The Grimm Dossier

Chapter 9 - The Quiet Heart

West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St George, Skirrid Inn
3 November 1898, 10:08 p.m.

Thanks to Dr. Archer's curt manner and Kyle's dull headache, as well as the exhaustion of the journey, they had not stayed long in the parlor with the constable. After drinks and a little evening fortification in the form of spicy-smelling herb bread and a platter of sausage and cheese, they had therefore finally followed Elly upstairs.

The rooms they were given were... nice. Nice in the sense that neither Kyle nor Dr. Archer expected rooms like in the Savoy Hotel. However, they had hoped for a few more amenities than were offered in one of the rat holes on the docks. The rooms fulfilled this expectation, but one could not even begin to speak of comfort. The small rooms were sparsely furnished and old-fashioned. Rural, Dr. Archer would have remarked. Rustic, Kyle would have commented.

About half an hour after Elly had said goodbye, there was a knock on Dr. Archer's door and Kyle stood at the wooden door, already bleached by many years. In his hand, he carried the smaller briefcase that had been his special concern during the trip. The younger Seeker had discarded the heavy woolen coat and his walking stick, otherwise, he was still smartly and uncomfortably dressed as before. Dr. Archer, on the other hand, had shed both his jacket and waistcoat and received the other Seeker casually in his shirt. He let Kyle enter, then closed the door behind him. Kyle had stopped behind it for a moment and was looking at the doctor's room.

The room, just like his, had only one window facing the backyard. There had either been no time to clean it properly, or it had been deemed adequate as it was. A grey breath of dust floated in the little light from the oil lamp that fell on the floorboards. The curtains were thick and smelled as heavy with dried lavender as the rest of the room. On the floor was a worn carpet whose colors had almost completely faded. Threads were already coming loose from the fabric and scattering with little woolly mice in the corners. A bed with a tiny bedside table stood against one wall, a washstand with a bowl, and a low chair in another. A small dresser with an already partially blinded mirror adorned the other side of the room, right next to a small stove with a fire crackling softly in its maw. One looked in vain for a wardrobe or any other amenities such as further seating. In his room, Kyle had meanwhile opened the window to let in some night air, hoping the stale smell there would give way.

After the door slammed shut, the doctor approached him. "Has something happened?" For lack of better options, he gestured him to the only chair that stood next to the washstand. Kyle shook his head in denial and a few strands of dark hair fell over his eyes. 

"No, not that. The find in the woods is just driving me crazy." His head throbbed. A throbbing stab that kept pressing behind his eyes and against the wall of his skull from the inside. He longed for sleep and rest. Ever since he was very young, he lay awake all night when something was bothering him. No matter how much he fretted about it, in the end, his thoughts kept searching and searching for solutions. Sometimes even in the restless dreams that usually followed such evenings. "We don't know what we are dealing with here. If you don't find any disease or other cause of death on the bird, maybe it's dark magic."

The blue eyes clung to the dresser with the mirror that Dr. Archer had cleared. His doctor's bag stood next to it, revealing all sorts of medical paraphernalia. A leather folder had been placed on the surface and unrolled. In it gleamed various silver tools, scalpels, and smaller forceps. The bird lay on the spread cloth as if on a deathbed.