Blair Gets A Visitor

– The second story in The Burleigh Town Sentinel. Sorry, it got lost in e-mail-limbo and had to be resent. Part three is 'Meanwhile Up at the Manor' and that one makes a *little* more sense if you read this one first. <g> Eileen is really very kind to put up with me! For Andrea Marbry, who wanted to know if Blair had some powers besides empathy. Hmmm, anyone remember the council meeting in the first story? (Pearl of great price...) -Allritas _________________________________________

The next morning, the good townspeople of Burleigh were all slightly hung over – not from the drink – alcohol was the lubricant that kept their world running – but from a mixture of apprehension and giddiness. Last night they had felt like champions. Their council had invited the county ogre to dinner and taken a fork to him. As soon as the closest neighbors had seen Burlington’s coach pull away, they ran to the High Street to wait for Cowley, who did not keep them waiting long, and by the time the original crowd had wound its way to the King’s Head, having picked up most of the townsfolk along the way, it had become something of a parade, complete with a pots-and-pans band and a scarecrow done up like William, riding backwards on an ass. Once at the inn, Cowley acted out every part, and the townspeople felt like they had all personally shoved Burlington into the fireplace, ripped his poncey coat, and dumped a pitcher of beer over his head. Rounds were drunk to Joan Bodmer - their own contrary Saint Joan, who tried to drown William at the stake - and after reenacting the moment with the scarecrow a few times, they showed how she should have done it, shoving ‘Willie’ into the fireplace and drinking his health while he crackled and popped.

But now it was morning, and doubts were creeping in - not that the council hadn’t done the right thing, but that it wasn’t going to be sufficient. William could not be counted on to behave reasonably. He didn’t have a flexible mind. And he certainly couldn’t take a joke. They wondered if word had gotten back to the manor of their little celebration.

Finally, at noon, Burlington’s coachman arrived at the mayor’s house, with a message demanding the presence of the town sentinel forthwith - no guide allowed. Was this a ploy to separate Jim from his defenders? The townspeople couldn’t ignore a direct order from their lord and master, but since the note had only said that Blair was not invited, the council decided that they would ride along as bodyguards – not that Jim couldn’t take care of himself in a fair fight, but none of the councilmen could conceive of Burlington giving the notion of fair-mindedness a passing thought, and even William would have a hard time explaining the disappearance of nine men.

Blair was tucked in – as he himself put it, complaining all the way– at his office in the Town Hall. The football team decided that it would be a perfect time to practice behind the building. Downstairs, the ladies of the parish had taken up the ground floor to work on charity boxes for the harvest home festival, and the street out front was uncommonly busy for a Tuesday morning. Shopkeepers swept their stoops and kept an eye on the High Street, especially in the direction of the hall.

“And you thought that these people were cold fish,” said Blair to his Uncle Bijel.

“Even a trout must have some brains, I guess,” conceded Bijel. “What, does that make you happy? So they’re protecting their investment. You’re a treasure – isn’t that what the vicar said? Just remember, kon khakhavel o balo wi leste si I shuri (the one who feeds the pig also carries the butcher knife).”

“You old rom, you’re worse than ever. Where have you been, anyway?” said Blair, absentmindedly walking around the desk to try to peer out his filthy window. Last winter’s draft was back and the room was cold. “I haven’t heard from you in months.”

“You know how it is. Dead or alive, it’s always something.” A very transparent old man sat down on the desktop and looked around. “So, are they treating you any better? I wish I could haunt that William guy for you. Piece of shit. I could jump out and yell boo…or, even better, I could jump out and yell Jew! Ha, ha, ha! Don’t look at me like that, my little vyusher; I thought I raised you to show some respect for the deceased.”

“Uh huh. How about you show some respect for the living? Jim is up there right now and the council went along to protect him. I think you’d agree that I have a reason or two to worry – especially if you saw what happened last night.”

“Yeah, that council of yours, I wouldn’t let them protect a cat from a mouse. Sorry. If I could spy on them for you, you know that I would. That would be a real help. I could eavesdrop and haunt around town, you would never lose at cards… too bad I can only appear where you are.”

“Yeah, well, sorry about the welcome. I mean, it’s always good to see you, but it’s a little creepy that you were at the party last night and I didn’t realize. I don’t always want to have invisible company, you know.”

“Ha, ha. Relax, boy. I don’t watch when you take a leak or practice the organ, if that’s what you mean. You have to be thinking of me and I have to be dreaming of you and, mmm, I may have just broken one of the promises I made you-know-where so I’d better shut up. Wouldn’t want to be sent down.” The old man winked and smiled lovingly at his Little Wolf. “I was there last night because you wanted me. I am now what you might call a guardian angel.”

“God help me,” laughed Blair.

“What were you expecting, a giant sword and a fiery horse?” asked Bijel. “Believe me, you could do a lot worse. I had plenty of experience with pompous jackasses like Burlington in my time. By the time we’re through with him, he’ll be jumping at his own shadow.”

“I’m not sure that that would be such a good idea,” said Blair, reaching down to try to find the source of the draft that had been so pleasant in the summer, but was so nippy now. He hadn’t found it the few times he tried last winter, and he hadn’t thought to ask Jim before, because the weather had only turned cold this past week. Feeling around at floor level, he realized that one of the skirting boards was loose.

“Are you listening to me at all?” asked Bijel.

“I don’t imagine ghosts get cold,” replied Blair, “but if we’re going to continue this conversation, I need to stop this draft. You couldn’t lend me a hand, could you?”

“Moral support only, I’m afraid,” said Bijel, raising his translucent hands.

“Well then, scoot over so I can get my knife out of that drawer. It creeps me out when stuff passes through you.”

“Perfectly natural –“

“I don’t care.”

“___”

“Okay, I’m sorry. Would you please move? I am completely unreasonable for not reaching straight through your kneecap, and you are the most indulgent of dead relatives. Although you, if I recall, used to scream if you saw a snake.”

“Not the same thing at all. I was protecting life and limb. You, on the other hand, are just chicken-shit. Oh, very well, if you insist…”

Blair pulled out his knife and an extra sweater that he had shoved in the drawer last month because he had found moths flying around it. He decided that the wool garment would keep him warmer if he used it to fill up the crack than if he wore it, as a few holes had appeared in it anyway, and he sat it aside and went to work on the board.

“They could have given you a better office.”

“This is the traditional guide office. All the guides in the last hundred years have been here.”

“That’s what I mean. All of them, freezing their bollocks off –”

“Uh huh, here! I think I got it.”

“Mmmm, do you see what I see? Way back there against the beam…”

“Yeah, there’s something back there.”

“A little to the left.”

“Will you get out of the wall?”

“Just trying to help.”

“Well, you’re giving me the willies. Go over there somewhere, will you? I can get it myself.”

The thing turned out to be a small dust-covered book, with pages and pages of ciphers. The only legible copy was on the title page – ‘Joseph Samuels, Guide.’

“It looks like you have yourself a bit of a mystery there, Blair, “ said Bijel, in a rather unconvincing voice.

“You wanted me to find this,” stated Blair, appraising his foster-father critically.

“Nothing to do with me, I assure you. That book must have been in that hole for fifty years.”

“Yes, but you wanted me to find it now. Come to think of it, every time I noticed the draft you were here, before I got sick and you didn’t come -”

“Well, it’s just possible that I wasn’t allowed to give you any hints – and whatever those old bats gave you, it was like clawing through stone! I could hear you but I couldn’t break through... and then you were so out of it… I’m so sorry, Blair. If it was up to me… See?” The old man was slowly fading away. “I think I may be in a spot of trouble on the other side, but I’ll be back as soon as I can…”

Blair was left alone with nothing but puzzles to occupy his worried mind.

(Next up – The Manor)