Spirited Away - The Game

It is on an early November morning that Messrs Calstock and Broadhurst arrive in the village of Little Barnsthorpe. It is at least an hour before sunrise and the land is swaddled in mist so thick and cold, it almost reaches into the heart and soul and freezes them with its ghostly fingers; on the sides of the road the shadows of trees loom like the vague shapes of watchful giants; ahead the path disappears into the gaping hole between two stone pillars. There is no gate or sign, but if the directions the two travelers have received are correct, this must be the location of Little Barnsthorpe's coaching inn. But behind the pillars there is only the thick curtain of the mist. A fanciful person might suggest that there is no inn at all, only the promise of it luring the unwary traveler to step forward.

It is easy to see in such a morning how the stories of witches and goblins are spawned. In a cosy gentleman's club or a well-lit dining room one might hear boorish jokes about the quality of Mr. Tubbs's equestrian skills and sense of direction, or about the fading charms of Mrs. Tubbs being no longer enough to hold her husband. One might even laugh at such jokes and shake one's head at Mr. Tubbs's inadequacies. But the fact remains - the man Mr. Tubbs is missing and here, in the mist and the silence and the cold, Mr. Tubbs becomes a more tragic figure. Whether he has been dragged screaming and afraid into another world by his allegedly fairy coachman or - equally afraid - has perished in the cold of the night after falling into a ditch, it is for Mr. Calstock and Mr. Broadhurst to discover.

The horses snort and stomp the frozen mud. Unless this is indeed a fairy road, there is warmth and nourishment ahead.

Maximilian sits back in his seat in the coach, a thick fur coat wrapped tight around his slender form. He is thin, unsuited for the cold of such a trip, and he is tired, more used to sleeping through his nights in a comfortable bed than spending them riding in a coach, every shake and judder doing its part to keep the young gentleman awake.
When Edward announces their imminent arrival at the coaching inn, Maximilian dares to lean out into the cold wind to look ahead. "I don't see anything," he declares, his voice doing its best to sound firm despite the shiver of cold in it, so it carries to the coachman's seat and his servant and friend. "Are we sure we are in the right place?"

Edward pulls the reins to bring the coach to a stop just outside the pillars threshold.
"This indeed seems to be the place, Miss Adelaide. The directions were rather clear. But... I agree, there seems to be nothing ahead..." he replies turning to his passenger.
Pulling up the travel cloak collar against the chill, he adds, "...unless the inn is hidden from sight. By supernatural means, or... by a much more mundane turn inf the road."

He turns to observe the mist beyond the pillars. "I guess there is only one way to know for sure."

"Ha!" With an energetic jolt of the reins, he pushes the horses forward, driving the coach beyond the pillars, into the mist.

"It might just be this mist," Maximilian replies. He noticed the name Edward called him and while it was expected and in the privacy of the coach, it didn't matter much, he felt slightly bothered by it. Not enough to complain about it, however. "Keep going. Either we find the inn or something else. But if you say it should be here, then I'm certain it is."

Edward drives the coach very slowly, trying to follow the road in the scarce visibility.

His keen eyes scan the thick mist for lights or any sign of the inn.

As the carriage pushes forward, the main building of the inn reluctantly emerges into view, as if the mist is embarrassed to give it up - it is not an ancient tower or a haunted ruin which would have been more fitting, but simply a house. A rather diminutive one at that, for although it has the usual two storeys, it lacks the sprawling wings of other establishments situated near busier roads. There is a sign above the door, reading The Billy Goat in fresh white paint. All the windows are dark, but under the door there is a sliver of warm light. Someone must be already up and preparing for the day.

While the sight of the inn initially looks encouraging, the dark windows worry Maximilian. "Drop me off by the door," he tells Edward when he notices the sliver of light under the door. "I will send someone out to help you with the coach while I see about a room."

Edward is relieved to see there is an inn after all.
"As you wish," he answers, then maneuvers the coach so to align the passenger door with the inn entrance to let Adelaide get off.

He looks at the small inn waking up, musing. As they begin the day's activities after a night's rest, we will need to rest after our night's travels. Kind of back-to-front... Hopefully they won't object to such an unusual requirement.

Maximilian climbs off the coach, then closes the short distance to the door and gives a firm knock to announce his presence before reaching for the handle and attempting to open the door.

The door opens into a small entrance hallway, barely wide enough to accommodate more than three gentlemen, two even if they would happen to be wearing greatcoats. Right ahead there is a staircase leading up, and another one leading down to the right - to the kitchen perhaps, and it is from there where the light is coming from. A woman is climbing up the stairs, her petticoats gathered in her left hand and an empty wooden pail in the other.

"God, Mary and Patrick be with you," she greets in the sing-song cadence of her native Ireland. "And what may you be wanting? One to bring the colour back into your cheeks for a start. And for your horses, I wager, unless you have flown on the wings of an owl, which I doubt. Cormac!" she yells back down the stairs without waiting for an answer, and her voice is like that of a sailor hailing a ship half a mile away. "Cormac O'Mara, you ill-shaped thief, a gentleman is at the door and his fine horses be biting their golden bridles to be let inside as we speak!"

"My servant is outside with the coach. Some assistance with that would be appreciated," Maximilian confirms. "Something to eat would be nice as well, preferably hot. And a room with a fire. Two, better. We've been riding through the night and could use some rest and warmth."

"Up you go then," the woman ushers Maximillian up the stairs; once on the second landing they can feel by the air that they are in a larger place, probably the public room. Warning them to "watch your steps now", the landlady guides them to a chair. "Sit here now and wait for me to fetch us a candle. Ol' Fiona knows those stairs as the back of me da's hand, but your lordship can't be going stumbling in the dark now, can you." And she trundles back down the stairs. If there are any other guests at the inn it is very unlikely that they are still sleeping, but nothing stirs upstairs. It could be why the woman is so inconsiderate about her noise - or maybe she simply does not care.

---

Having exited the inn from a back door, the man the landlady had called Cormac O'Mara walks around the house to meet Edward. He is a big man and sways as he walks, like one whose joints are still creaking from the night's rest. He has hastily dressed himself, and only partially - despite the cold, which doesn't appear to be bothering him, he is only in his shirtsleeves. In his hand he is carrying a lantern and waves it around, indicating the manservant should follow.

"This way," he says without introducing himself and waddles further into the yard where the stables presumably are.

"Thank you," Maximilian replies politely. "And do watch your step." Once he hears the footsteps retreating back down the stairs, the young man gets up and begins exploring the room. Not that that is very easy given the darkness, but he tries to feel along the wall for doors and to open them, just to get an idea of the place. Fiona could hardly have a problem with that, right?

Edward has been busy detaching the two horses, Endymion and Selene from the coach. He now holds them by their bridles and follows the inn man. "Thank you. They could do with a shelter on their heads and hay in their stomachs."
And so could I, he thinks. Well, something better than hay, hopefully...

"Not an easy place to find, this inn. Even without this mist, I mean... No sign at the pillars, we could only find it following someone's directions. Do you get many guests, this time of year?"

Feeling their way around, Maximillian finds that they are indeed in a big hall - taking up most of the first storey of the building, if not all of it. Carefully navigating in the darkness, they encounter tables and chairs, rough and sturdy to the touch. There is also a cold fireplace, some coat stands and a heavy curtain, probably used to separate the room in two, should a company require some privacy from the other guests. Before Maximillian could explore any further, Fiona appears with a candle in a brass holder.

"Trying to break your neck, are you?" she scolds her young gest but without any real anger. "Did I not tell you that I'll be bringing a candle? Here, sit down, why don't you. If God be willing that you have patience, I'll bring you something hot to warm up your bones. Rooms are upstairs, but no fire yet."

---

"Not exactly a market town now, is it. Post passes, but they drink and shit and change their horses quick as you like. But we do as much as we can. Did the new sign meself, I did, didn't you see it? Above the door, like? I'll do one for the gate as well, when we gets the new gate. Which might be never, mind you. Fiona says, Cormac, don't you be spending money before we get the new lease with the big man at the house! And he's gone now, and his poor lady wife all demented with grief, no doubt. Here, to be sure your beasts will be as happy as can be!"

The man helps Edward bring the horses into an empty box where there's hay and water and fresh straw. The next box is occupied - as the men and the animals come in, they are greeted by sounds of excitement and two curious heads extend on long necks to inspect the newcomers. Cormac addresses them affectionately in Irish and pats and scratches their soft muzzles, and the horses push and nip at each other, jealous of the man's attention.

"You two behave now, don't be making me blush in front of the guests," he adds in English. "Soon there will be breakfast, praise be to God."

"I've been sitting this whole time during the coach ride," Maximilian explains. "I need to be on my feet for a bit or I will go mad." He thanks her for the candle, then says, "I would appreciate a hot meal for myself and Mr. Broadhurst. He is currently outside with the horses still, but I'm certain he will be hungry as well. And if you could start a fire in our rooms." He then waits until she's turned around and started leaving again before he says, "I was supposed to give my regards to a friend of my father's, a Mr. Tubbs. I believe he lives around here?"

"Yes, the door sign. Fine bit of craftsmanship that, Mr Cormac," he says trying to flatter the man.

"Oh I see... The owner of the land must have recently passed away, then? Sorry to hear that... Must be tough for his widow. A sudden thing, was it?"

"Our horses will be just fine here, you have our thanks. And in fine company too, looks like!" he pats one of the other horaes' head. "These are handsome fellows..."

Fiona turns and looks at her young guest with some surprise, as if Maximillian had just asked her to send their regards to the Queen of Thebes.

"Mr. Tubbs, is it? Well, news travels slow, to be sure; or it has passed you by as you've been travelling in the opposite direction. There is no Mr. Tubbs to receive your dear father's kind regards, poor thing. No one in the village has seen him for the best part of the week now, and that changeling coachman of his neither, and you don't have to tell me what that means. It is as clear as if it was written in the Bible, like."

---

"Passed away? No!" Cormac shakes his head and then leans closer to Edward and whispers, as if to spare the horses' sensitive disposition from the shock of what he is about to divulge: "Taken!" Having said that he moves away once more and nods, fixing Edward with a gaze full of significance, as if to say "You know what I mean".

---

Fiona Coleman and Cormac O'Mara might be savouring the sharing of their shocking news with their new guests, but it comes as no great surprise to Maximilian and Edward. It only confirms Mr. Norrell's fears which have brought them to this remote village in the first place.

"I have debated long and hard whether your involvement would be necessary or indeed wise," Mr. Norrell had written in his infuriatingly small handwriting. "It might be interpreted as me giving credibility to rumours that should instead be dismissed without notice; yet Childermass assures me..." It is a long-winded letter, of the kind that Mr. Norrell's agents have become quite used to. It stresses the importance of preserving Mr. Norrell's respectability and reputation, the greatness of his work and the magnitude of his cause for the restoration of English magic. Out of the pages and pages of dreary self-important monologues, Edward and Maximilian have managed to glean the actual purpose of their assignment - a wealthy landowner by the name of Tubbs has disappeared and a rumour has started to circulate that he has been abducted by a malevolent fairy disguised as a coachman. To Mr. Norrell's knowledge no one has even attempted to verify whether Mr. Tubbs has actually disappeared, passed away, or if he is simply ill and keeping to his bed. The keepers of The Billy Goat inn seem to be stout supporters of the most sensational of the hypothesis, but it falls to Edward and Maximilian to get to the bottom of it.

"Nobody has seen him?" Maximilian asks, feigning surprise at these news. "I do hope nothing has happened to him. Has someone tried to check on him at his home? Perhaps he has fallen sick. A week is not a very long time for someone to not show their face." He tilts his head in an approximation of confusion. "But what was that about his coachman? Is he remarkable in some way, to have his absence noticed? And what was it you called him?"

Edward gives Cormac a grave nod, signaling that he considers the implication that the man is suggesting as a very serious matter.

Taking his leave with thanks, he then leaves the stables and enters the inn to regroup with Miss Adelaide/Maximilian.