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bitten_notshyThey stopped for breakfast before sunrise, to compare notes. Jack came to the table bearing the last book he had been working from and a sheet of paper, both sides of which were covered in his precise small hand.
"I have a name," he said, while Sebastien set a cup of coffee beside his elbow.
"Then speak it." Abby Irene, of course. Phoebe was too tired to respond with more than a flicker of her eyes, and Sebastien was inclined to let Jack bask in his victory a moment longer.
Jack didn't seem to prickle at Abby Irene's teasing. He was too triumphant over the find. "La bête anthropophage du Gévaudan," Jack said. "The cannibal beast of Languedoc, I should say."
"I know where Gévaudan was," Sebastien said. "And it was a long way from Paris."
Jack stopped speaking and hooked the cup of tea Sebastien had served him closer with one finger. He sipped with closed eyes. He was so very tired; his last span of proper sleep had been in Cologne.
"Well, I didn't," he heard Garrett lie, and Jack opened his eyes and smiled at her over the rim of the cup. "Tell me of la bête."
"There are certain inconsistencies," he admitted, setting his coffee aside. "Both between the different stories of la bête herself, and between those stories and our current murderer. But I think the similarities outweigh, in this case."
Phoebe was already pouring herself a second cup of coffee. The circles under her eyes were heavy, but she looked brighter. She took bread and placed butter on it, then dripped jam from a spoon. "Herself," she said. "What sort of beast was the beast, Jack? A wolf?"
"Ah," he said. "That's the romance of it. No one knows. And it was less than a hundred and forty years ago." He picked up his sheet of notes and consulted it. "The first attack was in late spring of 1764; a young girl tending her family's cattle was pursued by a great beast and only saved when the bulls drove it away. The attacks continued for several years, although a number of wolves were killed, and each of them was claimed for a time to be the beast. However, every time, the attacks were swiftly resumed."
"But she was killed eventually?" Sebastien asked, and Jack could hear the scrape of his thumbnail over the table linen as he thought.
"She was not. Or rather, perhaps she was. In June of 1767, a hunter named Jean Chastel killed an animal described as a large malformed wolf with two silver bullets. After that, there were no more killings."
"But?" Abby Irene asked, and Jack gave her a strained grin.
"But la bête did not act much like a wolf. She attacked during the day; she preferred children and women to sheep and cattle; she liked to leap from high places and ledges and carry off her prey. She consumed the corpses so completely that in some cases not enough remains were left for a church burial." Jack caught Abby Irene's eye before he delivered the next sentence, and Sebastien saw her hands tighten on her spoon when she heard it. His own blood could not chill, but it might as well have, from the prickling sensation that crept along his arms. "She is said to have sucked or licked the blood of the victim, devoured the entrails, stripped the flesh from the face, and in some cases severed heads with a bite or a blow."
"That sounds more like a cougar than a wolf," Phoebe said, just as Abby Irene said, "But our creature hunts by moonlight."
"Ah, but that's not the best of it." He smiled, half-gloating. "She was sometimes associated with a man. A sorcerer, said to control her actions."
Sebastien's fingers moved on the table, as if he stroked something.
Jack continued, "She wasn't the only one of her kind, either. Histories of such black beasts are not uncommon, all over Europe."
"And none of this helps us find him." Sebastien said. "Her. Pardon." He gave Jack an eyebrow, and Jack smiled and shook his head.
"Well, I have a bullet-mold, and I shall be making silver bullets. For anyone who wants them. That's the only thing I've found that might be of use. Those who hunted la bête tried bait, poison, dogs. She never returned to a kill. She never took a slaughtered sheep or a poisoned carcass."
"A ghost," Phoebe said. She wasn't eating, only playing with her food. "A very smart ghost."
"Oh," Abby Irene said. "What if it is a ghost?"
"You don't mean the wolf ghosts?"
"No, the ghost wolves are hungry, but they can't do anything about it. But there are ghosts that can."
"Shades," Sebastien said, understanding. "But why the moonlight?"
Abby Irene ran both hands through her hair. "Damned if I -- oh."
They waited while she lifted her butter knife and turned it over in her hand, examining her reflection in the silver blade. She tucked a stand of hair behind her ear and frowned, then flicked the metal with a fingernail to hear it ring. You'd get no such tone from flatware.
"Doctor Garrett?"
Jack's voice seemed to break her contemplation. She held the knife vertical beside her face and smiled. "Basic thaumaturgy," she said. "What's the alchemical symbol for silver, Mr. Priest? What's the symbolic association between a beast killed by a silver bullet and the moon?"
"Oh." Jack's tone of voice was almost exactly what hers had been. Sebastien prevented a chuckle only through strength of will. "You're brilliant."
She inclined her head. "Thank you, Jack. And yet, it also doesn't help us catch the monster."
Dawn was breaking outside, finally, and Sebastien stood to draw the windowshade, the light already too much for his eyes although the sun was safely below the horizon.
"We're asking ourselves the wrong questions," he said, once he was safely back at the table. "So we know why it attacks on the full moon. The right question is, what happened to trigger the killings? What happened in Paris eighteen months ago? What changed."
"The Metro," Jack guessed, promptly, but Phoebe touched his wrist and said, "Three years."
"Sebastien knows," Abby Irene said. "He's smirking."
He gestured to the window. "La Ville-lumière, Abby Irene. The broadcast power. Do you suppose it's intentional?"
Abby Irene closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "A sacrifice to power the system? Possible, but -- you must speak with the theurgist, then. "
"Well, any visit by me to the ... theurgist will have to wait until sunset," Sebastien said. "So you may certainly expect to come. But I shall advance him a letter, so he'll know to expect us."
"Oh," said Phoebe, her face crumpled in feigned disappointment. "You mean we'll not just show up on his doorstep and crash our way in?"
"I have heard he has a death ray," Sebastien answered. "I shall prefer caution, just this once."
[OOC: NFB, NFI, stolen from New Amsterdam. Part of this. I sped up my timeline just to finish by OMWF day. I'm a doooooork.]
"I have a name," he said, while Sebastien set a cup of coffee beside his elbow.
"Then speak it." Abby Irene, of course. Phoebe was too tired to respond with more than a flicker of her eyes, and Sebastien was inclined to let Jack bask in his victory a moment longer.
Jack didn't seem to prickle at Abby Irene's teasing. He was too triumphant over the find. "La bête anthropophage du Gévaudan," Jack said. "The cannibal beast of Languedoc, I should say."
"I know where Gévaudan was," Sebastien said. "And it was a long way from Paris."
Jack stopped speaking and hooked the cup of tea Sebastien had served him closer with one finger. He sipped with closed eyes. He was so very tired; his last span of proper sleep had been in Cologne.
"Well, I didn't," he heard Garrett lie, and Jack opened his eyes and smiled at her over the rim of the cup. "Tell me of la bête."
"There are certain inconsistencies," he admitted, setting his coffee aside. "Both between the different stories of la bête herself, and between those stories and our current murderer. But I think the similarities outweigh, in this case."
Phoebe was already pouring herself a second cup of coffee. The circles under her eyes were heavy, but she looked brighter. She took bread and placed butter on it, then dripped jam from a spoon. "Herself," she said. "What sort of beast was the beast, Jack? A wolf?"
"Ah," he said. "That's the romance of it. No one knows. And it was less than a hundred and forty years ago." He picked up his sheet of notes and consulted it. "The first attack was in late spring of 1764; a young girl tending her family's cattle was pursued by a great beast and only saved when the bulls drove it away. The attacks continued for several years, although a number of wolves were killed, and each of them was claimed for a time to be the beast. However, every time, the attacks were swiftly resumed."
"But she was killed eventually?" Sebastien asked, and Jack could hear the scrape of his thumbnail over the table linen as he thought.
"She was not. Or rather, perhaps she was. In June of 1767, a hunter named Jean Chastel killed an animal described as a large malformed wolf with two silver bullets. After that, there were no more killings."
"But?" Abby Irene asked, and Jack gave her a strained grin.
"But la bête did not act much like a wolf. She attacked during the day; she preferred children and women to sheep and cattle; she liked to leap from high places and ledges and carry off her prey. She consumed the corpses so completely that in some cases not enough remains were left for a church burial." Jack caught Abby Irene's eye before he delivered the next sentence, and Sebastien saw her hands tighten on her spoon when she heard it. His own blood could not chill, but it might as well have, from the prickling sensation that crept along his arms. "She is said to have sucked or licked the blood of the victim, devoured the entrails, stripped the flesh from the face, and in some cases severed heads with a bite or a blow."
"That sounds more like a cougar than a wolf," Phoebe said, just as Abby Irene said, "But our creature hunts by moonlight."
"Ah, but that's not the best of it." He smiled, half-gloating. "She was sometimes associated with a man. A sorcerer, said to control her actions."
Sebastien's fingers moved on the table, as if he stroked something.
Jack continued, "She wasn't the only one of her kind, either. Histories of such black beasts are not uncommon, all over Europe."
"And none of this helps us find him." Sebastien said. "Her. Pardon." He gave Jack an eyebrow, and Jack smiled and shook his head.
"Well, I have a bullet-mold, and I shall be making silver bullets. For anyone who wants them. That's the only thing I've found that might be of use. Those who hunted la bête tried bait, poison, dogs. She never returned to a kill. She never took a slaughtered sheep or a poisoned carcass."
"A ghost," Phoebe said. She wasn't eating, only playing with her food. "A very smart ghost."
"Oh," Abby Irene said. "What if it is a ghost?"
"You don't mean the wolf ghosts?"
"No, the ghost wolves are hungry, but they can't do anything about it. But there are ghosts that can."
"Shades," Sebastien said, understanding. "But why the moonlight?"
Abby Irene ran both hands through her hair. "Damned if I -- oh."
They waited while she lifted her butter knife and turned it over in her hand, examining her reflection in the silver blade. She tucked a stand of hair behind her ear and frowned, then flicked the metal with a fingernail to hear it ring. You'd get no such tone from flatware.
"Doctor Garrett?"
Jack's voice seemed to break her contemplation. She held the knife vertical beside her face and smiled. "Basic thaumaturgy," she said. "What's the alchemical symbol for silver, Mr. Priest? What's the symbolic association between a beast killed by a silver bullet and the moon?"
"Oh." Jack's tone of voice was almost exactly what hers had been. Sebastien prevented a chuckle only through strength of will. "You're brilliant."
She inclined her head. "Thank you, Jack. And yet, it also doesn't help us catch the monster."
Dawn was breaking outside, finally, and Sebastien stood to draw the windowshade, the light already too much for his eyes although the sun was safely below the horizon.
"We're asking ourselves the wrong questions," he said, once he was safely back at the table. "So we know why it attacks on the full moon. The right question is, what happened to trigger the killings? What happened in Paris eighteen months ago? What changed."
"The Metro," Jack guessed, promptly, but Phoebe touched his wrist and said, "Three years."
"Sebastien knows," Abby Irene said. "He's smirking."
He gestured to the window. "La Ville-lumière, Abby Irene. The broadcast power. Do you suppose it's intentional?"
Abby Irene closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "A sacrifice to power the system? Possible, but -- you must speak with the theurgist, then. "
"Well, any visit by me to the ... theurgist will have to wait until sunset," Sebastien said. "So you may certainly expect to come. But I shall advance him a letter, so he'll know to expect us."
"Oh," said Phoebe, her face crumpled in feigned disappointment. "You mean we'll not just show up on his doorstep and crash our way in?"
"I have heard he has a death ray," Sebastien answered. "I shall prefer caution, just this once."
[OOC: NFB, NFI, stolen from New Amsterdam. Part of this. I sped up my timeline just to finish by OMWF day. I'm a doooooork.]
no subject
Date: 2012-01-06 02:17 am (UTC)mun failthings kept coming up until it was too late to send one now. Which was why she was thrilled to realize she was at the office in time to send a post out.Haven't talked to you in forever Stop. Checking in. Stop. Everything okay? Stop I need to hear from you soon before I call in the cavalry Stop Kiss kiss Stop K
no subject
Date: 2012-01-06 02:25 am (UTC)We are much better than we were yesterday STOP Can expect triumph soon STOP Will send real letter after sleep STOP
no subject
Date: 2012-01-06 02:28 am (UTC)I want updates soon STOP Or I'm sending Emma to get them STOP Miss you lots STOP Coming home to the island after?
no subject
Date: 2012-01-06 02:45 am (UTC)Jack wasn't trying to mislead, so much as he knew that 'we're going out at sunset to track down whoever's controlling a murderous beast' -- especially expressed at telegraph length -- would bring out the cavalry. And not only had Sebastien voted rather strongly and reasonably against the idea, but Jack himself suspected it would be overkill for the night.
no subject
Date: 2012-01-07 05:09 am (UTC)If you're not cheating, you're not trying STOP. Waiting now for your letter STOP Have bb pics for you when you visit STOP Miss you stay safe STOP
She was going to pin him down and demand details, though. He knew that, right?