The Ghosts of Talverton Keep

"Why not go to the watchtower . . . oh right." Caelan nods.

"What?" You ask.

"Monro's on duty," Aileena explains, "and he's . . . "

"Dumber than bag of rocks?" Caelan offers.

"Worse, he's a pig." Aileena finishes. She gives Caelan an encouraging smile. "I hope it works."

"Me too." Caelan says. "The people of Talverton will never be able to unite against the real enemy while these spirits torture us. Once our minds are clear, we will our way to a better future." Caelen's eyes are alight with that same fire.

Aileena clasps his hand. "Talverton for its own, my brother," and they briefly embrace. "I will go rest so I may take the second watch."

"Your ride is here." Aileena notes. Isla had approached with two horses but paused a good ten paces away, not willing to risk Aileena's wrath by coming within earshot.

"I'm expected back at the Keep, I will see what I can uncover about Lady Josephine and her men to see if they are behind all of this."

Aileena gives you a curt nod but her eyes are soft.

"Be careful, that woman is a viper." She looks away for a moment and then the fire is back. "And if you betray us, I'll slice your ankles and leave you for the timber wolves."

"Aileena," Caelan says indulgently, "Be nice." He gives you a firm handshake.

"That was." She says defiantly. "Mostly. You better go, Isla looks about ready to bolt." It was true. Isla was fretting with the reigns and glancing nervously at the fast setting sun, peaking out beautifully beneath the thick clouds right at the horizon.

"Good thing you're so beautiful. If you looked like Caelan here, she would have ditched you twenty shakes ago." Aileena punches him in the shoulder.

"Piss off, sis." He mutters darkly and turns back towards the town square. Aileena makes a jerking motion behind his back, grins and heads off towards her house. You make your way back to Isla, already lending a hand to get you up on the horse.

"We shouldn't have stayed so late." Isla whispers urgently. "The light's nearly gone."

It really was. You could have sworn when you started with the cleansing ritual it was midday but the fast-setting sun disagrees.

Time.

Time was moving faster.

In an instant, you knew it to be true, like a sinking in your gut. Was this a change from yesterday? You arrived at sunset last night but you couldn't judge how long you slept. You awoke groggy but considering the circumstances, you didn't think it was odd.

"Please, miss Brenna, a little haste!" Isla jolts you back to the present, as the two of you urge your horses through the town and along the surging black river.

By the time you reached the fork in the road between the keep and the wellhouse, the sun had vanished behind the low hills and casting deep shadows throughout the valley.

oooOOOOOOoooooooo! A wolfish howl echoes across the forest and already you are seeing shapes moving in the pools of darkness collecting behind every stone and tree. The bushy heather shook and rattled as the wind picks up. You pull your brown cloak tighter and give your steed the gentlest of thumps to the ribs. The horse leans their head into the wind and picks up the pace, going a steady trot.

Isla glances back at you, fingers white-knuckled on the reins, her eyes flitting this way and that - watching the skies. You follow her gaze - a few twilight bats swooping in the night but no sign of the Crith Eun. Yet.

Your cheeks are wet. How long had it been raining? Your cloak is heavy with rainwater and the horse's hooves pound on the stones.

AAAAAOOOOOooooooooo. There - clearly a wolf - much closer but still behind you. Up ahead, you see the long stone bridge and the heavy wood doors. Swirling like angry clouds, you see the tale-tale movement of the Howling Birds.

"Come on - come on!" Rain pours down your chest and back - the wool cloak proving utterly useless against the deluge as the horses clatter along the road. You tug at the reins, trying to slow your ride but the horse is driven.

"Open the doors!" Screams Isla. The guardman starts shouting but you can't hear him over the howling.

CRASH! Something big and leathery slams into you from above. You reel in your saddle, flailing wildly. Your fist connects with something, prickly fur and wet sinew. Claws scrap acros your arm, your thigh, before it tumbles away.

You hear the whistle of arrows through the air but your eyes are locked on the gates of the keep, hurting towards you.

"Open the fucking doors!" You scream. Isla is screaming now too, a cry of terror.

The gates groan, heavy twisting in the wood. Your horse rear up as you cling to their neck for dear life.

BANG! They crash into the wood, knocking the doors open in a clatter of wood and hooves.

"Woah, woah!" two guards, their polearms thrown aside, try to corrall you and Isla as your horses twist this way and that, in terror. "Easy there - easy!"

With soothing words and steady hands, they help you and Isla dismount while other men work to heave the doors back in place. Isla rushes over to you.

"Did you get bite - did they bite you?!" She demands, as you do a quick survey of the damage.

"I . . . I don't think so. Scratched my arm pretty good." Isla helps pull back the shreads of your sleeve.

"It doesn't look too deep, probably claws. Either way, miss, you should have someone look at that." She's shaking, poor thing, but her focus remains on you.

"What about you - did they get you?" You ask. She shakes her head.

"No miss, I'm unharmed." She says unconvincingly. She draws an unsteady breath. "If you don't mind, miss, after I get you to your room, I'm going to go to the baths and take a nice long soak."

She gives a laugh. "Scaring the life out of me, miss, that's what you're doing. When that bird hit you, I was sure you were going into the river. Lord help me, I'm going to be grey by spring."

Laughing together, the two of you make your way up the winding steps of the keep, down the hallway and to your room. Isla stokes the hearth fire while you peel out of your wet clothes, wrapping yourself in a thick blanket while surveying your clothing options.

The stone stairs leading down to Dr. Jerome Kerr's laboratory were narrow, cramped and uneven. Holding the candelabra up high to see the next step, you peer around the corner, the narrow hallway and low sloped wooden door.

You feet echo softly on the cool floor as you poke your head through the doorway. "Hello?" you call out, tentative.

The scene before you calls to mind a jumbled artist studio but instead of paints and canvas, someone has scattered bottles, pans, wire, half-drawn blueprints and smoldering projects.

"Brenna?" a voice calls out from deeper in the workshop.

"Is that you?" Dr. Jerome Kerr emerges, thick leather goggles pulled up onto his forehead, gently swirling a clear flask in one hand.

"Is everything okay?" He asks, concerned.

"Yes, everything is fine, I just wanted to see you . . . see your work." You stumble slightly but the blush rising in his cheeks is worth it.

"Thank you - uh . . . come in, come in!" He says waving you deeper into the mess. "You caught me right in the middle of something. In fact, you might be able to shed some light on this." You set down your candelabra and follow him to where he has gathered a table set up next to the fireplace with a pot over the heat. On the table he has several ingredients, a dark ground up powder and metal shavings. He swirls the flask in his hand a few more times and holds it up to the light.

"There! See that!" You squint at the flask. "It's impossible!" he exclaims with delight. You see little silver glints in the muddy water.

"This is iron shavings, melted down in a solution." He begins. "However, when ground up with an extract from the yellow fungus that grows on the Aspen trees here and combined, it turns into Nickel. Not all of it, but enough."

"Okay." You answer, trying to follow. "And that's impossible?"

"Nickel isn't a compound. It's not iron plus something else, it is a brand new element." He turns towards you with a big grin. "According to the basic laws of chemistry, it's impossible. It simply can't be done, unless you are splitting an atom apart. Certainly not with the equipment I have here it . . ."

". . . it's alchemy." you finish. "Turning lead into gold."

"Yes!" He exclaims. "Alchemy! We've rediscovered alchemy!" He gives a whoop of delight and gathers you up in his arms and twirls you around laughing. His hand comes away wet.

"Oh! Brenna, you're hurt!" You look down at the cuts on your arm.

"I'm sorry, I forgot. That's why I came down here originally." He begins rummaging through a pile of papers and linens. He comes back with a light linen bandage.

"I'm so sorry, what happened?" He comes close, his eyes wide and concerned as he gently holds your arm, soaks the bandage in something smelling of pine sap, and then presses it firmly to your wound.

You explain about the hair-raising ride back from the village and the daring escape from the Crith Eun.

He listens intently, tying the bandage in place with a bit of twine.

"Is it possible that time is running faster? I thought we were slower than the outside world."

He shakes his head. "That has to do with the time exchange - what you are describing has to do with the internal time of this world."

He puts the twine away and pulls up a seat. "Although, I must admit, I did not experience any time distortions myself - although I spent most of today in here manufacturing saltpeter."

"Saltpeter?" You ask. Explosives. "Ah, for the mine." you answer your own question. He nods.

"Ironically, I've used more of my chemistry experience here than experimental physics. Chemistry and biology, really. I was working on penicillin production a few days ago." He smiles wryly, his white teeth flashing. "Just the bare minimum to bring this village out of the dark ages."

He springs up, "Where are my manners? Would you like a cup of tea? I promise I won't spill it on you this time." He gives you a look, full of promise. "Or maybe something a little stronger?"

"Yes, that." You answer, poking through the nearest pile of scrawling notes, stained with drips of some dark liquid, and the charred residue on a flat metal pan. "What are you doing down here?"

He's at your side, a firm hand resting on the small of your back. He hands you a carved wooden cup filled with a dark, sweet smelling wine. You sip, a rich smooth wine that tastes of plums.

"This is good." You say, looking at the cup in amazement. "And I've had some really good wines lately, this is great!" Jerome smiles, making a fruitless effort to tidy the table in front of you, finally succeeding in creating a small spot for both your cups.

"I'm testing the rules of this universe." He answers. "All of this is me just pounding on the walls of this world and finding more and more questions." He touches your arm, softly. "If you willing, I'd love a little help."

Your heart beats loud in your ears, and you have trouble looking anywhere but those crystal blue eyes. A million words all rushed to your mouth but in a moment none of them could get out.

"Yes, I'd like that." you finally manage. He smiles and immediately begins narrating.

"You and I talked about the initial creation, yes? Once the metal was installed, I . . . etched . . ." his voice was careful and steady.

"Yes, what exactly did you . . ." you do a little pantomime.

"It's important, isn't it?" He looks for validation in your eyes. "I thought so, everything I'd heard, whispered, about this said the phrasing is important. I kept it very plain, four sentences describing the location, the place, the time." He glances over at his desk. "I have the precise wording in some of my earlier books. I was worried about a translation error, since all of it was in the language of its time, so we had an old historian at the University of Edinburgh take a look at it. We . . "

He looks down at his cup, " . . . well mostly, I. Josephine was involved of course, but I'm the one that wrote the words. I was very precise. Everything of this world 'as it was'." He takes a long sip of the wine and throws another log on the fire.

"Of course, we modified it since then - to align the timing and to alter a few things here or there but then I started noticing things. Things that were off that we didn't change."

He takes you to a pair of candles, with a brass tube suspended above them, dripping water into a beaker.

"Did you know that water here freezes at 16 degrees celsius, sorry, 33.2 degrees fahrenheit, and boils at 215 degrees? It's just ever so slightly off. ANd that's not the only one."

He takes you a whirlwind tour of his workshop. "Friction? Slightly more. Gravity? Fractionally less. Wind resistance, slightly more."

"The first year alone, I documented seventeen identifiable inconsistencies between this world and our world. It was incredible." He shakes his head.

"After all those years of schooling, to be doing something groundbreaking like this, to be working in the field and discovering new things . . . I was going to get published. I was going to write a book. But then, in year two I started to replicate my experiments, as I brought or made more and more equipment. And the results were different!"

"The boiling temperature, the rate of photosynthesis, the wind resistance. All the things I measured were off, but in the other direction. Some more, some less, but things at shifted."

"Oh no." You say. "That must have been frustrating." He grins.

"It was incredible - something we couldn't explain? That's definitely book material. But more troubling it means that this world is in flux. It is changing. The rules of the universe are still shifting."

You ponder this for a moment as he refills your cup.

"So what's your hypothesis?" You ask.

"I have several. First, that this is a brand new world and it is still cooling, like a biscuit right out of the oven. That's why everything is still a bit in flux. Is that it? That's got to be right, right?" He looks at you expectantly. You give him a non-committal noise.

"What's your other theory?" You ask.

"The other is that I screwed up. At some point in the process, the handling of the alien material or forging the well house, I did something wrong and this is all just cracks in the foundation. The world itself is falling apart." You peers at you intently. Expectantly.

"First of all, the alien material is more than just a substance. It's alive - it's conscious . . ." you reflect back on the words of Daniel Quilp from deep beneath the Black Lotus in Limehouse.

"It's like coral. If you feed it and treasure it, it grows. It yearns for guidance. You gave it a time and a place - did you specify the residents? The people of the village." He shakes his head.

"Just 'as it was'." he says.

"Perhaps that was the problem, it kept going and growing and expanding. It couldn't just stay as it was - it's alive." You smile, enjoying the moment. "And nothing alive stays still very long."

"Yes. My god. Yes!" He leaps to his desk and snatches a quill and some parchment. "Coral, adding more on its own. New pathways, new people, new rules to the universe." He pauses, looks at you with wonder.

"You have got to tell me more. Take me under your wing." He comes in close, his voice soft. "I'll be your protege."

You tilt your chin up, hands aching to hold him, to kiss him and tear his clothes to the ground. But you stand, inches from him.

"Is that what you want, Dr. Jerome Kerr, you want to be my . . . protege?" Your smile is playful as his eyes linger on your graceful neck and full body.

"No," he admits. "But I do want to cross some professional boundaries . . ." his hand, hot and firm, pulls at your hips, pressing you to him.

He leans in and captures your lips, soft and fierce at once. You moan into his mouth, as he pulls at you urgently, grinding into your body. He breaks the kiss, cradling your face in his hands and his lips are everywhere at once, your neck, your ears, your lips again.

You tug at his shirt, urgently, pulling it over his head, and throwing it away. His body is sculpted, muscular and lean. You feel his teeth on your neck as he grinds against you.

You run your hands through his jumbled dark hair.

"Fuck," you moan, reaching into his breaches to grab his throbbing cock. It's hot in your hand, and hard, and damn it, you need it inside of you.

His lips are on yours, tongues gently caressing while your hand slowly moves up and down his length, his hips moving in rhythm with your hand.

"Don't tease." He says, his hands working beneath your skirts. You shove an experiment clattering to the ground and hop up on one of the tables. You are grateful you left your undergarmets upstairs as he gently strokes your sex, already sopping wet.

"I've wanted to fuck you from the moment I saw your picture." He whispers in your ear, nibbling gently at your earlobe. His fingers find their mark, your hips rolling in time with your impending orgasm. "Seeing you, being near you. I can't take it"

He lines up his cock, and pushes himself inside you. "I need you." He presses forward, your mouth open in a deep moan, leaning back to give him the best access. He wraps his hands around your thighs and bottoms out, deep inside you.

"Ugn ugn ugn UGN!" You feel him surging, his cock twitching inside of you. He starts thrusting, fast and hard, shaking the oak table as he rails into you. You reach up and finger your clit as the sensation builds and builds. He leans in and kiss you, proud and needful.

Stars explode behind your eyes and you tear away from his lips with a gasp as the orgasm sweeps through you. You look up but he's still inside you, thrusting.

"Ah AH AH!" He moans and you feel him clench, and a gush of cum floods into you.

"Oh Brennaaaaa" he sighs, pressing himself into you, his right hand on your breast, his left steading the two of you on the table.

He slides out of you with a messy plop as you adjust your skirt and try to put your breasts back in your shirt.

"I'm sorry - that was a little fast for me." He says apologetic. "You just . . . I couldn't help myself." He looks at you, still hungry.

"No need to stop now." You reach down and stroke his sticky cock, fisting him back to hardness.

He cradles your face, laying a tender kiss on your lips even as you lewdly work his body. "Let's make a night of it." he commands. You readily agree.

"Meet you back at your room, I wouldn't want us to be spotted on the way back to mine and reported to HR." He kisses you again, with fervor, his throbbing cock pulsing in your hand "Or I could just fuck you right now." His teeth nip at your neck.

Your body is still racing, you grind against him. Finally, with some reluctance, you release his member, and try to put your clothes back in their proper place.

"See you soon Jerome." You give him your sauciest look. "Don't keep me waiting too long."

###

The padding of your feet along the stonework of the keep is barely audible above the drumbeat of rain outside. It's late, you're unsure of the time, but the howling of the wind seems to provide an every constant shuddering to the stone building. You reach your floor when you hear it again,

"AAoooOoohhhhhgghhh! Aaaooggghhhh!!!" A ragged wet cry somewhere between full-bodied cry of a large animal and the orgasmic moan at the peak of ecstasy. It wasn't the Crith Eun, this was something different. You are sure of it now.

You proceed, quietly, down the hallway, your ears attuned to the distant cries but no more rose above the din outside. You push open your wood door, throw a few logs on the simmering hearth and double-check the bolt on the window.