by C. Litka
Chapter 6: Wednesday 26 June
01
The storm tapered off in the early hours of Monday and the day dawned cold, damp, gloomy and reassuringly mundane. It rained on and off the whole day, and indeed, for the next three days. Except for some brief walks in the evening dodging showers, I stayed inside and worked from breakfast to late into the night.
I spent most of Monday... Well, I'll spare going into the tedious details, suffice to say that as much as I want to get this project behind me, I realized that I needed to establish a comprehensive procedure to manage the work. So I assigned each of the sorted printed pages a tentative page number, enhanced the photos and set up my digital document so that it would display two pages, the photo of the page along with my typed transcription, a task that took me nearly to tea time.
Guy stopped by late in the afternoon to remind me that Tuesday was market day in Strayfeller, and offered the same arrangements with the Rover as had been with the Ordmoor market. The bread was getting stale, but it looked to be nearly an hour's ride to Strayfeller, so I said it'd depend on the weather. I'd provisions for several days yet.
I took a walk in the gloomy twilight along Maig River and down and along to the tree lined bank of the Lonon. I saw no one. I was quite lonely. When I returned to the cottage I decided that it had become so dank and damp that I brought some dry wood in from the back porch and spent half an hour building a dancing and crackling fire in the soapstone stove to drive the chill, dampness and loneliness out of the cottage.
02
Tuesday, more of the same, cold and wet. Restless and unwilling to starve, I made a dash to Strayfeller for fresh bread and the other items the co-op did not provide, setting out just after 8:00. Low clouds and scattered showers swept over the hills and across the fields, alternating between rain, mist, and just about to rain or mist the whole ride. I was damp, but warm by the time I arrived, and finished my shopping along the long high street of Strayfeller before the estate Rover arrived. The market was much like the Ordmoor affair, a straggling collection of livestock and soggy booths set up along the long high street. I didn't linger. I deposited my provisions in the Rover, filled my thermos with hot tea and stopped at a public Wi-Fi hot spot to download my messages and info-sites and then headed home.
I fired up the stove on my return, took a brief hot shower (solar heated – not much heat) and then put in two hours of typing before Guy dropped off my groceries. Made lunch with the slightly soggy fresh baked bread.
I'd just finished eating when I heard some banging and scratching at the front screen door. Opening the inside door, I found Willie and Watt their noses up against the screen. I absently opened the screen door to see if they were alone (they were) and they bounded in. They pranced about, apparently overjoyed to see me, checked out what was on the kitchen counter and when, after a few minutes, their initial excitement died down they curled up by the warm stove and fell asleep, leaving only the aroma of wet dog to keep me company. They may not have been much company, but better than none, so I left them to nap while I returned to my work. Around 4:00 they woke up, stretched, and bothered me, all the while staring at the kitchen counter. I had no intention of feeding the estate hounds, and told them so. When they decided I wasn't joking they headed for the door, barked 'good-bye' and bounded up the lane as I let them out. I worked deep into the evening, with only an hour break to walk along the river in the twilight to clear my head and stretch my sore back. It was late when I dragged the club chair close to the stove and pulling out my watson, read and responded to my downloaded messages and browsed the info-net sites until I couldn't keep my eyes open.
03
It was still cold and dreary today, Wednesday, so I once again fired up the stove. Willie and Watt turned up after breakfast, damp, smelly, and content just to lounge around the warm stove all morning while I worked. They went out a couple of times, and for all I know, went home for lunch, but always returned. Late in the afternoon they picked up their ears, ran to the door and barked so I got up to let them out. As they shot out of the door, I saw Lady Flora striding down the lane calling them. I'd all but forgotten about the residents of the big houses – the weather had kept them away from this end of the estate all week.
'Willie, Watt! What are you doing in there?' she demanded as they frisked around her.
'You dog napper!' She exclaimed, spying me in the door.
I stepped out. 'Good afternoon, Lady Flora. The hounds have been my guests these past several days. Apparently they don't like being shoved out in the cold and rainy world. Or perhaps they simply prefer the company of a quiet gentleman to that of a...'
'A what, Mr Say?' she asked, walking up to me with a dangerous scowl on her face, that, thankfully was not reflected in her eyes.
'To that of a beautiful woman,' I said.
She smiled sweetly. 'You were on thin ice there, mister.'
'But I kept my wits about me.'
'Indeed you did. However, I suspect what Willie and Watt really prefer is the company of a warm stove to that of a quiet gentleman, or you.'
'My stove does seem to be the main attraction.'
'I believe cook lets them lay about in the kitchen when the family's not around and they miss that. We rather frown on smelly dogs lounging about our rooms. I suppose their attitude must be “any port in a storm” and you're it.'
'Well, they're welcome. Enjoy their company. It's been rather quiet– at least during the week – on this end of the estate,’ I said. 'I suppose the weather's kept everyone indoors all week. Your father must have ordered it up special...'
'It would seem that way. We've been mostly confined to quarters, playing games and reading these last several days, but it should improve from here on out and father's bringing up a whole gaggle of business associates and wives up this weekend, so it will be lively enough starting Friday night. You'll need to remain well under wraps.'
'I really should just go away for the weekends to be on the safe side. But I'm anxious to get this project done and being forced to stay out of sight is a good incentive.'
'Anxious to leave us? Have you found the keys to the gate of faery land already?' she asked lightly.
'Not yet, and I don't want to either. Last Sunday night I did see a train of moving lights in the hills across the river, which I suppose are what the locals are referring to when they talk of the Riders. That's enough for me. Is that a common phenomenon?'
'The Riders? You seem well versed in the local folklore.'
'Hardly folklore since I saw them with my own eyes. More like local gossip. Are they seen that often, or was I just lucky?'
She shrugged and said with a secret smile, 'They're rather uncommon. Depends on the solar activity and the local weather conditions. In the quiet years they're hardly ever about. But with all these solar storms this year, I'm not surprised you've seen them already. The solar storms open the Rhymer's Gate, you know,' she added dramatically.
'Right. What are they really? I mean besides riders of the Seelie Court. Ball lightning perhaps?' I asked.
'Oh, you can take your pick of the various theories,' she said, adding with another secret grin, 'But no one, well no one reliable, seems to have made a scientific study of the phenomena to offer proof one way or another. Perhaps I should talk to father about adding that to your assignment. However, the Riders are one of our pet mysteries, a tourist attraction, so they might be better left a mystery.'
'Well, they can remain your tourist attraction. I observed them as close as I cared to from my bench right here. Besides, I've too much other work to do.'
'Then I'd best leave you to it. Come along you fellows,' this last to the dogs.
'Thanks for stopping to chat,' I said as she turned away.
'My pleasure, Say,' she called back without looking.
I finished transcribing the printed part of the pages after tea without a coherent idea of what TTR was aiming at. Either there's a lot of missing pages or the gaping holes in his argu
ments are filled in his hand written notes which I've yet to tackle. Given how many times I've come across crossed out sections with the scrawled Wrong!!! alongside, I suspect the key will be found in his scribbled notes and corrections. Still, I don't have to understand anything. Just transcribe it.
I went for my walk and then picked up one of the ancient gaudy covered novels from the shelf and read until after midnight.
