The Grimm Dossier

Chapter 19 - The Deathbed

West Coast
Devonshire, Dartmoor
St George, St George's churchyard
5 November 1898, 01:56 hrs.

"I thought you were in the army? Can't this go a bit faster?" asked Kyle impatiently as if unrepentant, "At this rate, it'll take us till sunrise."

"I hate you." retorted Dr Archer sourly.

Unlike Crowford, who was strolling around the edge of the grave with nothing to contribute but needless comments, he was standing in dirt up to his waist. Sweat caked the strands of his hair, which kept falling in his face, reminding him that a lord's hairdo was not meant for digging holes in the middle of the night. His clothes bristled with mud and damp earth.

"I can't believe we're doing this." he kept muttering, more to himself than to his colleague, "How did I let you talk me into this..." he added, shaking his head. A drop of sweat flowed down his temple and caught him in the shadow of his beard. With an audible gasp, he pressed the spade again into the soft earth, which looked night-black in the low light. It gave way under his pressure and a new cartload landed on a growing pile. Small, lighter stones flashed out from between the dark accumulations like stars in the sky above them. That night was clear, only a few clouds drifted away in thin streaks across the firmament, blotting the silky blue night band. Bright, silvery-white light from the full moon gave them enough brightness, fortunately, for a lantern might have given them away.

"You should complain less and dig faster Benjamin," said Kyle nonchalantly, glancing at the hole that had grown considerably in depth by now. Calling Dr Archer by his first name still felt strange, even though they were pretending to be friends for the second day now. It wiped away a boundary he wanted to maintain strictly. But if it was necessary for the job, so be it. When they were back, he would call him by his last name again with relish.

"If you would help me, it would go faster." Dr Archer meanwhile returned unusually pointedly and glanced over his shoulder at Kyle.

His attention, however, was already back on the darkness of the night. Kyle was on the lookout for stirrings, shadows or perhaps a prancing flame from a lamp that should have caused them to flee quickly. "I'll keep watch. We don't want to get caught, do we?" he, therefore, said back and then raised his arm to indicate his upper arm. "Besides, I would be of little help. My talents lie... elsewhere." he pointed out, revealing a half-moon of bright teeth as he grinned, before shifting his gaze away from Archer again and onto the surroundings.

Billowing wisps of mist groped out of the forest below the hill, creeping around like ghosts and spreading their shawls over the meadows and peat fields. They veiled the view into the distance, yet precisely by doing so also offered them a cloak for the ungodly deed they perpetrated between forever closed eyes of long-silenced witnesses. Only the empty gazes of two angelic statuettes of nearby tombs stared reproachfully in their direction.

It seemed that at least the slender mage would not be irritated by this. But his calm was deceptive. Kyle's limbs were tense and that he paced around the ever-deepening grave was not so much due to boredom or lack of respect for Dr Archer's work. It was his valve, that overflowing pressure had to be discharged elsewhere. Cool breezes brushed his skin, settling like damp breath on the back of his neck, making the gentle gusts of wind tickle more frostily. Kyle felt his heart beating. A restless rhythm that joined the sounds of recurring shovel blasts that rang out from the pit.