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 Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2011 5:47 pm
Shepherd the Sick
A PRP featuring Coyotl Coyotl, and his Plague, Lucky, and Wickwright Finch and his Plague, Hopkin, in Gadu on March the 23rd, 1411. The time is early morning, and the weather is clear and bright, although smoke and unrest are tangible in the city air.
---------------------------------------------------------------------- Der Pestdoktor Wickwright Finch, esteemed member of the elusive Jawbone Society-- we've come in contact with some of the more philosophical members of the Council and they have fit you as a man of wisdom. It is our utmost honor to admit you into the Council, and we sincerely thank you for your interest during a time where we are indeed in need of more intellectual and clever men of thought such as yourself.
As you might already know, the Black Death is ravaging the inner confines of Imisus at a pace we cannot even fathom to calculate correctly. The Council has made it its solemn vow to find a cure as quickly as possible, but for now the best course of action has been to sanction the ill off into more isolated parts of Panymium. We have made sure to give you a pair of talented guides as well as a group of about 120 ill men and women that need help getting to their sanctuary a few hundred kilometres from Easton. We have provided you with seven caravans that have housed these men and women, and an ample amount of tools and Shillings for your journey.
Please be sure to protect yourself from the illness. We trust you will be a good guide to these diseased folks. Upon your return to the Council headquarters, Dr. Kirkaldy's assistants will be sure to merit you as an officiate of the Council.
Best of luck.
They arrived at Gadu so late it was morning, the sun peeking over the horizon to reveal the toll the riots had taken in the city. It was still quiet now, in the brief ceasefire period that was not quite night and not quite morning, but there was an acrid smell in the air and a bad feeling in Wickwright's stomach. The sooner they met their group, the better. He would have liked to have time to rest, but Gadu was not the place to stop for long. Leaving the wagon on the outskirts of town, sheltered out of sight, he took Hopkin, and looked at Coyotl. "Will you come, or stay behind?" he asked as he began the process of locking up the window and entrances and hiding Tristram the ox. "Safer in the wagon, I imagine, but the sooner we find our rendezvous, the better." In the predawn light, things seemed deceptively quiet, no other company but the crows that had been hanging over them since that first day he ran into Coyotl, cawing incessantly.
Hopkin peered out of the hole in the book bag at the city, seeing the capital for the first time, and utterly terrified about the whole experience. "Wickwright, will we be safe?" he asked from the bag, sounding apprehensive. "The crows are going to follow us, aren't they?"
Wickwright stared at the sky, biting his lip. "We'll just have to be quick and hope nothing stirs, Hopkin. It won't be the first time that a Finch man's had to make a run for it." Damn and blast that Didericus Fleck. Couldn't he have pleaded for a less dangerous mission?
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Posted: Tue Apr 05, 2011 12:20 am
Coyotl had found himself growing drowsy on the way to Gadu, and had nearly nodded off in the wagon several times, but as they neared the city, he forced himself to stay awake. Accompanying Wickwright on his assignment from the Council of Sciences would require him to be on his toes, especially in an area as dangerous as Gadu currently was. The cool morning air helped to keep him alert as they came to the outskirts of the city-- not least because of the smell it carried, one he was all too familiar with by now.
Once the wagon came to a stop, he stood, wanting to move about and loosen his joints up as best he could. "There's safety in numbers," he answered Wickwright, ignoring the thrill of anxiety that rang through him at the thought of venturing further into the city. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he would rather have stayed behind, especially considering the nature of their journey, but the possibility of someone or something attacking him while he was alone was enough to make him reconsider. The rasping cries of the crows overhead were all the reminder he needed that no place was really safe for long, especially when remaining in one spot. Better to stay in a group, even one as small and motley as they were, than to split up and decrease the chances of their survival even further.
The possibility of leaving behind the jar containing his koi had not even occurred to Coyotl for an instant. As he shrugged his arms through the makeshift harness that held it fast to his back, he tried not to think about how much its weight might slow him down should they be required to make a run for it, as Wickwright seemed to suggest they might. Leaving the fish behind was simply not an option. Worrying would do no one any good, and if it came down to it, he was still fairly fleet on his feet even with the jar's added weight.
He wasn't able to stretch as well as he would like after stepping outside the wagon, with the heavy pot on his back, but simply being out in the open air did some good for his stiff muscles. "No sense wasting time," he said, his voice low, as if he expected that someone was listening for the sound of their arrival. "Where are we headed?"
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Posted: Tue Apr 05, 2011 9:17 am
"The trade gates," Wickwright explained, "From there we'll go and pick up the wagon again, I don't want it too near a main entrance to the capital." His voice was hushed too, after all the rumours of the goings-on in Gadu, hovering over them like a third member of their pathetic party.
He looked up the gates of the city and shook his head, striding to the smaller entrance they had hid the wagon a good distance away from. Inside, the city seemed to be in even more disrepair, and Wickwright tripped for a moment on some rubble before righting himself, causing Hopkin to peer out of the bag and see what was amiss. The Plague's nerves were also on edge, and the dratted crows didn't help. They cawed overhead as they followed Wickwright in, signal beacons alerting truth-knew-what about who he was and where he was. Grumbling, Wickwright picked up the piece of debris he had tripped over and threw it at one futilely. "Dratted things," he muttered. Sticking his head back outside, he signaled to Coyotl that it was safe.
"Let no one know why we're here," he suggested. "We aren't Scientists, so as long as no one suspects we're affiliated with them, we may be able to get in and out of Gadu unimpeded. The chaos may not be quite so bad that civilians would attack civilians based on suspicion alone."
Would that it were that simple. Wickwright hadn't realized it yet, but they were not alone, and their tails weren't concerned with whether or not he was a Scientist.
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Posted: Tue Apr 05, 2011 2:59 pm
"You don't need to tell me twice," Coyotl assured Wickwright, following after him with a glance over his shoulder. He hoped the older man was right about their chances of entering and leaving safely. As hectic as things had been in Gadu especially, though, he couldn't convince himself that they might not be attacked or injured regardless of their perceived affiliation. At least they weren't attempting to enter through the main entrance of the city; the trade gates might offer them some small measure of comparative safety.
The still of the place felt deeply wrong. Coyotl almost- almost- wished that they'd arrived at a more chaotic time, with throngs of people lining the streets and the shouting of the angered masses filling the air. It seemed almost a more low-profile way to travel; they might simply be able to blend in with the crowd, dodging the violence to reach their destination. Right now, as quiet as Gadu was, he felt incredibly conspicuous, as if every breath drawn or scuff of their feet would echo for miles. Of course, to get into the city while the riots were going at full force would be one thing, but leaving again would be another, and not a feat he was confident they'd have been able to manage.
Rather than dwell on those possibilities, Coyotl was preoccupied with watching their surroundings very closely as they moved, his brows furrowing together apprehensively. It might have been simply his nerves, but the feeling that they were being watched grew with every step, and every flicker of movement he caught out of the corner of his eye set him further on edge. He swore very quietly under his breath, prompted by nothing in particular, and skirted an upturned hand-cart that had been shattered beyond repair.
"Spooky, rotten place," he muttered. It was a stupid and pointless thing to say, but as skittish as he was, it was the only thing he could think of, and if he didn't break the tension somehow, Coyotl felt he might explode with his own nervousness.
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Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 12:04 am
Wickwright flashed Coyotl a humourless smirk. "You shouldn't talk about our proud capital in such a way," he retorted, sidestepping a broken cart. At least it wasn't raining. Although rain might have been better for keeping rioters indoors, Wickwright was too old for it, even precipitation of a strategically advantageous nature.
In his bag, Hopkin rustled nervously, and he patted it absentmindedly until the little Plague soothed. "We're not too far away," he mentioned aloud, half to Coyotl, but mostly to himself. Wickwright was used to speaking to himself, and especially in times of trouble, Finch men had issues with keeping quiet. "The good thing about a caravan of one hundred and twenty sick is it won't be hard for us to spot, either." Of course, it wouldn't be hard for others to spot, in that vein. Hastily, Wickwright changed the subject. "We've been lucky so far," he noted optimistically. "Not much trouble, maybe we won't run into any here." Pause. "Nice weather for it, too."
Wickwright's luck was not generally known to be good. There was a reason for Finches needing to be clever, and it didn't fail them now. After about fifteen more minutes of walking, a question came from the book bag that made the blood freeze in Wickwright's veins.
"Where are the crows?"
The crows were still in the sky, but unlike how they had been for the whole trip, they were now entirely silent. Wickwright shushed Hopkin and looked around nervously, still walking, only faster. They couldn't stop and investigate- if it was rioters, he didn't want them catching up.
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Posted: Wed Apr 06, 2011 10:42 pm
Coyotl met Wickwright's remark with a scrunched up nose and a snort. He was not particularly gifted in the subtle art of sarcasm, or he'd have attempted a quip of his own; instead, he let the silence hang where it lay, disrupting it only briefly with an occasional too-loud breath or stifled sneeze.
It went without saying that the sooner they could leave Gadu, the better. Coyotl's face contorted unpleasantly at the mention of whom exactly they were meeting in the city. He'd been trying hard not to think about it, as the idea of leading a caravan of so many ill men and women still gave him the spooks, even if the rumors were true about Plagues conferring immunity to the disease upon their keepers. "Might keep the city folk away from us, too," he added a bit darkly. If there was a caravan of sick people trundling through his hometown, he'd be sure to avoid it like, well, the plague. Under normal circumstances, anyway. But that wasn't really an option in this case.
The superstitious side of him- which, as it happened, was the biggest- winced at Wickwright's attempt to look on the bright side of things. "Wish you hadn't said that," he half-whispered, half-whined to himself. Wickwright was smart, very smart, and in Coyotl's experience, smart people rarely put any serious stock in the concepts of good and bad luck, but as a general rule, one was never supposed to mention a streak of good luck out loud. If one could keep from thinking about it at all, so much the better. As if attempting to counteract this faux pas, Coyotl tried to blank his mind as much as possible. He would concentrate only on the road in front of him, and nothing else.
But as potentially dangerous as their surroundings were, he kept drifting back to the paranoid delusions of earlier-- were they delusions? Every flicker of movement, every clatter or muffled thud seemed more and more ominous as the minutes dragged by. Then Hopkin noted the silence of the crows above them, and Coyotl felt as though he'd swallowed a large rock. How long ago had they stopped cawing? Wickwright seemed disturbed by this as well, and he felt somewhat vindicated in his own nervousness. As such, he decided no harm could be done by voicing his suspicions. "I think we may have a shadow," he murmured under his breath, quickening his strides to match Wickwright's. If he was wrong, the worst that could happen was that they'd be overly alert, which Coyotl didn't see as a problem at all.
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Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2011 1:38 pm
Wickwright began to be more and more sure that Coyotl was right- those birds wouldn't just silence themselves for anything, and he was beginning to doubt it was the riots. The would have heard rioters by now. As he strode faster to the trading gates, he thought about the course of action they should take and finally stopped where they stood. If they led whoever was behind them to their objective and couldn't overcome them, that would do more damage than facing them here. Turning, he called, "Hello?"
From the shadows, two figures emerged, raising their hands in peace but not, Wickwright noticed, unarmed. He glanced at Coyotl nervously, but stepped forward, arm adjusting more securely over his book bag. "Greetings," he offered, "Do you have business with us?"
The taller of the two strangers glanced up at the crows. "Have you gentleman paid much consideration to your faith in these troubled times?" he asked innocently.
"Constantly, yes," Wickwright assured him, while mentally cursing. If this was what he thought it was, it was the last thing he wanted to deal with. "Are you in need of some help considering your own?"
The taller one shrugged, resting his hand on his sword belt casually. "All the same to you, I'd rather you consider your own a little further."
Dirty, rotten, broken, battered, corpus bones, Wickwright mentally swore, and stepped back a pace. "Easily done for a mendicant, I suppose," he said aloud. "Although it's hardly the place of a stranger to remind me."
"Well, in times like these, sometimes religious thought can benefit from a change, wouldn't you agree?"
"Actually, the point of faith is usually to have something to rely upon in difficult times rather than changing," Hopkin offered confusedly from the bag. Wickwright coughed up a storm, and spoke in a somewhat high pitched voice to try to make it sound like he had spoken. "After all," he squeaked, "Faith itself suggests a sort of stability that shouldn't be able to be shaken by chaotic circumstances."
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Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2011 3:24 pm
It took a moment for Coyotl to realize that Wickwright had stopped walking, and though he followed suit immediately, his gaze flickered back and forth from Wickwright to the street in disbelief. Why were they stopping?! He couldn't begin to fathom the logic behind that decision. Even as he stood his ground, he retained a stance that suggested he was ready to bolt at a moment's notice.
It turned out he had been right about their being followed-- and they had two tails, both armed. Wickwright's exchange with the taller of the pair only heightened his feeling of dread. Their undesired escorts were most likely Obscuvans, judging by their manner and the taller one's fixation on religion, and as such they probably already knew of the Plagues their targets carried. That didn't keep Coyotl from feeling as though he was about to have a heart attack when he heard Hopkin speak from within the bag he was hidden in. Of all the confounded things...!
Whether or not the strangers were duped by Wickwright's swift attempt at a cover-up, the shorter of the two gave a stilted laugh at the old man's statement, and it was only then that Coyotl registered the fact that she was female. She was more stockily built than her companion, and the dark clothing she wore disguised her femininity from a distance.
"True enough," she acknowledged, "but a word of caution to you. When faith's house is build on sand, what stability can it give to you? What protection can it offer when the ground on which it stands is shifting with the wind?" She made no move toward her weapon as her companion had; instead, she spread her arms at her sides, palms-up in a perversion of a welcoming gesture. "We want nothing more than to welcome you to our House, brothers. Please, won't you join us? You are expected, in fact," she added. Even through his panic, Coyotl felt she was laying it on a bit thick.
"Well, that's awfully kind of you," he said, attempting to follow Wickwright's example of genially deflecting the pair's comments in an attempt to defuse the situation. As such, he assumed the most polite and proper mannerisms he could muster up- the ones he normally only used when trying to make a good impression or get something from someone- but he wasn't sure even those would do him any good. "But I'm afraid we must be going and," oh there it was he couldn't stop himself from saying it in time s**t s**t s**t, "it's really none of your business anyways." Oh hell. There was no way that would help them at all. "Beg your pardon." Too late for that.
The woman laughed again, but it was a more predatory sound than it had been before, and she'd laid a hand on the dagger at her hip. "I'm afraid it's not as simple as that," she cooed, taking a few lazy, sauntering steps forward, like a panther closing in on its mortally wounded prey. Coyotl took a few steps back involuntarily. His hands felt very cold.
"You have something that we want."
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Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2011 8:29 pm
"Which one of us?" Wickwright asked.
The man looked puzzled. "What?" he demanded.
"Well, which one of us has something that you want? You asked about the birds, so I assume it would be whichever of us the birds are following." He shrugged, coughing more violently. "They are a sign of the House, after all, unless you speak of a different house than the noble House of Obscuvos."
The man furrowed his brows in confusion, but shook his head. "It's no matter, you will both come with us."
Wickwright coughed again, sighing. "If we must, but sir, I am terribly ill."
The man took a half step back, demanding, "Which of you are the crows following?"
Wickwright coughed some more, but managed to point to Coyotl and smile sheepishly. "They appeared when I met him. I had never seen such strange things before in my life!" He was satisfied to see the man back up further and guessed his hunch was right. The pair of Obscuvians weren't Grimms, and thus were susceptible and likely afraid of the plague.
"Sister..." the man said, glancing nervously at the woman, but then he strengthened his resolve. "Very well, old man. We'll take your friend and deal with you after."
That was hardly better than being a target. Wickwright bit his lip and announced, "Oh!" after a moment's hesitation. "But who will take care of his beautiful fish?"
"What do I care?" snapped the man suspiciously.
"Well, it's sick with the black death," Wickwright replied gravely. "And we left it at home so we might fetch it some fresh water. Please, let us get his fish so he can look after it properly, I'm sure no one else would want to care for something struck with a disease so vile." He coughed again. "I speak from experience."
Glancing at his companion, the Obscuvian conceded, "Get the fish, but bring us with you. We wouldn't want you straying from the flock, after all."
"You're too kind," Wickwright enthused, taking Coyotl's hand and walking briskly towards the trading gate.
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Posted: Thu Apr 07, 2011 10:36 pm
Coyotl's mind wasn't really built for being tricky. It was unsurprising, then, that he didn't understand Wickwright's bluffing until the fish was mentioned. His eyes widened as he realized what Wickwright was attempting to do, and he opened his mouth as if to say something, but snapped it shut as the Obscuvan man bid them to retrieve the item in question. If the two suspected anything, they certainly weren't showing it. The woman, in fact, seemed to grow angry at this unforeseen turn of events. She didn't like surprises; they robbed her of the feeling that she was in control of things. "Don't try anything funny," she snapped as she and her companion made for the trade gates as well. Not too close behind, though-- if the old man was sick, the last thing they needed was to be near him.
For his part, Coyotl may have been a bit slow on the uptake at first, but he wasted no time in playing along. He forced himself to knit his eyebrows together in worry at the mention of being taken away by the Obscuvans, but followed along obediently as Wickwright tugged him forward.
"I suppose you do know best, Uncle. Please take care of yourself when I am gone." Uncle? Where had that come from? Regardless, neither of their pursuers reacted to the half-baked bit of acting, presumably too absorbed in their own thoughts to care. Coyotl glanced over his shoulder at them briefly. The two trailed behind at what they felt was a safe distance. The woman's face remained stormy, and every so often she would cast a scathing look at her companion, as though this was somehow his fault.
As they neared the trade gates, Coyotl whispered low enough for only Wickwright to hear, "I really hope you've got a plan, Finch..."
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Posted: Sun Apr 10, 2011 4:21 pm
"Trust me," Wickwright muttered back, but as he did so, one of the crows that had been circling silently around them swooped close to Wickwright. He shooed it off, but a second and a third came, and one pecked at his bag. From the bag came a shriek, and a fourth crow descended.
Wickwright swore. "Go!" he commanded, grasping Coyotl's hand more tightly and sprinting towards the trade gates. Behind them, he could hear their pursuers starting to shout. Wishing he was younger, he gasped for air as the caravan slowly came into sight. Without wasting his breath, he jumped into the nearest one, full of a rancid smell and bubo-covered sick. He then opened the door and sat in the entryway, crossing his legs nonchalantly as the cultists caught up. If there was one thing a Finch man couldn't resist, it was the opportunity to gloat. Wickwright was no exception.
"My mistake," he offered cheerfully "No fish here."
The male Obscuvan shot daggers at him. "Give us the Plague"
"Suit yourselves," Wickwright agreed, backing into the wagon, "Strewth, we certainly have enough to go around."
His pursuer approached the caravan, and as soon as he saw the contents, he practically fell over himself to get away. "You're mad!" he demanded, pointing a shaking finger at Wickwright. "You'll die in there for sure!"
Patting his book bag, Wickwright shrugged. "I'm willing to take my chances. Give my regards to Obscuvos, gentleman, lady." They continued to stare at him, so Wickwright took one of the sick and waved their arm at the two through the door, announcing, "We appreciate your concern for our immortal souls, but they are, I assure you, none of your concern. Now, there are plenty of folk in this wagon who are less sure, so if you'd like to come in and save them, be my guest."
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Posted: Mon Apr 11, 2011 9:23 pm
It didn't take long for the Obscuvans to notice the crows taking an interest in Wickwright's bag, but by the time they had, Coyotl had already taken the hint and bolted for all he was worth. Given that he was the quicker of the pair, he shook his hand free of Wickwright's grasp and took a vice-like hold on the older man's upper arm instead, doing what he could to pull him along without causing him to stumble on the uneven, rubble-strewn ground. From several yards off, he heard the female of the pair give a sharp, angry cry- "STOP!"- but if she thought that would do any good, she was dead wrong.
It was clear to Coyotl that they were making for the caravan full of sick, and he'd finally realized why it might be their salvation. Scrambling up after Wickwright, his momentum carried him further back into the covered wagon before he turned to observe the Obscuvans cautiously. He didn't feel safe, not yet; he could feel the eyes of the diseased masses in the caravan staring at them through a haze of illness, and he couldn't keep away the fear that perhaps the Plagues they carried wouldn't protect them.
But as Finch had said, they would have to take their chances. There was no sense in worrying about the alternative. Firming up his resolve a bit, he edged forward until he was near the open end of the caravan, peering out at their pursuers and attempting to project as much of an air of smugness as he could. It might not have been strictly necessary, though, as Wickwright was certainly doing a fine enough job for the both of them.
"It's crowded in here," Coyotl noted, loud enough for the man and woman outside to hear, "but I think we could squeeze two more in, if you don't mind the smell." In the face of the taunts coming from the two men, the female Obscuvan's rage deepened, and she made furious motions toward the caravan, but the threat of illness was not lost on her. She couldn't bring herself to move more than a few steps closer than her companion had. With a near-bestial snarl, she unsheathed her dagger and flung it at the wagon; the throw fell short by a considerable distance, the knife clattering against the ground, but it had a sobering effect on Coyotl. He ducked further into the wagon instinctively, any desire to live up to Wickwright's level of audaciousness effectively cowed. "N-no reason to stick around for too long, that I can see," he said, with no real attempt to hide his nervousness.
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Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2011 9:40 am
Wickwright didn't know how to alert the guide, but luckily they didn't have to. An arrow whizzed past the male Obscuvan's head and a stocky man charged out from the leading caravan, bellowing, "That was a warnin' shot, like. The Obscuvan shrieked and stared at the guide as he re-armed. "Th' next one won't miss."
The Obscuvan scrambled to get away but dropped something as he did so. Bending over to pick it up, he froze as another arrow whizzed by. "Leave it!" the guide demanded. "Leave it and get on with you." The male Obscuvian fled, not waiting to see the fate of his comrade, and Wickwright watched from the wagon. it was unusual to have someone else save his hide for once, and more unusual for violence to get him out of a pinch rather than his own wits.
He liked it. It was relaxing. He did his bit, it was nice to have people under his command, working for him. Jawbone Men, unless they were O'Neill, usually had to do every little thing themselves, and it was a hard job of it, too. Leaning back in the wagon, he looked at his companions enthusiastically.
"Well," he said, "How are we all doing today?"
There was a vague chorus of replies ranging from thrown insults to curses.
"Most of you are still speaking properly, so I'll take that as a positive sign. Don't worry, we'll get you all to, uh," He glanced at his letter from the Scientists briefly, "The safe place." Vague. Still, he had a guide now. He had someone working for him who would figure all this rubbish out.
How hard could it possibly be? Maybe he had underestimated Didericus Fleck. Maybe the man had got him the easy job.
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Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2011 3:02 pm
The female cultist seemed equally unwilling to abandon whatever her companion had dropped, but the arrows of the caravan's guide proved very convincing. Cursing loudly, she scrambled out of the way of the second arrow, which narrowly missed her heel, and had soon taken off after her fellow Obscuvan, berating him all the while. Coyotl found this turn of events to be more than reassuring. With a barking laugh at their had-been pursuers' retreating backs, he gave a rather rude gesture with his arm before clapping the burly guide on the back. "Crack shot!" he exclaimed with a broad grin. When it seemed the guide wasn't in a celebratory mood, though, he removed his arm and casually sidled away from the man. He didn't really want to get on the bad side of a person who could probably break him in half over his knee.
Something else was nagging at his mind, though: what had the Obscuvan dropped? Surely it must have been something important, since both cultists had been reluctant to leave it and run. Emboldened by the guide's presence, and the fact that no more Obscuvans were visible anywhere in the vicinity, Coyotl shrugged the jar off of his back, settled it onto the floor of the wagon, and slid out onto the street. He ambled toward the object with the curious caution of a dog pestering a snake, skirting around the side at first before taking a more direct approach, crouching down to eye the thing up close.
It was a tiny bottle, no wider across than his first two fingers held together, and about as high. The contents of the bottle were much less ordinary; a black goop sloshed within, so dark that it seemed not only to admit no light to pierce its surface, but to actually suck the color and brightness out of its surroundings. He reached out gingerly with his thumb and forefinger and grasped the tiny vessel around its middle, lifting it off the ground and examining it from several different angles. No label, no marks, no nothing. Seeing as how it hadn't burned his hand or stung him when he'd touched it, and that the stopper was still firmly in place, he decided that it was at least safe to handle, probably, and stood, though still keeping his grip on the bottle limited to just two fingers.
"Finch," he called, trotting back to the caravan with the vial held out in front of him, his face rumpled in confusion. "'The hell is this?"
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Posted: Sun Apr 17, 2011 12:02 am
"That," the guide grunted, "Would be somethin' I suspect th' Scientists are mighty keen to get their hands on. Good job you lot found a coupla tails that had one on 'em." Grabbing the bottle out of Coyotl's hands, he said, "It ain't somethin' you wanna keep, sir. Best to send it along to th' Scientists while we're still in Gadu, though they're all in hidin'." He tossed the potion to the second guide, who nodded and vanished with it.
"Well, gents? He'll catch us up down th' road. Right now though, we'd best be off 'fore your friends come back."
"Let's waste no time," Wickwright agreed cheerfully, still punch-drunk from their victory. "That fellow can send that bottle back to the Scientists, courtesy of Wickwright Finch. The sooner we get moving, the better, so go around to the East gate to meet with my wagon and we'll be off."
"Right you are, sir," the guide affirmed, and shouted a command. The caravan pulled out of Gadu and began the long journey ahead of them.
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