Part 49 "The Suspects"

PART 49: THE SUSPECTS

Transcripts made & edited by jack

CWs: cults, sounds of drinking/coughing, alcoholism, knife violence, gore, discussions of terminal illness, murder, claustrophobia, fall, injury, assault, death, gun violence

 

 

(BEGIN Part 49.)

 

(A storm rages outside. A fire crackles. Wood creaks. A sad melody begins. Furniture drags against the floor.)

 

JOHN: It’s Gerard, standing. (Footsteps.) He’s heading over to the fireplace. Barnabas, who still sits in a chair before the fire, like he did when we first arrived, glares at him from behind his tankard as he approaches. (Slurping noises.) Gerard is… he’s throwing another log into the fire. (A wooden impact and the whoosh of fire.) The friar still stands opposite us, arms crossed, leaned against a short bit of wall between the eastern exits of this room… his lips pursed. 

 

Gerard locks eyes with Barnabas… nervously. (Footsteps.) He’s heading back to his spot further down this table, to where he was sat reading. No one has spoken in the past hour. (Slurping noises.) Not since Evrard left. (Furniture creaking.) Arthur, one of these men killed Langward. The body is gone now. We can’t touch it to know for certain who… but even if we did… we can’t sleep through this night knowing he’s here. 

 

There’s no… jail cell. Evrard doesn’t care to offer a solution to that, and… and the front door… is locked. We’re being tested, whether knowingly or unknowingly by Evrard. Each man… including yourself… has been debating in his mind for the past hour how far they’re willing to go. 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: This is ludicrous.

 

JOHN: The friar! He’s broken the silence.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (huffing): Look, as the prince said only a short while ago, at least two of you must be interested in solving this.

 

BARNABAS: And then what? (Slurping noises.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: What?

 

BARNABAS (purposefully): And then what? (A tap against wood.) We kill him? We slit his throat just like Langward? 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: That’s not –

 

BARNABAS: If that’s the plan, I’m all for it!

 

GERARD (fed up): You have wanted bloodshed since the start – 

 

BARNABAS (angrier): And you’ve been guilty since the start!

 

ARTHUR: Quiet! The friar’s right. 

 

BARNABAS: Of course, he’s your echo.

 

(A thoughtful melody begins.) 

 

ARTHUR: He’s echoing reason, yes. Is that approach not beneficial to you?

 

BARNABAS: It’s not necessary. We have our killer.

 

GERARD: You are so certain it is me, have you considered — the prince? He was not with us!

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: If we have nothing to hide, then there is no reason not to work together. 

 

ARTHUR: I did not kill Langward. Let me just come out and say that. (He coughs and wheezes.)

 

BARNABAS: Shall we all say that, then? I didn’t kill him, either.

 

(Arthur clears his throat.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Well, neither did I.

 

GERARD (quietly): I did not kill him.

 

BARNABAS: Well, I don’t think he offed himself. 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: What of Evrard? He was not with you, Barnabas.

 

ARTHUR: That’s true.

 

BARNABAS: Aye, but he was alone with me for quite a while. 

 

ARTHUR: Meaning?

 

BARNABAS: Meaning, if he wanted bloodshed, why not off me then?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Well. (Slurping noises.) Because he wanted to kill Langward.

 

BARNABAS (disapproving): Ach. Is that so? 

 

ARTHUR: What are you implying?

 

JOHN: Barnabas just… sneers. 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Look. Why do we think Langward was killed?

 

ARTHUR: He was… part of the Order of the Fallen Star. A cultist.

 

JOHN: They all shoot you a look.

 

ARTHUR (quickly): A believer, I mean.

 

JOHN: Barnabas narrows his eyes at you. 

 

(A slow melody begins.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Well, since Evrard decided to share quite a bit in that little speech of his, I suppose it can’t hurt to reveal my… allegiance. To Gloon.

 

GERARD: Gloon?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Yes. The Great Corrupter of Flesh, Master of the Temple. He has granted me the gift… of flesh. Though my studies are –

 

BARNABAS: Right, well. I don’t see how that matters. (Horbrooke sighs.) What or who we choose to worship.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Well. Seeing as we all know Langward was a member of the Order of the Fallen Star, perhaps someone here is aligned to one of the more… diametrically opposed gods.

 

BARNABAS: Diametrically opposed? 

 

(Barnabas continues underneath John’s dialogue.)

 

BARNABAS: Perhaps you – (Unintelligible.) But as far as we know – (Unintelligible.) There are more that are diametrically opposed to –

 

JOHN (overlapping with Barnabas): I thought the Order was simply there to find the stones! I didn’t realize they were followers of something… greater. See if you can find out what. And what they follow.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Now, I don’t mean that –

 

ARTHUR (interrupting): So. Gerard. The Order of the Fallen Star.

 

GERARD: Oui?

 

ARTHUR: What exactly do you worship?

 

(Brief suspenseful sting.)

 

JOHN: Again, they all look at you. 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (surprised): Have you not been approached by the Order, Prince Warin?

 

ARTHUR: I-I-I suppose… not. 

 

BARNABAS: Then who is it you bow your knee to then, Warin? 

 

ARTHUR: I…

 

JOHN (flustered): Say… the King. N-No, wait! That might complicate things. I-I-I…

 

ARTHUR (suddenly): Horig. The Unclean. (John huffs in surprise.) And no, I wasn’t approached by the Order of the Fallen Star. (Furniture creaks.)

 

GERARD (sighing): Well, the Order seeks the fallen stars that have descended from the Lord of All: Azathoth. 

 

(‘Faroe’s Song’ begins. Thunder rolls.)

 

BARNABAS: That should mean Horig there needs a lesson on where he came from. 

 

ARTHUR: Where he…

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: All comes from Azathoth, or so is believed by those who directly worship him.

 

GERARD: The Order’s worship of him is…

 

(Gerard and Horbrooke continue under John’s dialogue.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: No, the Order seeks to find the fallen stars. (Unintelligible.) Main purpose, but – (Unintelligible.)

 

JOHN: Azathoth. Arthur, I… the Lord of All… if these stones are descended from Azathoth, whoever that is, if all truly comes from him… what does Kayne want with them?

 

GERARD: But perhaps your position is worth looking at, eh? There are books in the study that may shed light on, uh…

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Diametrically opposed beliefs.

 

GERARD: Oui.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Of course, all descend from him, but… I mean to say… some may have their own reasons for destroying his followers. Family can be like that.

 

ARTHUR: How Shakespearean.

 

BARNABAS: What?

 

ARTHUR (reacting in surprise): Oh, nothing. So you’re saying, if there is someone who would be working against Azathoth, or whose deity at least would relish the death of a member of the Order, then they could’ve killed Langward. Purely based on the differing beliefs, eh – 

 

GERARD: Not differing, no. There may have been no choice. The Order demands much of me. Perhaps you all feel the same. 

 

JOHN: Barnabas and the friar share a curious look.

 

ARTHUR: Well, doesn’t that put quite the target on your back then, Gerard?

 

GERARD: Well then, we should look in the study together. All of us.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (briefly overlapping with Gerard): Well now, on the other hand, Evrard was very quick to dismiss the witch as a suspect. I know that you three spoke to her, or attempted to at least, but I’m not convinced so easily that a woman as powerful as she can be ruled out entirely. I would like to go speak with her myself.

 

GERARD: You believe the witch would have motivation to kill Langward?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: No. This would be… Look, assuming what Barnabas has proposed is true, and that Langward was simply the first to die –

 

BARNABAS: Well, that’s not quite what I put forward, Friar.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Well, what exactly did you put forward? 

 

BARNABAS: Just that I don’t think… it’s Langward’s death that mattered to…

 

JOHN: He looks to Gerard.

 

BARNABAS: The killer, so much as the idea of his death drawing one of us out. 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Drawing one of us out? What in God’s name does that mean?

 

BARNABAS: Oh, I don’t know. What do you think there, Prince? Do you think there’s someone here… pretending to be someone they’re not? 

 

JOHN: They all look towards us. 

 

ARTHUR: What are you implying? (Furniture dragging. Slow footsteps.)

 

JOHN: Barnabas stands and begins walking towards us. 

 

BARNABAS (approaching): I don’t think I’ve ever met a prince so cavalier with his tone, so wild with his fist, and so scarred on his face. Especially one that’s supposed to be renowned for his golden words. 

 

JOHN: The moment lingers. They all stare at us, waiting for us to say something. I… I don’t know what to say. 

 

ARTHUR: I don’t think any of us… have been our truest selves tonight. Have we? Friar, you’ve been reactive and deceitful. Gerard, you yourself admitted to sneaking away and trying to find a way into Evrard’s room, and Barnabas… you are paranoid… and volatile. And I would say… I stack up about as well as any of you, compared to the portrait painted by our… generous host.

 

If you all wish to judge me by my actions tonight… and not how we were introduced… so be it. But I’ll judge all of you by yours as well.

 

JOHN: Well done, Arthur! Most have broken eye contact. Gerard and the friar seem almost… embarrassed. Only Barnabas continues to remain stoic. 

 

BARNABAS: Perhaps that golden tongue merely needed to be challenged. (Slow footsteps.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Perhaps.

 

BARNABAS: But you’re right. I am a man of science. And I think… Gerard has a point.

 

JOHN: He turns to Gerard.

 

BARNABAS: I think I’ll join you in the study there, Frenchman. Together I’m sure we can find which of our… beliefs may have made killing Langward a duty.

 

GERARD: Do not leave me alone with Barnabas.

 

BARNABAS: Scared of me? (Furniture dragging.) 

 

GERARD: You speak a lot, but I am not so easily a target as Langward. I promise you.

 

BARNABAS: Oh, come now. Here! 

 

(A scrape of metal and a loud thump.)

 

JOHN: Barnabas removes a dagger from his waist and drives it into the table.

 

BARNABAS: How’s that?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: I would still prefer to seek out the witch, and I’m happy to do it alone.

 

ARTHUR: Alone?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Well, farther from you three seems safer for the time being.

 

ARTHUR: Look, I think we should stick together. Or at least… at least in pairs.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: The witch is my priority, so I suppose the choice is yours, Prince.

 

ARTHUR: I’ll… go with you, Friar. 

 

(A slow melody begins.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Alright, then.

 

JOHN: The friar seems… disappointed.

 

BARNABAS: Wonderful.

 

JOHN: As does Gerard. (Footsteps.) Barnabas, however…

 

BARNABAS: Shall we, Frenchman?

 

ARTHUR: If you find anything, you’ll tell us? (More footsteps.)

 

BARNABAS (departing): Of course. Of course. 

 

ARTHUR: Well, then. We shouldn’t be long.

 

JOHN: They’ve left through the northeastern passage.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Well, I –

 

JOHN: The friar has already left. (Arthur sighs, struggles to get out of the chair, and coughs.) Arthur, careful! (He continues to hack.) Are you… you nearly fell standing up from this chair. (Worried.) Are you okay? 

 

ARTHUR (whispering): I’m having difficulty, John.

 

JOHN: You… You’ve been sitting for the past hour, maybe…

 

ARTHUR (whispering): I’ve had to. I can’t let them know how weak I am. Not with all that’s happening.

 

JOHN: You can’t let yourself –

 

ARTHUR (whispering): I know, I know. I am keeping it together, but this… I don’t know. I don’t know, John.

 

JOHN: You don’t know what?

 

ARTHUR (whispering): I don’t know how long I can keep going.

 

JOHN: Just… (A sad melody begins.) Eat the elephant.

 

ARTHUR: I am. And I’ll continue to hide it.

 

JOHN: We need to move. The friar has quite the head start. (Arthur grunts. Footsteps.) He’s already heading down the hallway, walking briskly.

 

ARTHUR (calling out): Is my joining you a nuisance, Friar? 

 

JOHN: He stops and turns to us.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Listen here. I have no intention of seeing the witch.

 

ARTHUR: What? Why?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Because if I was to explain to all of you that my intention was to head back to my room and lock the door tightly from inside… and wait until morning… you’d surely find a way to impede that. 

 

ARTHUR: I… I… you want to hide? Until morning?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Clearly no one here can be trusted. Certainly not yourself.

 

ARTHUR (pointedly): Speak for yourself. You clearly weren’t in your room when I was knocking. Gerard said he’s –

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Gerard is a dead man, walking around with a shadow ready to strike.

 

JOHN: A shadow?

 

ARTHUR: Barnabas?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (emphatically): He lied. He lied to cast any doubt on anyone but himself. Wouldn’t you do the same?

 

ARTHUR: I… 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Or have you already? (A pause. A sad melody begins.) Don’t you see what’s happening here? It’s a game. One I intend on remaining a player in. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: He turns and continues to walk. 

 

ARTHUR: By waiting in your room? Surely even you can’t be that naive.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (indignantly): Naive! (He huffs.)

 

ARTHUR: What do you think is going to happen to us, to you, when you open that door tomorrow morning?

 

JOHN: He continues.

 

ARTHUR: Friar! (He coughs.) Please. If no one else survives, what chance do you have?

 

JOHN: His stride doesn’t break.

 

ARTHUR (louder): Even if you’re the last alive and stuck with the killer, what do you think happens when you open that door in the morning?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: So be it.

 

JOHN: He’s at his door, his back to us. (Metal clicks.)

 

ARTHUR: Now hold on –

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (suddenly): No. You hold on, Prince.

 

JOHN: He’s turned around.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: If you wish to stay out here and suffer the consequences of your failure to act, then so be it. (Facetiously.) Speak with the witch. Try to twist her ear. Try and convince Gerard or Barnabas to spare you. I care not. In this room, I will remain until morning light breaks.

 

JOHN: His eyes… (Thoughtfully.) Betray him. He’s lying. 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Good evening, Prince. I’m sure you’ll make a handsome corpse. (The door opens.)

 

JOHN: He opens the door… (Footsteps.) And enters. (The door begins to squeak shut.) Damn. Well, the witch may be our – (An impact. Arthur’s grunt.) Arthur! What are you –

 

ARTHUR: Friar.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: What are you –

 

JOHN: You’ve stopped the door from closing! 

 

ARTHUR: Friar.

 

JOHN: With your hand!

 

ARTHUR (hostile): I think you gravely underestimate who you’re talking to. (A terror-filled sting begins.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Remove your hand.

 

ARTHUR: You think you –

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (bewildered): What, what are you – ?

 

ARTHUR: Can intimidate me? (An impact and a grunt of exertion.)

 

JOHN:  Arthur! You’ve pushed him into the room.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: How dare you!

 

ARTHUR: How dare I! Come here, you – (Another impact. Horbrooke makes noises of pain.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, you hit him square on the nose.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (terrified): Now! Now, now, now –

‘

JOHN: He’s fallen back into the room onto the stone floor.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Please! No no no –

 

JOHN: Close the door, quickly! (The door slams.) Lock it! (A metal click.)

 

ARTHUR (darkly): I’ve had enough of you! You listen here! You have no idea who I am or what I’ve been through.

 

(Horbrooke continues to blubber.)

 

JOHN: Yes, Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: I’ve gouged out the eyes of men more threatening than you, murdered men more clever, and outsmarted killers far more deadly!

 

JOHN: With each step you take, he crawls backwards. 

 

ARTHUR: You have overplayed your hand, Friar.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Please, please! Please, I… I… (The music stops. Quietly.) Please don’t kill me. 

 

ARTHUR: Don’t kill you? You still think I’m the murderer?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (scared witless): I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t… 

 

JOHN: Arthur. What are you… (Metal scraping. Horbrooke gasps for breath.) The dagger? You’ve bent down, right next to the friar. Fear overwhelms him. 

 

ARTHUR: Let this show… that if I was, you would be dead. (Metal scraping. Arthur sighs. Footsteps.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (composing himself): Fine. You’re not the killer. I believe you.

 

ARTHUR: And I you. For now, at least.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: So, um… what now? 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Now what is your real intention for coming here?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: I told you.

 

JOHN: His eyes flick to the wall opposite the fireplace.

 

ARTHUR: Enough with the lies, Friar! You left your room –

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: I did not! Gerard was lying. I’m telling you the truth.

 

ARTHUR: Just because I’m not the killer doesn’t mean I won’t start cutting off your fingers until you tell me the truth.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: I did!

 

ARTHUR (growling): You lied in the hallway! You lied about… remaining in your room for the night.

 

JOHN: His expression changes, almost… 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: How…?

 

JOHN: Surprised.

 

ARTHUR: You lied. Why? How do you intend to leave? (A short pause. Footsteps. Metal scraping.) Friar.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Alright, alright. I didn’t say anything, because of what it could implicate. 

 

ARTHUR: Implicate? About what? About Langward?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Yes, but… you believe me when I say that I’m not the killer?

 

ARTHUR: Say what you mean to say.

 

JOHN: Again, his eyes flick to the wall. (A slow melody begins. Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: What is over here?

 

JOHN: Here. There’s a large tapestry here. It seems… normal. It depicts a large group of men kneeling in the light that comes from the sky. Only the light is… black, and rolls from the sky in waves. It reminds me of the artwork from the Order of the Fallen Star, but… different, a-almost a different interpretation. Beyond that, nothing seems off about it. 

 

ARTHUR: Azathoth. 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Well yes, Evrard’s family clearly worship Azathoth, but that’s… not what caught my attention over there.

 

ARTHUR: That’s not… (A soft, high-pitched noise.) Wait, what is that? 

 

JOHN: What is what? (Arthur shushes him. The noise continues, louder.) A whistling. 

 

ARTHUR: Wind.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Yes. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: The friar stands up and heads to the corner of the room, near a standing candelabra.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Admittedly, it took me a minute, but. (The clinking of metal, and a weightier thunk.)

 

JOHN: He’s pulled one of the candles, and – (Shifting stone.) The wall opens. 

 

ARTHUR: Where does it lead? (Footsteps.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Well, that’s just the thing. I don’t know.

 

ARTHUR: You don’t know?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: I was halfway down that passage when Barnabas called murder. I had to run back in time to arrive in the common room to avoid suspicion.

 

ARTHUR: What does this mean?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: I don’t know yet. It’s not uncommon, especially for a castle like Kerringford, that hid its allegiance for many years from the outside world. Passages like this are all over the castle, I’m sure.

 

ARTHUR: And you explored it alone, because…? 

 

JOHN: He makes a face, almost… deceptive. 

 

ARTHUR (reasoning): You too were hoping it led to the Blackstone. (He exhales.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: It’s the reason we’re all here, is it not? 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): I suppose it is. Well.

 

JOHN (urgently): Arthur, Arthur, not the lighter! (Arthur makes a noncommittal noise.) No. 

 

ARTHUR: Er, hand me a candle. (The sound of flame.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: After you?

 

ARTHUR (pointedly): After you.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (petulant): I have no dagger. You do.

 

ARTHUR: I insist.

 

(Horbrooke scoffs. Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: The friar leads the way down the dark passage. (Arthur coughs severely.) Are you alright? You’re shivering.

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Did he notice? (He catches his breath.)

 

JOHN: No. No, I don’t think so. You got quite physical with him there.

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Just… that took a lot out of me.

 

JOHN: I know, but you can’t exert yourself like that. 

 

ARTHUR: I know. I know, I know. (Soothing.) It’s okay. It’s alright, it’s alright. (Footsteps. The storm is louder.)

 

JOHN: The corridor here is tight, cold stone. Cobwebs cover the darkness above, which must lead to the second floor. The outside wall is to our left. The icy wind has chilled the stone. The passageway heads only a short way forward before turning right sharply. Wooden beams, rotted and splintered, lay along the floor and the bones of rats crunch beneath our feet. 

 

Turn right, here. The way forward here is… long. 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: It must surround the perimeter of the castle. (Arthur shushes him. Wood creaks.)

 

JOHN: The floorboards shift above. (Silt falls. Footsteps.) The passage turns right again. This area seems more used, almost. The boards here are fewer, the cobwebs a little less dense. The walls themselves… warmer.

 

Wait, Arthur! The friar has stopped, just ahead. He’s gesturing to two small dots of light coming from the right wall. The wall which provides the warmth, I think. (Realizing.) I think we’re behind the fireplace! In the common room. 

 

The friar looks through the two dots and steps aside, gesturing for you to look. Here, here. Arthur. The light. A little higher. No… no, no. To the right. (Arthur sighs.) They’re eye distance apart. Here, here! Yes. We can see into the common room from here. It’s currently empty, clearly a way to spy on guests. (Footsteps.) The friar has moved forward, let’s go. (Arthur exhales.)

 

The passage ends ahead, abruptly. The friar has stopped. 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Well, now what?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know. Is there no… exit? Something we can push or pull?

 

JOHN: The friar pushes the left wall… and shakes his head. He turns to the right… (Something creaks.) The wall gives slightly when he pushes.

 

ARTHUR: Wait. Wait, wait, wait.

 

JOHN: Arthur, what are you…

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: What?

 

ARTHUR: I’m feeling for a… (A click, and the squeaking of a door.)

 

JOHN: Ah, like in Larson’s! There’s a mechanism that…

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (impressed): Well done.

 

JOHN: The right wall opens, light pours in from the room we’ve revealed. (Footsteps.) The friar exits. Follow. This room is warm, well-lit and filled with… books.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: The study. The passage leads to the study. How interesting.

 

JOHN: The room is large. Bookshelves create an almost labyrinthine path towards the fire on the far side of the room that dances across the flat ceiling. We’re between two large bookcases with another straight ahead. The only way out is to follow them to the left. The friar moves ahead. It was a painting we came from behind. It opens like a door. (Low creaking, and the door shuts.)

 

The tall bookshelves are filled with volumes of various sizes, some nearly falling apart, others look… handmade. But all of them undoubtedly contain knowledge long since forgotten in our time. Exiting the bookshelf that surrounded the painting we entered this room through brings us to a small… study-like area. An ornate table, a candle holder, paper strewn about. A recently used glass.

 

Barnabas and Evrard must’ve been here previous. And…

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: This way!

 

JOHN: The friar leads through the bookshelves towards the fireplace beyond, but… Arthur. Above the study is a large image. A… sigil. I recognize it! But I’m not sure from where.

 

ARTHUR (whispering): The Order of the Fallen Star?

 

JOHN: No, no, not the Order. Not on the books, either. It’s…

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (come along): Warin?

 

JOHN: Damn it. 

 

ARTHUR: Yes, coming. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: It’ll come to me, I’m sure. Follow the friar, Arthur. This way. (Fire crackling.) Yes. Here’s the fireplace. A long table covered in books and papers sits before the fire. Gerard sits at it, looking over a book. I don’t see Barnabas.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Well. You won’t believe what we found.

 

JOHN: The friar approaches Gerard.

 

ARTHUR: Did you two find out –

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (in horror): My… My God. 

 

JOHN: Jesus.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: His throat has been slit! (Arthur gasps in fear.)

 

(The sound of gore and dripping blood.)

 

JOHN: The friar pulls Gerard’s head back to reveal a deep, blood-soaked wound that runs the length of his neck! So deep it reveals the bone in his spine!

 

ARTHUR: Oh my God!

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: He’s going to kill us.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Barnabas! He’s gone mad.

 

ARTHUR: How do you…?

 

JOHN: Gerard’s dagger is missing, Arthur. Barnabas must’ve used it to kill him while his back was turned.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: We need to leave.

 

ARTHUR: Maybe we should talk to Barnabas.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (in disbelief): Talk to… what do you think he’s on his way to do right now?

 

JOHN: Arthur, the friar is right!

 

ARTHUR: He may have only wanted to kill Gerard as retribution for Langward –

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Even if that is the case, you would risk leaving us through the night? He is drunk and bloodthirsty.

 

ARTHUR: Okay. No, you’re right.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: We need to… head back to the chambers, to… to your room. Barricade the door.

 

ARTHUR: No, no. (A pause.) No, we need to kill him.

 

JOHN (barking): Arthur! In your current condition, how do you plan –

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (anxiously): I-I-I-I… I don’t –

 

ARTHUR: Listen to me. Together. With the element of surprise on our side. We can stop him. We need to stop him.

 

JOHN (insistent): Arthur, you can barely stand! 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: I am…

 

JOHN: The friar is right!

 

ARTHUR: And if we don’t do this now… (He takes a deep breath.) I might not be here in the morning. 

 

(A sad melody begins.)

 

JOHN: I… I understand. You have to try now. Because you’d be far too weak to fight him in the morning.

 

ARTHUR: If I survive that long.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: I-I’m not sure I follow.

 

ARTHUR: I-It doesn’t matter. We need to kill him. Okay?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Very well. (Footsteps.)

 

JOHN: Alright. The friar heads to the passageway to the east, exiting the room.

 

ARTHUR: Wait, wait! Why? He doesn’t know about the passage, we can head back through.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: What if he does?

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (exasperated): He’s been here a week, Warin! An entire week. It took me moments to find that passage. Do you really believe he sat there in silence all that time? Besides, with what this castle was built for, who knows what other kinds of passages exist here? (A dark melody begins.) One from this room to the chapel, perhaps.

 

ARTHUR: What are you saying?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: I‘m saying… Barnabas knows this castle better than you or I. He’s spent more time here, and I think he may have killed Langward. 

 

ARTHUR: How…?

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Look at the way Gerard’s killed, for God’s sakes! He’s heading to the witch right now. To… end us. We can get behind him if we go through the common room.

 

ARTHUR: But if we head back the way we came, we can emerge from your room.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: And what if he’s at the door waiting for us?

 

JOHN: We need to act quickly, Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: Fine, fine. Through the common room. Quietly. (He coughs loudly and clears his throat.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (sternly): Quietly? (Arthur huffs.)  Well, perhaps we should split up –

 

ARTHUR: No, no. (Footsteps.) I’m fine. (The friar scoffs.) I’m fine, I can keep my cough…

 

JOHN: He’s left through the south exit.

 

ARTHUR: God damn it.

 

JOHN (severely): Quiet that cough, Arthur! For Christ’s sakes.

 

ARTHUR: I’m trying. (John huffs.) 

 

JOHN: Move. (Footsteps.) The hallway leads left and right. The left is to the north, and ends in a stone wall. Artwork hangs from a wooden rod, a-a family crest perhaps. A large stone bust is to its right. The friar is headed south… though only a short way before stopping. I suppose you realize that we have the dagger. 

 

ARTHUR (quietly): That’s right. We need to work together to survive.

 

JOHN: He forces a smile, though his eyes are angry. (Footsteps.) To the left there are a short set of stairs leading down to the kitchen. The way back to the common room is to our right. Here, here. The friar holds a finger up to his lips. (A slow melody begins. Sounds of a fire.) The common room is… still. The fire softly burns away at the remaining log. I don’t see Barnabas. The friar enters after us.(Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: Move!

 

JOHN: To the left is the passage to the chapel. Keep your head on a swivel! Or… gesture to the friar to watch it! Barnabas may come from there. (Fabric shifts.) He nods. Straight ahead. The way back to the hallway that leads to the witch. (A short pause.) Stop, stop! The passage is just ahead. We’ll need to… carefully… peer around the corner. (Fabric shifts.) It’s clear! For now. Move! (Footsteps.)

 

The castle is silent. Every gust of wind… every creaking beam echoes down its vacant hallways. As if… waiting. Slowly. We’re about halfway to the stairwell to the north. Any moment, Barnabas could arrive at the top of those stairs. Keep your eyes — (A doorknob rapidly turning.) Arthur! The door to our left! (The friar starts to pant.)

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: It’s the friar. (A door loudly creaks.) He’s opened the door to our room!

 

ARTHUR: What are you doing?

 

JOHN: He’s heading inside, stop him! (A thud. Horbrooke and Arthur make sounds of exertion.) Arthur, you’re holding the door open with your foot, but just barely! Only his face sticks out from the crack.

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (breathless): I am not ready to die to that barbarian! 

 

ARTHUR: You aren’t going to die, you –

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: You may think you hide your affliction well, Prince, but you do not! I can see the sweat on your brow, can hear the blood in your cough! You may not survive until morning, but I can!

 

ARTHUR: Listen to me! You fool.

 

JOHN: Arthur, he’s fighting to shut the door and –

 

ARTHUR (desperate): Wait, wait, wait, just wait –

 

JOHN: Moving it!

 

ARTHUR: Please! (He grunts in exertion.)

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: I’m… sorry… Prince. But…

 

JOHN (in horror): Arthur…

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (struggling): This… (Wooden creaking.)

 

JOHN: Oh my God, Arthur!

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Is…

 

JOHN (overlapping with Horbrooke): In your room, behind –

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE (overlapping with John): Where… 

 

JOHN: Behind the Friar, it’s –

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: We… part… 

 

JOHN: Barnabas.

 

ARTHUR: No, no, no, no, wait! 

 

FRIAR HORBROOKE: Ways! (A scrape of metal and noises of gore. Horbrooke gurgles. Arthur makes noises of fear.)

 

JOHN: Arthur. (Barnabas growls.) Barnabas was waiting in our room, he’s… driven a dagger through the top of the friar’s head! His face… his eyes… are still locked with ours in the crack of the door. (Scrape of metal. More blood noises.) Blood drips down his forehead in a solitary line. (Barnabas grunts. A thump.) Barnabas has thrown his lifeless body to the side! Arthur, we need to –

 

(A loud slam. Arthur’s noises of fear.)

 

BARNABAS: Whoa there, Prince.

 

JOHN (barking): Arthur! Hold the door. (Wooden creaking. Arthur’s grunts of exertion.) 

 

BARNABAS: I was hoping I’d run into you. (They struggle.)

 

JOHN: Do not let him out. Arthur, Barnabas is much stronger than us. Your foot is on the outside of the door, now keeping it from opening. His face has taken the place of the friar’s, inches from ours! 

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Don’t, don’t!

 

BARNABAS: Surely even you know by now that Gerard had to die.

 

ARTHUR: You… (Wooden creaking.)

 

BARNABAS: Oh, now now. Don’t be so upset. Nyogtha would have wanted it this way. Bloody… and violent! 

 

ARTHUR (panicked): Don’t, don’t. Please.

 

(Rising suspenseful sting.)

 

BARNABAS: Open the door now, Warin!

 

ARTHUR: No no!

 

BARNABAS (emphatic): Let me out.

 

ARTHUR: N-N-No, no no!

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

(A loud bang.)

 

BARNABAS (forceful): Let me out!

 

ARTHUR: No! (Wood splintering.)

 

JOHN: You can’t hold the door for much longer, he’s…

 

BARNABAS: I…

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

BARNABAS: Promise…

 

JOHN: Open the door quickly, and then run!

 

BARNABAS: I’ll make it like the friar’s… nice… and… quick!

 

JOHN: Now! (A soft thump. Rapid footsteps. Barnabas cries out.) He’s fallen! Run! (Barnabas follows, grunting.) The north, Arthur! The stairs!

 

BARNABAS (shouting, distant): Warin!

 

JOHN: It’s the only chance we have! Move! 

 

BARNABAS (distant): This is what he wanted!

 

JOHN: The spiral staircase heads up and down! Up to Evrard’s room, down to the witch! We need to go down, Arthur! Down! 

 

BARNABAS (distant): Warin!

 

JOHN: Move! (Arthur’s grunts of exertion.) The stairs descend at an alarming rate. The tight stone passage is almost too small. Here, here, here! Here. We’re at the bottom. (Arthur groans in pain.) A small room reveals a single oak door, and –

 

BARNABAS (distant): Warin!

 

ARTHUR: What? What?

 

JOHN: Oh, and… she’s not in front of it.

 

ARTHUR: No, no!

 

JOHN: The witch! She’s not here!

 

BARNABAS (distant): Warin!

 

(Repeated thumps.)

 

ARTHUR: Alia! Alia, please! Open, please! (Doorknob turning.)

 

JOHN: Nothing. No answer. (Repeated thumps.)

 

(Muffled and at a distance, Barnabas sings a merry song.)

 

ARTHUR: Alia! 

 

JOHN: Arthur, hit it! Ram it with your shoulder! (A loud thump. Arthur begins to sob in pain.) It’s not moving. Not an inch. 

 

(Barnabas continues to sing.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, he’s… he’s almost here. 

 

ARTHUR (scared): No, no.

 

BARNABAS (closer): Where are you, my little lamb? 

 

JOHN: P-Pull your dagger. (Metal scrape.)

 

ARTHUR (trying the door): Please… please… please… let me in. 

 

(Barnabas pants heavily.)

 

BARNABAS: There you are. 

 

(A door creaks open.) 

 

JOHN: Arthur! The door! I-It’s open, to – Evrard is… standing there inside! Move!

 

BARNABAS: Don’t you run away, you wee l – (A loud slam.)

 

JOHN: Arthur. (Multiple slams, as well as Barnabas’ angry, muffled voice.) Evrard has closed the door behind you. Jesus Christ. 

 

BARNABAS (muffled): Evrard! Open the door!

 

ARTHUR (breathing heavily): Thank you. Thank you.

 

JOHN: Arthur, we’re in an undercroft of sorts. Two gated passages move on from this room on either side of an altar. I don’t see how they open. A large stone floor lay before the altar, almost… ornate. Like a mosaic. And… two stone slabs with flat tops lay in this room. On one of them… the body of Langward. The witch is nowhere to be seen.

 

ARTHUR: It was Barnabas. 

 

JOHN: Evrard looks through a slit eye-level in the door, watching Barnabas. (Barnabas continues, unintelligible.)

 

ARTHUR: Langward… 

 

JOHN: Here, here. His throat slit, as we saw previous. (Arthur sighs.) I think Evrard was examining the body. Perhaps he had the witch take it down here so he could… look for evidence. 

 

ARTHUR: Were you trying…

 

JOHN: Evrard turns away from the door, towards us. Only for a second. 

 

ARTHUR: Ah… damn. (A melancholy melody begins.)

 

JOHN: Arthur. We have a chance here that we didn’t before. With Langward’s body.

 

ARTHUR: But Barnabas…

 

JOHN: Managed to get to the chapel and back to the library unnoticed. 

 

ARTHUR: I…

 

JOHN (seriously): How?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know. 

 

JOHN: Well then.

 

ARTHUR (whispering): Okay. I’m sorry for this.

 

(The sound of static and distorted, digital screaming.) 

 

JOHN (struggling): I… see Gerard and Langward in the chapel. Gerard leaves. Langward… turns his back to the room, looking to the altar and… what… a painting opens! Large… someone emerges… they’re wearing a mask! Black! And they… approach from behind and… slit his throat, Arthur! They turn and retreat to the painting. And… remove the mask. It’s… It’s… Evrard.

 

(An audio distortion. John pants.)

 

ARTHUR: Evrard. 

 

LORD EVRARD: Lord Evrard. (John and Arthur both react in fright.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, Arthur! Evrard is right beside us. Move away. Quickly!

 

ARTHUR: I… you… you were looking for who killed Langward, I’m guessing?

 

JOHN: Evrard gives us space. He moves to the right, backing away from us almost… as if… guiding us, like prey. Move back, Arthur. To the center of the room, in front of the altar.

 

LORD EVRARD: What’s wrong, Prince?

 

ARTHUR: Nothing. Nothing, just… Barnabas! He’s… the killer, clearly!

 

LORD EVRARD (drawing out): Clearly. (Arthur coughs.)

 

JOHN: He’s keeping his distance, moving back… standing next to a sconce on a wall that holds a torch. Arthur, the passages to the left and right are impassable. They have iron bars preventing an escape. (Arthur coughs severely.) The only way out… is past him.

 

LORD EVRARD: You’re quite ill, Warin.

 

ARTHUR: I’ll survive. (He exhales.) 

 

JOHN: He smiles: a sinister, eager grin. 

 

ARTHUR: We… We should go help… Alia. Barnabas will surely try to…

 

LORD EVRARD: Alia can take care of herself, of that I’m sure. And besides, I have you right… where I want you. 

 

ARTHUR: Where is that?

 

JOHN: His eyes flick down to the floor… beneath our feet. 

 

LORD EVRARD: You’ll see.

 

JOHN: Arthur, he’s grabbing the wall sconce and pulls it – (A mechanical noise and Arthur’s call of fright. A long, long silence, followed by multiple impacts. Arthur screams in pain.) Arthur! (He pants.)

 

ARTHUR: Fuck! God damn it! (He continues to make noises of pain.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, we’re… below the floor of the castle, in a… we’re in a forest, Arthur! (Soil shifting.) Moved underground here, the earthen floor beneath is like that of a forest! And the trees… fill this massive room!

 

ARTHUR: Oh, my arm!

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: My arm! I dislocated my shoulder again, when we –

 

JOHN: We hit the branch of a large tree on the way down, and… fuck. Arthur, our bag is in the tree. We have nothing, it’s…

 

LORD EVRARD: The Goatswood trees are not all they seem, Warin. (Scraping noises.)

 

ARTHUR: Evrard!

 

JOHN: The trapdoor above us is closing!

 

LORD EVRARD (darkly): They are not all they seem. (More scraping.)

 

ARTHUR: No!

 

JOHN: The light! It’s leaving with the floor above!

 

ARTHUR: Evrard! 

 

JOHN: Arthur, it’s –

 

ARTHUR: No!

 

JOHN: Dark, beyond dark, it’s – (More scraping, and a final click. Arthur pants. A long silence, and the flick of a lighter.) The light from the lighter doesn’t touch any of the trees. It’s far too dim. (A long pause.) Arthur, we need our items from the tree above. 

 

ARTHUR: I need to reset my shoulder first.

 

JOHN: Right, right. Okay. 

 

ARTHUR: I need to… press it against… the trunk of a tree.

 

JOHN: Right, right. Get up. (Dirt shifting.) I think it was… to the right. (Footsteps.) Wait, wait, wait! 

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: Something… something moved. Just beyond the trees.

 

ARTHUR: What was it?

 

JOHN: I don’t know. (Footsteps.) It looked like… the trees themselves. 

 

ARTHUR: I… 

 

JOHN: Let’s just wait a moment. 

 

ARTHUR: Just… let me reset my shoulder first.

 

JOHN: No. Arthur. Just wait. Something is up ahead, against the tree. Something seems… off. Just, just wait. Hide here for a moment.

 

ARTHUR (frustrated): If there is something down here, I can’t do anything with this arm like this. (He exhales.)

 

JOHN: Please, Arthur. 

 

(‘How Far We’ve Come’ begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Alright. Okay. 

 

JOHN: Thank you. Just… let me… (He sighs.) See what’s before us. (Dirt shifting.) Slowly. Okay. Here, here, here! It’s a tree, but just… just wait. (Arthur grunts in exertion.) The trees are tall, bare… slender. (Arthur huffs a laugh.) I can barely make them out. They lie just past where the edge of the light touches. 

 

ARTHUR: Kellin.

 

JOHN (confused): Kellin? What?

 

ARTHUR: Kellin. It’s Gaelic, remember? It means… slender. (He coughs.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, perhaps you should be quieter. (Arthur sighs.)

 

ARTHUR (flat): Why? If something is down here, it surely heard us fall.

 

JOHN: What are you talking about? That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t –

 

ARTHUR: John… please. 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR (sighing): We’re not getting out of this one. 

 

JOHN (hurt): How can you say that?

 

ARTHUR (surprised): How can I say that! John, look at where we are. (Sadder.) Look at where we are.

 

JOHN: Nonsense. We’ve pushed past –

 

ARTHUR: Look at how I am… John. 

 

JOHN: How you are?

 

ARTHUR: I’m dying. (Softer.) John, I’m dead. Horig… whatever he did to me. Yorick was right. And he’s stuck in that tree, so he can’t even tell me how right he was! (He laughs, dissolving into coughing and spitting.)

 

JOHN: Arthur… (Trees rustling.) Movement. In the trees!

 

ARTHUR (unbothered): Yes, yes. (He sniffs.)

 

JOHN: I can’t believe I’m hearing this! Do you not remember Larson’s mansion? When I told you that –

 

ARTHUR: This isn’t like Addison, John. I-I’m saying… what way out do you see here? I’m saying… what other play do we have? I can’t get our bag. Even if we did and somehow survived whatever’s down here and somehow we climbed up to Evrard… I can’t beat him. I can’t defeat him or stop him. And even so! The witch and Mother Darkness and whatever the owl was… (At a loss.) Kayne, I-I… (He coughs.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, I… (Trees rustling.) It’s moving again. Maybe it doesn’t see us. 

 

ARTHUR: You know… (Wistful.) I really would’ve liked to write to Marie. 

 

(A melancholy melody begins.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, why are you…

 

ARTHUR: She surprised me, you know. Her warmth surprised me. I wonder if that only comes after… 

 

JOHN: After…? (He gasps.) I think it’s moved on. Get up. Let’s reset this arm and –

 

ARTHUR: No. No. I don’t think so, John. 

 

JOHN (surprised): What?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t think this is… I think this is maybe it. (A quick melody begins.) I can’t… (Sobbing.) I don’t have it in me to stand back up. 

 

JOHN: Then I’ll project myself! I’ll get us out of this! And you can –

 

ARTHUR: Yeah! Yeah, I think that’ll kill me outright, so.

 

JOHN (breathless): What?

 

ARTHUR: Sure, if you want. (He chuckles.)

 

JOHN: I can’t believe I’m hearing –

 

ARTHUR: I’m hurt and tired and weak and my lungs… burn. I… am… broken. And I just want to… 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR (exhaling): I think it’s time. Yeah. I think… I think I want to read Oscar’s letter.

 

JOHN (stupefied): Now? Are you… have you lost your… Arthur, please! 

 

ARTHUR: Please. (Fabric shifting.) I’ve held onto it for a while, now. Hoping to read it when the time was right. And I suppose this is as good a time as any. (Trees rustling.)

 

JOHN (halfheartedly): The trees move, A-Arthur. Something… something… (Paper shifting.)

 

ARTHUR: This… This is all I want right now, John. Please.

 

JOHN (quietly): Alright. 

 

ARTHUR: Tell me what it says.

 

JOHN: It’s… It’s… 

 

ARTHUR: Please. 

 

JOHN: I mean… it says… it says… 

‘Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole-to-pole.
I thank… whatever gods may be… for my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance… I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance… my head is bloody… but unbowed. 

 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the horror of the shade.
And yet… the menace of the years… finds and shall find me… unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll…
I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.’ 

 

(Arthur laughs quietly.)

 

ARTHUR: You… (The laughter dissolves into coughs. He sighs.) It doesn’t really say that, does it?

 

JOHN: The letter was washed away long ago. I can’t read any of it. 

 

(Arthur laughs uproariously, then coughs and spits.)

 

ARTHUR: Ah, I suppose that’s fitting. I chose to forget Oscar back when we entered the Order. So this feels… yeah. Yeah. Alright, then. (He grunts in exertion.)

 

JOHN: Arthur! You’re… you’re standing, I-I –

 

ARTHUR (panting): Come on, now. You didn’t really think… I was going to give up that easy, did you?

 

JOHN (shocked): You… you’re… 

 

ARTHUR: I have to… (He chuckles.) Get some culture into you, somehow! 

 

JOHN (victoriously): Yes, Arthur! 

 

ARTHUR: Where did you even learn…?

 

JOHN: Maybe I’ve always known it. (He chuckles.)

 

ARTHUR: I’m sure you have. Come on, now. Miles to go, eh?

 

JOHN: Miles to go!

 

(A thudding impact. John grunts. Arthur seethes in pain.)

 

ARTHUR: Fuck. (He makes noises of pain.)

 

JOHN: Did it work? 

 

ARTHUR (in pain): Yeah! Woke me up, too! 

 

JOHN: Now… we get that bag. 

 

ARTHUR: Right. 

 

JOHN: This way. (Footsteps.) Back where we landed. 

 

ARTHUR (panting): Whatever’s out there…

 

JOHN: It’s large. It’s been circling us. Waiting. 

 

ARTHUR: For what?

 

JOHN: I don’t know. Here, here! Here! This tree. 

 

ARTHUR: Great. 

 

JOHN: I can’t see how high the bag is, it’s… it’s too dark. We need more light. 

 

ARTHUR: More… light. Well. (Paper rustling.) I may never get to know what Oscar wrote, but. His letter will surely help.

 

JOHN: How? Oh! (A fire burns.) The letter is catching on fire. The light grows, and… I can see the bag! It’s on the lowest branch! It’s hanging off, a heavy hit could knock it down and… and… (In horror.) Arthur, I see it. Just beyond the tree. Jesus fucking Christ.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

(A dark melody begins.)

 

JOHN: It stands perfectly still in the darkness. It’s… massive. Fifty feet high or more. It stands perfectly still with large, hooflike legs tightly held together. Hidden within the trees. Its body… is a toothy maw, dripping long thick wiry strings of saliva as it lay in wait. (Arthur gasps.) I… I… I’ve seen this before! 

 

ARTHUR: What? How?

 

JOHN: I… I can’t recall, but… (Fire crackling.) The light is dying. Arthur! We need to get our bag, and… 

 

(Trees creak.)

 

ARTHUR: It’s moving. 

 

JOHN: It is. Slowly. 

 

ARTHUR: If I can get it to… hit the tree…

 

JOHN: Attack?

 

ARTHUR: This tree is too thick for me to move, but t-that thing…

 

JOHN: And how do you intend to provoke it?

 

ARTHUR: I-I don’t know… but I’ll do my best. (Calling out.) Hey! I see you there, in the dark!

 

(Wood creaking. A beastly chirr.) 

 

JOHN: It moves again, slowly. The Dark Young, that’s –

 

ARTHUR: Dark Young! Like… like from the book, at Armitage’s!

 

(Continued wood creaking.)

 

JOHN: That’s it! That’s what I read, Arthur! Arthur, I’ve seen this thing! I… 

 

ARTHUR: There it is.

 

JOHN: It’s moving towards us.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah.

 

JOHN: Arthur, Armitage’s book… it was on Shub-Niggurath!

 

ARTHUR: That’s right!

 

JOHN: The Motherless Trees! These must be what remains!

 

ARTHUR (shouting): Come on, you!

 

JOHN: If Shub was erased from this timeline, these must have remained… Motherless! Without a god! It now serves Evrard in this castle.

 

ARTHUR: Excellent, John, but I-I need to know –

 

JOHN: It approaches… slowly! It doesn’t fear us at all!

 

ARTHUR: I don’t blame it.

 

JOHN: But… Armitage’s books… the diary we read… it pointed out a weak spot!

 

ARTHUR: Okay. (Realizing.) Okay!

 

JOHN: We can defeat this thing.

 

ARTHUR: Okay, we can certainly try. 

 

JOHN: We just need to… Arthur, jump! (An impact. Arthur’s grunts of exertion. Metal clinking.) Arthur, the bag! Behind us! That’s it!

 

ARTHUR: Got it!

 

JOHN: Run! (Arthur pants. The creature groans. Wood continues to creak.) It follows, but slowly, as if it fears no mortal man! (The bag rustles.) What are you…

 

ARTHUR: The gun!

 

JOHN: The gun? (Metal clicking.) Yes, Arthur! Arthur, slow down! You’re losing your footing, Arthur! 

 

(Arthur coughs. A thud. Arthur makes noises of pain.)

 

ARTHUR: Fuck.

 

JOHN: Arthur…

 

ARTHUR (breathless): I… I pushed myself…

 

JOHN: Arthur, there’s a tree here. Here! Put your back to it. Turn around –

 

ARTHUR: I can’t get up. I can’t…

 

JOHN: Just turn around! Get the gun and… (Metal clicking. Everything quiets.) I don’t… I don’t see it. The light from the lighter, you… you dropped it a few feet back. I can only see the ends of our feet. 

 

ARTHUR: Six shots. Right?

 

JOHN: Right. 

 

ARTHUR: We’ll make it work. Just… tell me where to aim.

 

JOHN: The weak spot is in its maw. I-Its mouth. Which takes up most of its body, but… I-I don’t know how we’ll… Fuck. (A shift. Arthur gasps.) Left. (A short pause.) Nothing. (Wood creaks.) I can hear it, but I can’t see it. (A short pause.) There, there! There. At the edge of the light. Straight ahead. (Wood creaks.) The creature stands… (Ominous music plays.) All three of its legs now expanded out, revealing the glistening jaws of its mouth. (The creature chirrs.) I see only teeth, Arthur. But perhaps… the bullet can penetrate. 

 

Aim. Higher. A little more. There! (A gunshot. The creature cries out.) Arthur! You hit it dead on! The bullet grazed its teeth. It steps forward. Fire again! (A gunshot. The creature squeals.) The bullet can’t penetrate its maw. Arthur! Again! (A gunshot. John grunts.) You missed. To the left. (A gunshot. John grunts.) Again, you missed! Arthur, it comes closer! Back to the right. (A gunshot. A clinking noise.) The bullet hit its teeth but bounced off, Arthur! It’s nearly on us!

 

ARTHUR: We need to wait!

 

JOHN: Wait? What?

 

ARTHUR: Its mouth… is at the bottom, right?

 

JOHN: Arthur, it’s nearly on us!

 

ARTHUR: We have one shot left!

 

JOHN (terrified): It approaches over…top. (Arthur makes noises of fear.) Its legs surround us, its maw is… Arthur, right above us! I see it… within! Arthur, fire! Now! (A gunshot. The creature roars.) You did it! (Arthur laughs deliriously.) You hit it… A-Arthur! (Arthur begins to cough.) Within the creature’s maw… Jesus Christ. (A loud thump. Dripping blood. A gentle melody begins.) I knew… you could do it. 

 

ARTHUR (panting): Not without you, my friend. 

 

JOHN: I never doubted you. 

 

(A loud thump and the sound of gore. Arthur and John react in fear.) 

 

ARTHUR: What the…

 

JOHN: It’s… a body! It fell from above! The light, Arthur! The trap door above is open again, and –

 

ARTHUR: Whose body is this?

 

JOHN: Barnabas’. H-He’s dead, his throat slit like the others!

 

ARTHUR: I don’t…

 

JOHN: The witch is at the top. Evrard isn’t there. 

 

ARTHUR: Alia?

 

JOHN: Her eyes still blindfolded. She turns away from the opening.

 

ARTHUR (realizing): Barnabas wasn’t working with Evrard. This was all Evrard’s doing. He brought us all here to kill us.

 

JOHN: To kill Warin, not you.

 

ARTHUR: All the same to him. We must… have something in here… (Fabric shifts. Metal clinks.) 

 

JOHN: In the bag? Perhaps if we climb a tree, we can reach the trap door.

 

ARTHUR: Maybe Yorick… has a solution. 

 

JOHN (exhaling): The bag’s items have spilled everywhere, the tin has broken open.

 

ARTHUR: Nothing broken, though?

 

JOHN: No, no. Maybe the Glass of Leng is chipped, but surprisingly, the Hand of Malevolence is still intact. As if its pieces are supernaturally stuck together.

 

ARTHUR: Maybe we could use that, even. The Hand –

 

JOHN: Wait, wait, wait, wait!

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: The coin!

 

ARTHUR: The coin?

 

JOHN: Yes, b-but I –

 

LORD EVRARD: I must say.

 

(John and Arthur gasp.)

 

JOHN: Evrard. (Arthur exhales. A metal scrape.) He holds a drawn sword. 

 

LORD EVRARD: I’m rather impressed. 

 

ARTHUR: Evrard. Listen to me. Whatever you think I did… whoever you think I am…

 

LORD EVRARD: Barnabas was quite bloodthirsty. I knew it wouldn’t take much to push him over the edge. (A slow melody begins.) All I needed was to make the first move.

 

ARTHUR: Evrard, please.

 

JOHN (eagerly): The coin in the bag, it –

 

LORD EVRARD: Previously, it had not been so easy.

 

ARTHUR: Previous? You’ve killed –

 

LORD EVRARD: More than you can imagine. This castle has become my own… personal hunting grounds of sorts.

 

JOHN: Arthur! I don’t think he –

 

ARTHUR: You murder these people?

 

LORD EVRARD (in disgust): Murder? You call this murder? (A metal scrape. The sound of gore.)

 

JOHN: He drives the tip of his sword into the dead body of Barnabas. (Footsteps.)

 

LORD EVRARD: This… This is… duty. 

 

ARTHUR: Duty?

 

LORD EVRARD: A duty I shall continue to fulfill, despite you taking away a powerful advantage. So long, Prince. Remarkable performance.

 

JOHN (aggressively): Arthur, God damn it, show him the coin!

 

ARTHUR: I…

 

JOHN: Do it!

 

ARTHUR: Wait, wait, wait! Wait, wait! (Fabric shifting. Metal clinking.) Here!

 

JOHN: The script on the coin! It’s not script but a sigil! The same sigil I saw hanging over the table in the study.

 

ARTHUR: Look! 

 

LORD EVRARD (dumbfounded): Where did you…

 

JOHN: It was the coin given to us by the Three Soldiers.

 

LORD EVRARD: Where…

 

JOHN: We never knew why they gave it to us.

 

ARTHUR: It was given to me… in trust.

 

JOHN: Tell him who gave it to us.

 

ARTHUR: By three soldiers.

 

LORD EVRARD (reasoning): You… You are not Prince Warin. 

 

ARTHUR: No. I’m not. (Dirt shifts.)

 

JOHN: Evrard turns away for a moment… (Metal scrapes.) And sheathes his sword. (A soft melody begins.) And extends a hand for us. 

 

LORD EVRARD: Where did you meet them?

 

ARTHUR: I… in another place. I-I… I can’t…

 

LORD EVRARD: Did they share with you… the importance of this?

 

JOHN: He narrows his eyes. 

 

ARTHUR: No. No, I… I believe… I believe they gave me this coin… because… they knew in my journey… I would encounter you.

 

LORD EVRARD: This coin… is a token. A marker for those who silently stand against the darker forces of this world, as I have chosen to do. I had given it to the soldiers so that they may seek allies as they navigate within the den of wolves, but even in their death, I know they held its secret close. They would have had to have gifted to you, for beyond its significance to me, it is worthless.

 

ARTHUR: I-I didn’t know. Just that they trusted me with it.

 

LORD EVRARD: I assumed. (Footsteps. He sighs.) After my father’s brush with the beyond, I began to understand the true nature of what we were doing and what we sought. And its cost. (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.) He was not a perfect man, but I loved him as any son would love their father. I could no longer follow the path he had laid out for me. I could no longer allow this castle to be in servitude of such… dark forces. 

 

So. I sat in this cold and empty castle… with its belly full of my father and grandfather’s sins…

 

JOHN: He gestures with his chin to the lifeless corpse of the Dark Young.

 

LORD EVRARD: As evil took root, all around me.

 

JOHN: He looks to Barnabas now.

 

LORD EVRARD: Until I could stand it no more.

 

ARTHUR: All that is necessary for the triumph of evil… is that good men do nothing.

 

LORD EVRARD: I am no good man. Simply one that refuses to sit idly by as this plague spreads across the land.

 

ARTHUR: So you lure them here. Cultists. 

 

LORD EVRARD: I sought Alia, who has been in my servitude for many a year now. Her powers are quite remarkable, able to see into the hearts of men. 

 

JOHN: He looks up to the still-open trapdoor, though she’s still gone.

 

LORD EVRARD: With her help, we brought many a party here to end their lines, extinguish their followers… and quiet the beckoning darkness altogether. 

 

ARTHUR: What of the Blackstone? Do you indeed have it? 

 

LORD EVRARD: I do. It is safe here. (Gently.) But it will not be for long. 

 

JOHN: He looks to us.

 

LORD EVRARD: It needs to be relocated. Perhaps the soldiers were wise to have us meet. 

 

ARTHUR: Arthur. Arthur Lester. 

 

LORD EVRARD: Curious name. Seeing as you are not Prince Warin, what brought you here?

 

JOHN: We can’t tell him the truth about the Blackstone.

 

ARTHUR: I-I’m on a journey of sorts.

 

JOHN (urgently): Arthur, anything you say must be true! 

 

ARTHUR: I don’t quite know its destination yet.

 

JOHN: Especially if the witch can read the hearts of men!

 

ARTHUR: But…

 

JOHN: We do serve Kayne’s interests… and I was the King!

 

ARTHUR: Believe me when I tell you… that I want to protect… humanity. In all of its forms. 

 

JOHN (softly): Huh. He nods slowly. 

 

ARTHUR: A-And trust that the soldiers entrusted me with this coin… knowing that I too serve to extinguish darkness. Whenever possible.

 

LORD EVRARD: Yes, you’ve evidently proved that.

 

ARTHUR: I… (He audibly shivers. Fabric shifts.)

 

JOHN: Arthur…

 

LORD EVRARD: Though… you do seem to have trouble standing.

 

JOHN: Are you okay?

 

ARTHUR: I-I c… (He begins to cough.)

 

JOHN: You’re shaking quite violently. (Arthur huffs.)

 

LORD EVRARD: You don’t sound very well. 

 

ARTHUR: Evrard, I’m afraid… though I lied about my allegiance to Horig, I… do carry his sickness. 

 

JOHN: His eyes study our face. 

 

LORD EVRARD: I see. Well. I suppose… I could have Alia heal you. (A melancholy melody begins.)

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: H-Heal me? 

 

LORD EVRARD: She has a great number of gifts. One is the ability… to cure almost any affliction. I’ve used it myself, many times. A great number of my foes have tried to fight back, as it were. 

 

JOHN: Oh… Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: I…

 

JOHN: We….

 

ARTHUR (shaken): I was… ready to…

 

LORD EVRARD: It is, of course, no simple task. And will take some time.

 

JOHN: I told you, Arthur. We never give up!

 

ARTHUR (near tears): I don’t know – know how to… how to thank you…

 

LORD EVRARD: Thank me not, for I have quite the heavy cost in mind. For a long while now, the Blackstone has been safe here in the castle. But Alia has sensed forces yet unseen… who wish to take it for their own. (Arthur exhales.) It must be relocated. I have discovered a safe place and three I trust who have agreed to escort the stone. But I require a fourth.  That fourth… will be you.

 

ARTHUR: That doesn’t seem like a heavy cost for my life being saved.

 

LORD EVRARD: But it is. (A mysterious melody begins.) The path you take is fraught with danger. A great number of creatures hunger for the Stone, a great number of humans as well. The lands themselves have rotted, the swamps fetid and labyrinthine, not even the coast is safe. And the journey, perils aside, is a lengthy one. But… if what I’ve seen here is a sign of your abilities…

 

JOHN: Again, he gestures to the Dark Young.

 

LORD EVRARD: Then I should think you’ll have no trouble.

 

ARTHUR: You’ll heal me? Cure me of this affliction? In exchange for me being one of the four to guide the Blackstone across the country?

 

LORD EVRARD: Yes. Do you accept?

 

ARTHUR: Well, I…

 

JOHN: It would get us closer to the Blackstone. Perhaps along the road, we can find a place to quietly… slip away with it. But it would expose us… in almost every way. Mother Darkness still hunts us, and the owl is surely waiting for us beyond these walls, ready to strike. But with everything at stake…

 

LORD EVRARD: Well?

 

(A short pause.)

 

ARTHUR: I accept.

 

(A click, followed by static.)

 

(END Part 49.)