ferrieres soon (or perhaps it had put some subconscious sway in the path he chose to take that morning–it better not’ve, that’d be against the pact). Really, he should’ve realized it moments sooner when he heard the faint huffs of her steed back when he’d first stepped onto the pier, but the fog was an expert in hiding things.
Bosanquet found her sitting at the end of the pier, her feet tucked under her, lower half hidden beneath the folds of her baggy clothing. She held her special censer in her lap, arms cradling it almost as one would cradle a young child. Her eyes were glazed as the fog and the sea, staring out into the empty, dull void before her. She didn’t even turn to Bosanquet when he sat down beside her. He respected her current vow of silence, choosing to turn ahead and watch the clouds move around them. She’d more than earned his respect. He would not disturb her peace.
After a few minutes her voice hit the air, flat and soft but loud against the muted noises of their surroundings (she didn’t look at him, kept watching the vast blankness beyond the pier). “Do you have one for me?”
Bosanquet nodded, reaching into his bag (with how randomly Ferrieres could appear, it was best to be prepared). “My hands are empty of leads, but I hope this will suffice as a substitute.”
He took the statuette from his bag, more than thankful to have the awkward thing out of there so he could have space for more practical things. Ferrieres finally turned to look at him, or rather, to look at the item in his hands. She silently shifted her censer to one arm, pressing it to her front protectively as her other hand reached for the statuette. Bosanquet let her take it, watched as she examined it with awed eyes before shrugging off her own bag and stashing it away.
“What would you like to know?” Her eyes dimmed once more and slid back up to him, her arms returning to properly hold her censer again.
Bosanquet described to her his plight, just as he’d done time and time again. Ferrieres was a person of interest herself–her censer was obviously eldritch in nature. He’d given up on trying to study it a while ago after learning first hand how attached to it Ferrieres was, so instead he’d opted to take advantage of the service she offered him. His dark contact was knowledgeable, but it was beyond irritating to work with at times. Ferrieres could give him information quickly and with little hassle. All she needed was to know where these odd little statuettes were, or to be given one outright. No matter what questions he asked, she would have an answer so long as he had payment for her. It was pleasant in its normalcy, just a mere exchange of goods and services.
That exchange had yet to fail. After Bosanquet was done explaining, Ferrieres took a moment to think before meeting his gaze.
“There is a Hamlet near the west coast,” she explained. “It will give you all the answers you could ever dream of having.”
Another infested town, then. Bosanquet had been in a few of those at this point, and most of them had been disappointing. Either the beings were unholy instead of eldritch–outside of his field–or they were long gone. Most infested towns of the scale Ferrieres was implying weren’t infested with anything more than pure fabrications as well.
Bosanquet was skeptical, to say the least. Ferrieres never lied to him before, though, and had no reason to lie to him now. “You claim that this meager town is the centerpoint of all that I have uncovered thus far?”
“That it is,” Ferrieres confirmed.
“What causes it to be this way?” For there was always a cause. “What draws them into its hearth?”
Ferrieres brought her shoulders forward, covered her censer from sight. “I expect more payment for that answer.”
Bosanquet’s eyes grew cold, sharp (a warning–vague answers left doubt, and he’d had enough of doubt for the time being). “You had best not be choosing to run me in circles now.”
Ferrieres smirked beneath her scarf. “What reason would I have for that? You’ve been my best customer for years by now. I owe you gratitude, not deception.”
Bosanquet sighed, forcing his frustrations back. “You are correct in that. My apologies, this case has been…mentally taxing, to say the least.”
Ferrieres chuckled, low and throaty, almost a purr. “I can tell that much, but you have uncovered so much already. You deserve a break.” She took one arm from her censer, holding out an open-palmed hand toward the bleakness ahead. “I was planning on resting here until the fog begins to melt away. Would you care to keep a washed-up lady company on this fine morning?”
“I would not mind, but do know this–if you are refusing me the answers I seek, then we have no more business with each other until our next encounter.”
“Oh, I know as much.” Ferrieres looked him over, studied his eyes in a way that made his very soul quiver. “Your eyes match this place well, come to think of it. What do you make of that?”
Bosanquet frowned, nearly scowled, those silver eyes growing harsh and icy. “Strangers would do best to keep to themselves.”
Ferrieres tensed, met his glare with one of her own (firm and unwavering but subdued by comparison–she was not about to anger him further). She broke the staring contest first, returning her sights to the pale gray void ahead. Bosanquet did the same soon after.
She wasn’t hurt, that much was clear. She had no reason to be hurt. The pair of them were merely assets to each other. They were not friends. Bosanquet knew that Ferrieres would sacrifice him in an instant if it meant getting her hands on another statuette, and were it not for his own moral code, he would do the same to her in exchange for knowledge beyond what she was worth.
Still, it was nice to be in the company of another. Ferrieres was the only person Bosanquet returned to time and time again, the one exception to his self-inflicted exile, so he had no choice but to appreciate her company.
The Hamlet…
He didn’t know where on the western coast it was, but that was fine. He just needed to vaguely follow the shoreline and he would arrive there soon enough. Besides, if he encountered Ferrieres again along the way, he could ask her for help with directions. He’d likely use that chance to ask more about the Hamlet itself, though. He couldn’t help his own academic skepticism. He needed hard proof that he wasn’t being sent on a wild goose chase (or at least he needed some sort of proof besides past experiences, flimsy things as they were).
His dark contact got antsy fast, started prodding at his mind to get him moving. They’d have much distance to cover, after all. Might as well begin now.
Bosanquet got to his feet and turned, walking back down the old pier. He felt Ferrieres’ perceptive, unnerving eyes digging into his back, was thankful for the fog that enveloped him and hid him from her.
The sea, the fog, and his own eyes. All separate but all together, lines blurred and mysterious, cloaked and deceptive. Perhaps it did have some sort of meaning, some sort of foreshadowing. It probably was nothing he should waste his mental energy on, though. He came to Ferrieres for information, for facts and accounts, not for fortune telling or clairvoyance.
The sun was going to burn holes in the fog any minute, and by then he’d be long gone. It didn’t matter. The trade was done, and so he would use what he’d gotten to progress further in his little quest for knowledge.
He emerged from the fog, from beyond that false veil, and followed back the way he’d come from. He’d need some things before embarking on a journey of this magnitude.
If this was anything like the last few cases, then he’d be out and back in a matter of months at most. Then it was on to the next reported sighting, the next instance of possession, the next of whatever he found or whatever found him.
(And it would never be enough).