Chapter Nine

"Dolls"

* * * * * * * * * * *

The market was turning out to be a dead end. The Pale Man was nowhere in sight and I couldn't waste any more time, hoping he would turn up. I would have to use my trait on someone else and the twenty-four hour limit meant I had to choose my marks wisely. 

If I couldn't find the Pale Man, I would go after his target—the butcher. 

When I arrived at the butcher's shop, I checked the door and saw the mark the Pale Man had made was still there. The "3" with the line running through it.

As I examined the mark, an odd chill crept through my body. I looked around, but there was not a person in sight. I returned my focus to the mark, when a panting sound made my body jerk upright. 

I spun around and caught a flash of gray fur and sharp fangs bounding towards me.

The demon? But it's still daytime?!

I began to pull up my inventory to dump the contents onto the creature, when I heard a voice call out:

"What're you doin', you dumb dog?"

A woman emerged from the butcher's shop. She was probably in her forties, her auburn hair starting to gray. The apron she was wearing had noticeable red stains on them.

I looked behind me and saw the creature was in fact just a dog. A stray, judging by its matted gray fur. Its tail wagged happily at the sight of the woman.

From behind her back, the woman pulled out a bone with meat scraps still attached. The dog burst with energy, jumping onto its hind legs and placing its paws on the woman's legs. The woman held the bone up into the air, "Nuh-uh. What do we do?"

The dog obediently sat down, panting with a large grin on its face. The woman tossed the bone to the ground and the dog leaped at it.

She turned to me, "He's a wimp. Just wants a bit of food."

I watched as the dog gnawed at the scarce bit of meat still left on the bone. My heart rate had to yet to settle.

I thought it was the Beast again... 

"If you're hoping to buy some cuts, it's slim pickings." the woman said. "But feel free to take a look. My husband's inside."

I nodded thanks, then entered the shop. The butcher's wife watched the dog gnawing on the bone with an amused grin.

Inside, I was met with the lingering scent of raw meat, though there was little to show for it. Empty hooks dangled from the rafters. Long wooden counters stretched across the room, but they were completely bare. 

This threw a slight wrinkle in my plan. I had planned to buy something and then shake on it so I could form a partnership. There wasn't much here that I could buy. 

The butcher, a heavy-set man with tired eyes, sat behind the counter, sharpening his blade. His eyes lazily drifted towards me.

I extended my hand as a greeting, "Dante, pleasure to meet you."

The butcher left me hanging, continuing to sharpen his knife. 

"Got nothin' for ya. Try again next week."

"But I saw your wife offering a bone to a stray outside."

The butcher glanced out the window, then shook his head and muttered, "I told her to stop doing that." He looked to me, "That was just squirrel meat. Besides, I already sold the rest of it off."

I could tell the butcher was trying to get me to leave. But I had to get him to shake my hand somehow. 

"Oh, no. What happened?"

"More like what hasn't. Sickness has torn through every farm in a ten mile radius, thieves are breaking in and stealing what little I can salvage, and you know what..." He leaned in close, spoke in a hushed tone, "I think all this witchy-business has got the forest critters spooked too."

"Spooked?"

"Yeah, that's right. The animals know. It's why there's no game in the woods these days."

I nodded along in agreement.

"I heard what happened last night. Horrible business. The guy seemed well-liked." 

The butcher smirked. "Maybe now that he's dead. Decent carpenter, shitty bloke. Treated people like shite. Still... I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone."

"Do you think... maybe that's why he was targeted?"

"Who's to say?" the butcher shrugged. "The devil's hand is guided by thoughts too wicked for man."

His choice of words reminded me of something. And then I realized they had echoes of the pamphlet that had been passed through the square. The Malleus Maleficarum. 

Let's try this then...

"Good point, good point," I said, nodding my head. "Animals are innocent souls. They can see through the facade of the wicked."

I watched as the butcher studied me closely. Would he pick up on it?

After a moment, he cracked a smile and nodded. "That's right. The animals know."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Social mirroring to the rescue. 

Hazy memories bubbled to the surface. In my past life, I did the exact same thing in interviews, except it was with corporate-speak. Phrases like "core competencies" and "moving the needle" came to mind. 

I took advantage of the small amount of goodwill I had built and extended my hand, "I'll come back next week? Maybe the farms can get things sorted out by then."

The butcher stared at my hand, somewhat wary, but eventually shook it.

[You have formed a partnership with Walter Kemp!]

[His experiences will enter into your log for the next 24 hours.]

I exited the shop and checked the log. 

[Walter's Log: The traveler says he'll return next week. Don't know if I'll have anything for him though...]

Looks like it worked.

I closed the display then made my way back to the town square to check if there was another trial set.

* * * * * * * * * * *

When I arrived, the sun was starting to set and the market stalls were starting to pack up. It seemed there were no accusations made, so no trial for tonight.

That's good... The trials are a long-shot anyways. It's not likely the witch would be stupid enough to get caught at this stage.

I started to head back to the inn, when I caught sight of my unsettling neighbor, Lenore. She had set up shop near the gallows, where there was very little traffic. Her goods were laid out neatly on top of an ornately patterned rug. They consisted of misshapen balls of hair and questionable organic matter, and what looked to be a mummified cat, contorted into a pouncing pose, and glass containers filled with a dark yellow fluid that I suspected to be the source of the ammonia scent that hovered over Lenore.

Lenore sat on the rug, sewing another one of the dolls I had seen in her room. A row of them had been laid out on display. At the very end, there was a doll with light-blue buttons for eyes and hair that was fashioned from strips of a sandy-brown cloth.

"It's the innkeeper's boy," Lenore said, noticing me. She glanced up with her dark, melancholic eyes, continuing to sew by touch only. "He gave me a discount on the room if I made some charms for him and his family."

I could see the resemblance in an odd and slightly unnerving way.

"When you grasp an image of yourself, you reclaim power over the evil forces that sought to control you," she explained. "I could make one for you as well? A discounted rate for my mistake earlier today."

I shook my head. The dolls sent shivers down my spine, and I didn't believe in this kind of stuff even in my past life.

Lenore shrugged, "I'll be here if you change your mind."

"You're not heading back? It's getting dark."

"No. I like being the last one to leave. It's very illuminating."

I wasn't sure what that meant, but I didn't press. As I walked away, I caught a glimpse of the doll she was working on. It had a hat and cloak made of black felt, but instead of buttons, it had two copper coins for eyes. This one also looked familiar to me. 

"And who's that?" I asked.

Lenore's hands suddenly stopped sewing. She placed her hand over the doll to hide it. She looked up at me with a dark expression, "It's impolite to solicit without making a purchase."

This only made me more curious as to the identity of the doll. But I didn't press further. I bowed my head apologetically, then returned to the inn. 

* * * * * * * * * * *

Upon my arrival at the inn, Beaumont greeted me and mentioned that dinner service had finished, "But there's leftover stew if you want it."

The mention of stew made my stomach rumble. It was an odd sensation. I had forgotten what this felt like in the Barren Fields. It seemed hunger was a part of this Circle's design. 

When I eagerly agreed to the stew, Beaumont pointed me towards the common room. "Just give me a second to heat it up."

The common room had a dozen or so tables and a fire going in its hearth, situated against the far wall. On a busy day, the room could probably hold at least fifty guests. But judging by the layer of dust that had formed on its surfaces, those days were a thing of the past. Only one other guest occupied the room, passed out in the corner with an empty pint in hand.

Not many travelers willing to stop by a town with a witch infestation. 

I took a seat at a table right next to the fireplace. The warmth seeped into my bones and I finally felt a moment of peace. 

The witch only operates at night. I can afford to relax until then, right?

I heard footsteps approaching. I spun around, practically salivating. But then I froze. 

Standing before me was the famed witch hunter himself, Inquisitor Hawkthorne.