Scene Seventy One
In which a character turns into a cloud of bats
Charlotte was angry, angry and confused; which made her even angrier. She had gotten Johnson’s call and had immediately rushed out to help Devlin, only to find that the coordinates she had been given lead to a scorched crater in the ground, and nothing else.
She had left the statue undefended to get out here in time; didn’t that old man understand how important that was? Well of course he couldn’t, but that was hardly the point.
She had taken a room in an old village inn, staffed entirely by dirty old men, who kept leering at her unpleasantly. She almost wished that one of them would try something; she could use the exercise.
She was sitting like this, feeling sorry for herself when her phone rang. She checked the number first this time, if it was Johnson again then he could just sweat it out. But it wasn’t Johnson; it wasn’t even a number she recognised. Confused, she answered it.
Yes of course
Right, and what do you want me to do about it?
Give me one good reason why I should go do that. He should have known what he was getting himself into, hanging around that place.
Of course I still love him, what kind of question is that.
Fine, I’ll go. Who are you anyway?
Hello? Hello? Whatever.
Charlotte put her phone away. She realised, a little too late, that that conversation would have looked extremely odd to someone who only caught one side of it.
She looked around, but all the old men were leering at her the in the same way that they always did. Though she thought that the bar’s only other costumer; a Dwarf with his axe leaning against the bar, was less attentive on his drink than he had been a moment ago.
She walked outside; it was a clear sunny day, which she felt was inappropriate. I’m going into battle, she thought, I better be remembered in songs for this. She ground the sole of her shoe into the ground, closed her eyes, and was gone.
Back in the inn, the Dwarf removed his ear piece and smiled.