Usually, Mordavo was able to subsume hangovers and alcoholic euphoria by changing forms and back again, but this morning he still had a bit of an ache, which he put down to the publican's late-hour offer of free cups of cider (of which the publican himself partook as part of the wager) as long as he and Ford could remain standing. They'd beaten the publican, who'd forfeited in order to be able to clean up and close the common room. The fellow had been good enough to have his wife sign them in for the night; Klimt had also put coin down for himself for two days, thinking that he might be able to get the Miss to allow him to stay on the grounds of the estate in exchange for keeping an eye on things for part of the night, as he usually slept very sparsely (when sober, at any rate) - if she decided to let him stay after the previous night.
He dressed, looked in the mirror to make sure he was completely human-looking, and then went down the hall to Ford's room. He knocked several times, and finally called out, "Vhat! Ho! Tis Morning, Herr Ford! Shall I have Herr publican play a reveille for you? 'Tis time to sign zhe contracts at zhe Museum!" After hearing what sounded like a groan and the sounds of someone stirring behind the door, he called out, "I shall see you at the Museum, yes? Not to vorry, it is still two hours time. I just need to take a stroll to clear my head of cider-cobwebs."
He went downstairs, then, and asked the publican and his wife, who were going over accounts at the bar, to check on Quincy in a half-hour's time, laying a crown as a gratuity to that end on the bar. "a good fellow he is, I vould hate to see him miss out."
"You will be returning here tonight, then?" the landlady asked him
"Da." he stated, adding, "I may soon be able to stay on ze grounds or in ze house as chances might be, but we shall have to see, yes?"
He strode out of teh Public house, and set off down the high road toward the museum, his thoughts on the events of the previous night.
I wonder why the manservant did not show up for the commotion? he wondered to himself. I hope he is not of an uncaring kind, like my captain Stubein was.
His thoughts turned then to the young woman. She does not seem the sort to dabble in recondine matters unwisely, he thought. I wonder what happened to cause all of that? Will I be needing to rescue her as I did so many of those so-called "scholars" who guested with the Count?.
He'd had to rescue several people each year, who'd visited his old master the Count, and poked about in his rather notorious library. Mordavo was familiar with all of the texts in that collection, having had to organize it several times a month, as volumes kept disappearing from their assigned stacks of their own volition and gravitating all over the place. People would come in, sit down, and start reading some mundane novel or reference book, and an arcanum, or grimoire, or book of correspondent cantrips would just appear at their elbow, and they'd get all intrigued, one thing would lead to another, and then in the end Mordavo would have to step in and narrowly avert catastrophe. The Count was adamant about not locking anything away or even restraining them with chains or ropes. Several times a day, in some cases, he'd have to rescue some callow fop or self-proclaimed genius form his own stupidity. He himself became somewhat famous in magickal circles for his exploits in that capacity, and the howdah pistol had gotten regular use on various entities, as had the silver-inlaid blade of his stiletto. He'd also gone through several sticks of chalk per month when the Count took it into his head to take on student researchers for one of his madcap Recondine History projects.
While ruminating on such memories, he found himself at the gap in the masonry of the estate's grounds where he'd entered the first time; he marveled at how high he must have had to have jumped to clear the lower edge. "Lycanthropy doss haff it's uses," he muttered to himself, and walked along the wall until he came to the front gate of the estate. He went in, and walked up the drive to the front door and pulled the knob to ring the doorbell; since he had not yet signed, and because of the previous night's events, he was hesitant to simply barge straight in...