Tremor

Chapter 3

03

The five-storied building was by no means dilapidated, but it certainly was not new.

A small but well maintained garden surrounded the sandstone building, and Eleanor noted that while it wasn't as extravagant as Moreau Manor, it did have a certain charm to it. For starters, it was more inviting than the sterile Manor could ever be. Heavy drapes covered what would have been otherwise clear windows, and oddly enough, did not clash with the sandstone building.

"Issat the Brownst'ne?" Parkes slurred.

By the time the train had slowed enough for the three to jump off safely, Parkes had already been semi-conscious. Wallis, seeing that the other man was in no state to walk, slung the moustached man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and had started off through the still empty streets with nothing more than a terse, "Follow me," to Eleanor. Parkes had mumbled something about being nicer to her. Wallis ignored him.

Since Eleanor had nothing better to do, she'd followed. After all, where else was she supposed to go?

At some point during their brisk walk through the slowly clearing streets of Oakston, Parkes had lost consciousness completely, and the silence between the two still awake was broken only by their footsteps against the cobbled floor.

And now, the constable had regained consciousness.

"Yes," Wallis answered. "We're at the Brownstone."

With a small push, the gate swung open, and Wallis hefted Parkes more securely onto his shoulder before making his way down the footpath to the front of the house. Eleanor closed the gate behind them and followed Wallis up the stairs and onto the veranda of the building.

"Would you mind knocking?" Wallis gestured with his head at the front door, and Eleanor nodded, reaching up to the knocker set into the middle of the door.

After the third knock, the door swung open.

"Go on," Wallis gestured with a free hand, and nearly lost his grip on Parkes.

Eleanor cautiously stepped through the doorway and into the foyer. An alternating pattern of black and white tiles covered the floor. A hatstand and umbrella stand sat snugly in one corner. A flight of stairs stretched up, spiralling onto the landing of the second floor, and yet another one stretched onto the next floor.

"Lingonberry?" Wallis called out, his voice echoing up the flight of stairs.

A moment later, a muffled and somewhat annoyed voice answered him. "I'm upstairs. This had better be important, Felix!"

"Lingonberry?" Eleanor looked questioningly at Felix Wallis. "Dare I ask if that is indeed his name?"

"Unfortunately," Wallis rolled his eyes. Then, he sighed. "He's probably in the attic again. Come along, then."

The door slammed shut behind them, and Eleanor jumped. Her gaze flew to Felix.

"Draught," Wallis explained before starting the long trek upstairs. "You coming?"

Eleanor did not think it was a draught – the explanation had come too quickly. She did not want to climb the stairs to the annoyed man known as Lingonberry. But the alternative was to stay in the foyer by herself. And so once again, she followed Felix Wallis.

By the time they'd reached the top, Eleanor was tired – and not just from climbing the stairs. The stress of the past three days coupled with the horrendously little amount of sleep she'd managed on the train to the docks was not exactly enough for her to feel bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Felix Wallis, unknown to Eleanor, was feeling the effects of spending the entire night without rest and also for carrying Constable Parkes all over Oakston. He shook his head and his sluggishness cleared somewhat, and he pushed open the door to the attic.

Eleanor barely had time to notice the words 'M. Lingonberry' set into the plaque at the door before it swung open.

"Felix!" the same annoyed voice was now slightly concerned as Wallis and Parkes shuffled through the door, bumping into a shelf that sat right next to the door. "You look terrible, my friend."

Eleanor stepped through the doorway, gently pushing the door out of the way. It swung out, and struck the shelf.

'Struck' perhaps wasn't the right word. A gentle tap would have been the more accurate description, but apparently, the shelf had taken one too many hits for the night and a glass bowl - which had already been teetering precariously on the edge of the top shelf – tipped and fell, dumping its contents over Eleanor.

"Gah!" Eleanor stumbled back, and into the door jamb. Oh, that's going to bruise.

"Lingon! What was in that?!" she heard Wallis demanding even as she rubbed her eyes to clear them.

"Nothing harmful!" the other man replied hastily.

Eleanor blinked, and found three sets of eyes watching her intently. Well, two were. Parkes was still a little dazed. Eleanor was on the verge of speaking when her gaze was caught by the room. The attic was not exactly what Eleanor expected an attic to look like. Rather, it resembled a laboratory, complete with benches and cupboards. A cauldron bubbled away in a fireplace at the opposite end of the room. The shelf, from which the glass bowl had upended itself, was not the only one in the room, and several more lined the walls, each covered with tiny glass vials.

"See?" Lingonberry smiled reassuringly at Wallis. "Nothing harmful. Just a little hair dye."

Eleanor couldn't help but stare.

The old man in front of her – Lingonberry – looked exactly what one might expect a wizard to look like; wispy white hair, a long beard and a pointed Wizard's hat.

"Are- are you a… Wizard?"

Lingonberry laughed. "Goodness, no. I prefer the term 'magician'."

Wallis rolled his eyes. "Any fool with a faint grasp of the Latin language, a large supply of candles and chalk and a grimoire could qualify as a magician."

"I resent that," Lingonberry pouted, then returned his attention to Parkes. "And you, my boy, what have you done to yourself?"

"Got bitten," Parkes mumbled, not quite entirely sober, "then Wallis hit me."

Lingonberry raised an eyebrow at Wallis.

Wallis sighed, and produced the test tube with the saliva sample. "Parkes was infected by this. A blunt-"

"-trauma to the head tends to resolve that problem, yes," Lingonberry agreed, taking the sample and looking at it thoughtfully. "Do you mind…?"

"Not at all," Wallis waved a flippant hand, and Lingonberry took that as a cue to collect some of the sample onto a glass slide, and returned the test tube to Wallis.

Lingonberry rummaged in a nearby cupboard and retrieved a microscope and a vial of some viscous liquid. The microscope he set onto a nearby lab bench, the vial he pocketed.

Eleanor took the opportunity to look closer at the Magician, and realised that what she thought was a Wizard's hat was actually a nightcap. There were no flowing robes or sparkly clothing, but instead, Lingonberry seemed to be perfectly at home in his pyjamas and a dressing gown.

"Just a second, Mr Parkes," Lingonberry called over his shoulder as he swept away whatever project he had been working on before the three had trundled up the stairs – judging by the bits and pieces, Eleanor surmised that the man had been making an umbrella, of all things.

Having cleared a space on the bench, the Magician patted the space. "Sit here, won't you?"

Parkes shuffled over, only helped momentarily by Wallis. He sat down on the indicated spot, and held still as Lingonberry uncorked the vial and rubbed the salve over the bite marks. Lingonberry finished off by wrapping the injured arm with bandages.

"Hold still," Lingonberry pulled out a piece of chalk from somewhere in his dressing gown pocket and started drawing a symbol on the wall behind Parkes.

Eleanor watched, fascinated, as the Magician effortlessly drew an intricate pattern, and when he pulled away, the chalk was glowing. Lingonberry stared at the symbol, the pulses of light seemingly conveying a message to the old man.

"Hm," Lingonberry nodded at last, "you'll be fine, Mr Parkes. Luckily for you, no concussion."

"Good," Wallis had found a piece of chalk himself, "then Parkes and I need to return to Headquarters. We must hurry if the smugglers are to be caught."

"I say," Lingonberry suddenly piped up, "would you like an umbrella, Felix?"

"No," Wallis snapped, then sighed. "Sorry, Lingon. No, thank you."

Lingonberry was far from offended and waved off the apology.

Wallis' gaze fell on Eleanor, and she fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Stay with Lingonberry," Wallis said finally. "I- We'll sort you out later."

With that, Wallis pulled Parkes to his feet and the two men made their way to the opposite side of the room, where the carpet had been torn away to reveal a surprisingly smooth sandstone floor.

A sigil, in ink, was already on the floor, the diameter easily spanning two metres. Wallis knelt and added a few more strokes in chalk. Then, the two men stepped onto the sigil, and in a flash of light, both disappeared.

"Teleportation spell," Lingonberry explained as he wiped away the chalk marks with a broomstick, "I keep the basic template permanent. Only a few strokes are needed to determine the location. Saves time, you know?"

Eleanor could only gape like a stunned goldfish.

"I'm afraid I didn't introduce myself earlier," the Magician took off his nightcap, and bowed, "M. Lingonberry at your service. And your name is?"

"I- Ah-" Eleanor stammered. To give away her name would result in her being carted back to Moreau Manor, and Eleanor did not want that to happen. Even as she cursed her foolishness in not having thought of a new name, the Magician continued.

"You seem like an Emily, Miss Moreau," Lingonberry added as he retrieved the pieces of the umbrella, "it seems to suit you."

"You know who I am?" Eleanor squeaked in horror.

"Well," Lingonberry looked at her after he placed the pieces of the umbrella back onto the bench, "I don't think many will recognise you as easily, what with your brown hair."

"Brown hair?" Eleanor reared back in surprise as the Magician pulled out a mirror from his dressing gown pocket. She peered carefully in the mirror. "Good grief!"

Her hair, a dark brown, did not resemble the blonde hair in any way. Eleanor accepted the offered mirror and tugged at her strands of hair, and was surprised to find that it had turned brown from the tips all the way to the roots. Eleanor noted that had she seen this face in a crowd, she would not have recognised herself. She almost looked like an entirely different person.

"This was from the falling hair dye?" Eleanor asked incredulously. "It doesn't look like I was simply splashed with it – it looks real!"

"Magic," Lingonberry shrugged, and took the mirror from Eleanor. The Magician seated himself by the bench in a wicker chair and resumed his work on the umbrella. "As I was saying, Miss Moreau, names are important. They have power, if you believe in that hocus pocus."

"Surely 'Lingonberry' is not your real name?" Eleanor ventured carefully. "I thought you just called the naming power 'hocus pocus'."

"Well, I didn't want to take any chances. One can never be too careful," the Magician looked up from the umbrella. "I say, can you pass me that mortar by your right hand?"

Eleanor looked, and found a mortar filled with a thick green substance. A paintbrush was stuck fast to the mortar – the pestle was nowhere in sight. She handed it over. "What is this?"

"Glue," Lingonberry answered, and with great effort, tore the paintbrush free. With one hand, he smoothed out the leathery material of the umbrella and painted, dabbing the thick, sluggish substance over the material, "and a little bit of chalk."

A sigil, Eleanor realised what the Magician was painting. "More spellwork?"

"Yes," Lingonberry finished off the sigil, "very effective for keeping out the rain. And other undesirables." He glanced out the window. "I suspect it'll rain today. And now," Lingonberry continued as he attached the frame and hooked handle of the umbrella to the material, "about the matter of your name."

"Er… did you recommend 'Emily'?" Eleanor was not sure what to make of this conversation. Her gaze was drawn to the umbrella again, and found that the glue was drying in front of her eyes, rather quickly too, into a dull green. "Ah… how about Emily Greene?"

"Emily Greene," Lingonberry nodded, and pulled out a carving knife. He started etching away into the handle of the umbrella. "Emily Greene. Ee Gee."

Eleanor looked at the carving; two letters, 'E' and 'G' sat in the curve of the handle.

"Here you go," Lingonberry cheerily handed the finished umbrella to her, "see? I even made a shoulder strap for it. Now you can wear it over your shoulder and have your hands free."

"Oh!" Eleanor received the umbrella, fingering the aforementioned strap. "Thank you- but you didn't have to- I mean-"

"It is yours, Emily Greene," Lingonberry told her gently. Then, he grinned brightly, "Seeing as how Felix didn't want it, and I don't need one, it is yours."

Eleanor returned the smile hesitantly. "Thank you, Mr Lingonberry."

…

Oakston Police Headquarters, otherwise fondly known as simply Headquarters, was in a state of pandemonium.

Police Chief Barker was tired, and the day had only just begun. And it was already shaping up to be a horrible day. For starters, two of her law enforcers had stayed on an overnight stakeout, and neither of them had reported back. That had led to dispatching a police squad to the docks to seize the smuggled drugs from Wesker Leander – more commonly known to criminal circles as 'Weasel'. This had been followed by sending another squad after the first one when the first reported in news of the undead.

And now, the first squad had turned into rabid monsters while the second squad was traumatised at having been forced to subdue and capture the first squad without being bitten or killing their fellow policemen. On the upside, the last batch of what ever magical substance Weasel had tried smuggling was in the Headquarters' forensics laboratory. Weasel and his accomplice, the trollish Apples – no one was sure what his real name was – were still at large. The two had been reported to have escaped on another train leading into the city.

And Wallis and Parkes were still missing.

Barker looked out of her office door when a metallic chain dragged by her doorway, pulled along by a large fuzzy animal. "Will someone please secure the capybara?" she hollered, and a nearby constable grabbed the chain before saluting the chief and hauling the large rodent away.

Barker retreated into her office, sighing. One hour earlier, the zoo reported that several of their animals had escaped overnight – none of the particular dangerous ones; a few penguins, three meerkats and a capybara – and that report was followed by a complaint from the markets. Specifically, about how a 'giant rat' was merrily munching its way through the vegetable stands.

At some point, a constable had set out to capture the capybara - and had done so successfully – but instead of returning the animal to the zoo, the constable returned to Headquarters, with capybara in tow.

And hence, a capybara was running underfoot in the police station.

Barker sat back in her chair, hands massaging her temples. What a horrible day. Guilt, along with a few stirrings of worry wormed its way to her heart, before she plucked away the tendrils viciously and tore them apart.

Yes, Felix Wallis was possibly one of the youngest inspectors in the police force, but he'd earned his rank. The young man was intelligent, and it certainly didn't hurt that he had a Wizard for a roommate. Or, in his words, a 'Magician for a landlord'. The reanimated cadavers had been showing up steadily for the past week, in all sorts of obscure places - like the docks, train stations and even in the woods surrounding the city - and so it stood to reason that the inspector with the most experience with magics and the supernatural would be put on the case.

Barker had agreed to let Wallis and Parkes to stakeout the docks, because she knew they were capable, and they knew they were capable too. It was simply up to those two to now turn up, alive, and maybe the day wouldn't look as bad as it did-

"Chief."

Barker looked at her doorway and smiled. "About time, gentlemen."

…

"You live here, then?"

Clink. Clink.

"Yes."

Tssssh.

The contents of the cauldron, the few drops that had escaped the rim of the cauldron, hissed as they splashed into the fire. Lingonberry stepped away from the fireplace, tapping the droplets off the ladle into a nearby sink.

Clink. Clink.

Lingonberry carefully replaced the lid on the cauldron, and wiped his hands on a tea-towel. "Yes," he repeated, "I live here. Along with Felix, and occasionally my family."

"Your family?" Eleanor, who was perched on a nearby stool, found herself curious enough to ask.

"Yes," Lingonberry nodded, rummaging through the cupboards again, "mostly it's just my granddaughter. No one else tends to visit. No idea why, though. There's plenty of apartments."

"Apartments?" The unfamiliar word rolled over Eleanor's tongue.

"Units. Flats. You know," Lingonberry sought for a better explanation when both words had garnered a confused expression from Eleanor, "rather like a flat cottage – several of them – mashed into one building. You noticed the doors on each flight on your way up?"

"Yes," Eleanor thought back to the doors on each landing. "You mean to say this place is like a… a hotel?"

"Not exactly," Lingonberry emerged from the cupboard with an opened vial and an eyedropper. "The Brownstone is more of a sanctuary. Anyone who needs my help ends up here eventually. So, how can I help you, Miss Moreau?"

"I don't think there is…" Eleanor trailed off, remembering the marriage contract. "Can you… are you able to break a magical contract?"

"If you're talking about your marriage," Lingonberry carefully dropped a few drops of the clear liquid from the vial onto the glass slide containing the cadaver's saliva sample, "then I'm afraid I can do nothing for you. Did your wizard leave a note?"

Eleanor frowned, but produced the note from her travelling bag, holding it out to the Magician. For some reason, she'd felt compelled to take it with her. Perhaps it was out of a subconscious urge to find the Wizard responsible and shove the note down the imbecile's throat.

Then, she remembered it had been signed with an M.

M. Lingonberry?

Lingonberry placed the slide under the microscope, and plucked the note from Eleanor's fingers. He was silent for a moment as he read the note. When he finished, the Magician declared, "What an incompetent arse."

With a quick apologetic glance at Eleanor, "I really don't think I can do much here, not without the wizard present. And," he added quickly, upon catching sight of the 'M' signed at the bottom of the note, "I can promise you I am not the man you are looking for."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me if I cannot completely believe you, sir. Your plaque-"

"States that I am 'M Lingonberry'," Lingonberry conceded with a nod. "I admit that seems most incriminating. But I swear upon my honour as a Magician and as a gentlemen that I will help you if it is within my ability."

"And it is not, is it?" Eleanor sighed sadly, leaning her elbows onto the bench top and resting her chin in her hands.

"Unfortunately," Lingonberry studied the slide through the microscope, then muttered a few words of Latin. The slide glowed in response, and Lingonberry frowned. From the pockets of his dressing gown, he pulled out a small knife and slit open his own finger, adding a few drops to the glass slide.

Eleanor gave the Magician what was understandably a look of fear mingled with blatant horror. Before Eleanor could back away or fall off her stool in shock, the door of the attic opened, and in walked a young girl – no more than perhaps fifteen of age.

"Morning, Grandfather," she mumbled, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes. The girl made her way to the cauldron, fished out a teacup from a nearby cupboard and ladled some of the contents into it. "Would you care for tea?"

Then, she turned around, now more awake, and finally took in the sight of Lingonberry and Eleanor seated at the bench, with a knife between them.

"Oh!" She brightened visibly with a grin. "You have a visitor. Would you care for a cup of tea, Miss…?"

"Uh… Greene. Emily Greene," Eleanor supplied quickly. "And, no, thank you."

"And you, Grandfather…" the girl trailed off, having finally registered that her grandparent was brandishing a knife. "Grandpa! Did you at least explain to Miss Greene why you just sliced open your finger?"

At Lingonberry's sheepish silence, the Magician's granddaughter grimaced, and turned to Eleanor. "Please excuse my rudeness. I am Penelope, and I see you have met my Grandfather. Grandpa?"

At the girl's prompt, Lingonberry shook off his momentary embarrassment. "Ah, yes, quite right, Penny. My blood," Lingonberry turned to Eleanor, "was added to the slide because I wished to see what the drug would do to a fresh blood sample."

Right on cue, the slide behind them sparked spectacularly, and Lingonberry immediately looked down the microscope. "Oh, my. The drug seems to be overriding the blood sample. It's even overcoming my magic. Penny, you must take a look at this!"

Lingonberry sounded just a little too excited at the sight, but regardless, Penny dutifully lowered her teacup and peered down the microscope. "Almost rather like a virus, isn't it? I can see your blood cells… are they exploding?"

"No, I believe not, simply… falling apart and reforming, and infecting the surrounding cells," Lingonberry fetched himself a cup of tea from the cauldron, and returned to his seat. "At a very rapid pace, too. I suspect that was why poor Mr Parkes fell to its control so quickly. I sure hope Felix was smart enough to keep any open wounds from this substance."

For some reason, a shiver ran up Eleanor's spine. Open wounds. Why was that worrying…?

Penny and Lingonberry nearly dropped their tea cups when Eleanor gasped. "He punched Constable Parkes in the mouth."

The other two looked at her with dawning horror.

"I think he grazed his knuckles," Eleanor finished with a soft whisper.