By the time I had returned, Joe had completed bandaging my sister and put her to bed, where she lay very ill. Her sight was disturbed, having been clawed across the face; her hearing was greatly impaired; her memory also; and her speech was unintelligible. When, at last, she came round so far as to be helped down-stairs, it was still necessary to keep a slate always by her, that she might indicate in writing what she could not indicate in speech.
However, her temper was greatly improved, and she was patient. A tremulous uncertainty of the action of all her limbs soon became a part of her regular state. We were at a loss to find a suitable attendant for her, until a circumstance happened conveniently to relieve us. Not two weeks after the attack, Mr. Wopsle's great-aunt conquered a confirmed habit of living into which she had fallen, and Biddy became a part of our establishment.
Biddy's first triumph was to solve a difficulty that had completely vanquished me. I had tried hard at it, but had made nothing of it. Thus it was:
Again and again and again, my sister had traced upon the slate, a character that looked like a curious T, and then with the utmost eagerness had called our attention to it as something she particularly wanted. I had in vain tried everything producible that began with a T, from tar to toast and tub. At length it had come into my head that the sign looked like a hammer, and on my lustily calling that word in my sister's ear, she had begun to hammer on the table and had expressed a qualified assent. Thereupon, I had brought in all our hammers, one after another, but without avail.
When my sister found that Biddy was very quick to understand her, this mysterious sign reappeared on the slate. Biddy looked thoughtfully at it, heard my explanation, looked thoughtfully at my sister, looked thoughtfully at Joe (who was always represented on the slate by his initial letter), and ran into the forge, followed by Joe and me.
"Why, of course!" cried Biddy, with an exultant face. "Don't you see? It's him!"
Orlick, without a doubt! She had lost his name, and could only signify him by his hammer. We told him why we wanted him to come into the kitchen, and he slowly laid down his hammer, wiped his brow with his arm, took another wipe at it with his apron, and came slouching out, with a curious loose vagabond bend in the knees that strongly distinguished him.
I confess that I expected to see my sister denounce him, and that I was disappointed by the different result. She manifested the greatest anxiety to be on good terms with him, was evidently much pleased by his being at length produced, and motioned that she would have him given something to drink. She watched his countenance as if she were particularly wishful to be assured that he took kindly to his reception, she showed every possible desire to conciliate him, and there was an air of humble propitiation in all she did, such as I have seen pervade the bearing of a child towards a hard master. After that day, a day rarely passed without her drawing the hammer on her slate, and without Orlick's slouching in and standing doggedly before her, as if he knew no more than I did what to make of it.
Chapter 16, Part 1
Joe had spent a sleepless night across town assisting a gang of Brutal Hunters. They had kept their weapons in poor repair, and had required Joe’s services throughout the entire Hunt. When Joe returned home the next morning at five minutes before seven, he found Mrs. Joe on the floor, and promptly called in assistance. As modesty dictated, the surgeon asked that Joe inspect the body of his wife for bite marks.
Had she been bitten and survived, the Howl Beast’s curse would have spread to her. It was, long ago, mandated that those who were bitten could not simply be executed, for they had yet committed no crime. Yet, since the public called for protection, those pitiable souls were carried away to the Hulks. They spent the remainder of their lives aboard those great floating cages, and once each month, the full moon transformed these innocents into the monsters that made them. Still, as I had learned at such a young age, they did not always remain bound, and sometimes escaped to terrorize the country.
As it happened, Joe reported no fang marks on Mrs. Joe. Her injuries were great indeed, but it seemed she had escaped the dreadful prospect of a cursed life. Seeing as this revelation extinguished any interest the community may have had in Mrs. Joe’s condition, and as Joe had not the money to pay the surgeon’s fees, the surgeon and onlookers were politely shuffled out. Joe tended to my sister’s wounds as best he could, while I commenced to put house into order.
It was not long before we heard the familiar clank outside our door. Two Brutal Hunters had appeared to interrogate us regarding the attack. Such “detective” work was the other facet of the Hunters’ trade. No one, to my knowledge, had ever requested that they adopt this role, and it seemed to come about as a result of their boredom alone, for their Hunts could only be carried out one night a month. They did not appear to regard highly the deductive aspect of this investigating, but did relish openly harassing townspeople and accusing them of being Howl Beasts.
Accordingly, there was a good deal of shoving, prodding, and finger-pointing; I suspect there would have been a great deal more had Joe not been present. At first it was not even clear why they were questioning me.
“You look like you’s got plenny ‘xperience with Howlers, boy. Too much.”
“And what could you mean by that?” I stammered.
“Mister Orlick says you’s gone all last night. You best tell us where you was.”
Mister! I almost laughed - that despicable rake! “I spent the evening up-town,” said I, “And why don’t you question Mister Orlick on his whereabouts as well?”
“Blaming the accuser,” one of them sneered, “oldest trick I seen. Well, just so’s you know, Mr. Orlick spent the night at the Jolly Hunter. Barkeep says he was there past closing and got hisself a room. An’ we know Joe here was ‘elping with the Hunt. Only one we don’t know about’s you.”
I could see that the matter would not be settled until my alibi received verification. So, the Hunters marched me through the town to Pumblechook’s, where I had the displeasure of having to ask for that imbecile’s saving grace a second time. How he enjoyed tormenting me:
“How should I know if the boy was here all of last night?” he asked with mock concern. “Did he appear at my door like a beggar? Yes. Did I grant him lodging out of the kindness of my heart? Yes again. And was he here in the morning? I seem to recall that it was so.”
One of Hunters scratched his oversized head and began to plod through a sentence: “But what if,” he said as if struggling to solve puzzle with but one piece, “he done snucked out at night, turned Howler, an’ then he come back.”
“Absurd!” I exclaimed and shot Pumblechook a hot look.
“Hm. An interesting theory Master Hunter,” said Pumblechook with a wide grin. I feared he would persist with this game, but thankfully he had enough anguish from me to repay his previous generosity, so he slapped me on the back, and told the Hunters that I had in fact been at his home the entire night, as evidenced by my possibly drunken snoring. As the word of an honorable corn-chandler was worth more than that of a blacksmith’s apprentice, the two Hunters let me go, with but a stiff grunt for my trouble.
Had she been bitten and survived, the Howl Beast’s curse would have spread to her. It was, long ago, mandated that those who were bitten could not simply be executed, for they had yet committed no crime. Yet, since the public called for protection, those pitiable souls were carried away to the Hulks. They spent the remainder of their lives aboard those great floating cages, and once each month, the full moon transformed these innocents into the monsters that made them. Still, as I had learned at such a young age, they did not always remain bound, and sometimes escaped to terrorize the country.
As it happened, Joe reported no fang marks on Mrs. Joe. Her injuries were great indeed, but it seemed she had escaped the dreadful prospect of a cursed life. Seeing as this revelation extinguished any interest the community may have had in Mrs. Joe’s condition, and as Joe had not the money to pay the surgeon’s fees, the surgeon and onlookers were politely shuffled out. Joe tended to my sister’s wounds as best he could, while I commenced to put house into order.
It was not long before we heard the familiar clank outside our door. Two Brutal Hunters had appeared to interrogate us regarding the attack. Such “detective” work was the other facet of the Hunters’ trade. No one, to my knowledge, had ever requested that they adopt this role, and it seemed to come about as a result of their boredom alone, for their Hunts could only be carried out one night a month. They did not appear to regard highly the deductive aspect of this investigating, but did relish openly harassing townspeople and accusing them of being Howl Beasts.
Accordingly, there was a good deal of shoving, prodding, and finger-pointing; I suspect there would have been a great deal more had Joe not been present. At first it was not even clear why they were questioning me.
“You look like you’s got plenny ‘xperience with Howlers, boy. Too much.”
“And what could you mean by that?” I stammered.
“Mister Orlick says you’s gone all last night. You best tell us where you was.”
Mister! I almost laughed - that despicable rake! “I spent the evening up-town,” said I, “And why don’t you question Mister Orlick on his whereabouts as well?”
“Blaming the accuser,” one of them sneered, “oldest trick I seen. Well, just so’s you know, Mr. Orlick spent the night at the Jolly Hunter. Barkeep says he was there past closing and got hisself a room. An’ we know Joe here was ‘elping with the Hunt. Only one we don’t know about’s you.”
I could see that the matter would not be settled until my alibi received verification. So, the Hunters marched me through the town to Pumblechook’s, where I had the displeasure of having to ask for that imbecile’s saving grace a second time. How he enjoyed tormenting me:
“How should I know if the boy was here all of last night?” he asked with mock concern. “Did he appear at my door like a beggar? Yes. Did I grant him lodging out of the kindness of my heart? Yes again. And was he here in the morning? I seem to recall that it was so.”
One of Hunters scratched his oversized head and began to plod through a sentence: “But what if,” he said as if struggling to solve puzzle with but one piece, “he done snucked out at night, turned Howler, an’ then he come back.”
“Absurd!” I exclaimed and shot Pumblechook a hot look.
“Hm. An interesting theory Master Hunter,” said Pumblechook with a wide grin. I feared he would persist with this game, but thankfully he had enough anguish from me to repay his previous generosity, so he slapped me on the back, and told the Hunters that I had in fact been at his home the entire night, as evidenced by my possibly drunken snoring. As the word of an honorable corn-chandler was worth more than that of a blacksmith’s apprentice, the two Hunters let me go, with but a stiff grunt for my trouble.
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