Cravendish
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Once more unto the breach, there was Cravendish wandering about the nooks and crannies of the fair town of Brayburn, ever searching, ever seeking that elusive clue that would aid the completion of his investigation, the one insight into the universe which held within its chest the secret that Cravendish was craving; the truth. And a cat. Oh, and a girl. And, if possible, Claire?
He had taken the information given freely to him by his Uncle and ventured down to that infamous Bandstand - infamous for entirely different reasons, none of which were pertinent to the investigation. The area was empty of people, as often happened at that time of day, but nearby there was an outdoor café, that possessed a gaggle patrons and a spare seat. Cravendish chose to take that spare seat and reassess his options. He sat next to a suited man, who was wrestling with a Broadsheet, while two old women, plainly and obviously day-trippers, watched him avidly from an adjoining table. Cravendish was slumped into his own foetid self-reflection, wondering endlessly and without constraint why he simply couldn't seem to solve his one defining case, the case he had so obsessively desired for the sake of his sanity and his business when it flopped conveniently into his lap, at the right time and in the right place. He knew he had not the aptitude for anything else, nor the inclination or energy for something different, but perhaps it was beginning to look like the dark clouds had come and the rain thundered down on his ambitions. He couldn't even rely on the passion for Claire Ditherall any more, and that cut the deepest. Yet, and perpetually, the old women watched him intently, before one of them began to speak.
"Excuse me? Are you local? Are your caves haunted? Because I could swear I heard a strange call from inside?" began the one named Loretta.
Maisie, her companion, spoke also, "Nah, sounded more like a cat, or something -"
Cravendish's mind began to defog from the self-propelled pity he had installed there, "Sorry? Where did you say you heard this cat?"
Maisie looked surprised at the prospect of a conversation beginning, "Up at the caves. Is it the ghost of a cat then?"
Cravendish shrugged, an action that looked more like a danger to shipping, "I don't know."
Loretta was astonished, "You don't know?"
"No." replied Cravendish.
Maisie looked off into the distance, perhaps searching for where she last left her sensibility, "Or is it the ghost of a whale?"
"A whale?!" spat Loretta.
"Yes, a whale." agreed Maisie.
"Why on Earth would a whale be in a cave?!" asked Loretta.
Maisie looked incensed, "I did say it was dead."
Loretta simply stared then at her companion, "A dead whale making a noise?!"
"If it was a ghost!" insisted Maisie.
Loretta looked long and hard into her companion's eyes, before adding, "Oh, well, if it was a ghost, then that'd be different. So is it?" Loretta had returned her attention to Cravendish, who was frozen to the spot by naked absurdity.
"Is it what?" he asked.
Maisie smiled at him, "A ghost whale?"
And then the mist dropped from his eyes, while realisation took over. Cravendish stood and walked swiftly toward the caves, saying, "I have no idea!" because their words meant nothing more than an accompaniment to his footfalls as he pushed on toward destiny.
Loretta broke the awkward silence, "Did he say he was local?"
Maisie sipped her tea, "Why?"
"Well, surely, if he was local, he'd know if it was a ghost or not." explained Loretta.
"Of a whale?" added Maisie.
Loretta rolled her eyes at her companion, "Yes! Of course of a whale!"
This was followed by a further silence, until Maisie intervened with the age old question, "More tea?"
Loretta's attention was pulled back to what constituted a reality on their planet, "Don't mind if I do! Sir?" Loretta leaned over to the man still reading his Broadsheet. He flicked his eyes over the top of the paper, making his first and ultimate mistake, "Yes, you. Do you know if the caves are haunted?" The man gave his answer by feigning ignorance of being asked a question, prompting Loretta's reply, "How rude!" And the air was filled again with the clink of tea cup and spoon.
#
With desperate hope and clearness of intention, Cravendish stood apprehensively at the destiny-laden entrance to the caves. He called out, nervous at first, but his voice soon became clear.
"Hello?" It echoed about the dark and damp stone of the cave walls, yet somewhere in the deceptive distance, he distinctly heard a cat meow, and the jingle of a bell. He called out again, this time more confidently, "Hello?"
He could hear the cat once more, but with the returning echo, there was also the distinct sound of someone moaning, perhaps a female voice from the raised intonation, somewhere in the caves. Cravendish had grown up around the area. He knew his way around, and these caves had formed a large part of his training for the lonely life he would discover later, where he would venture within and perform solo adventures, of the great explorers and the great detectives of old. Cravendish entered and made for the sounds of the girl.
As Cravendish arrived into the small and detailed grotto, he could see a bundle lying upon the ground, dressed in bright colours. The bundle moved, followed by the continued and distressful moans of, quite obviously, a girl. The cat, however, sat staring smugly at Cravendish, swishing its tail and purring maliciously, brandishing the diamond studded collar about its neck. As Cravendish approached, the cat assumed the movement was to give it attention, so the cat advanced expectantly, but when Cravendish walked past and ignored it, the cat took its revenge out on a protruding rock with its sharp claws.
Cravendish gently rocked the girl, "Hello? Are you - Antonia Berngaard, by any chance?"
It was perhaps the beaming inane smile on Cravendish's face that stunned her at first, "Who - who are you?" she asked croakily.
"Never mind me!" enthused Cravendish, "Are you okay?"
"I am very cold - thank you. I am lost, I think?" speculated Antonia, blinking in the dull light.
Cravendish fussed about her, "What happened? Can you sit?"
Antonia forced herself into a recumbent position using the help Cravendish offered, "I - all I remember was this noise. I was holding a - what is it? A thing from my homeland -"
"The brooch." added Cravendish helpfully.
Antonia looked reflective, like she was playing some scene back in her mind of what had happened to her, "Yes, that. I saw something quite disturbing, and I simply had to rush over there."
Cravendish was giddy, "What was happening? Can you expand?"
Antonia coughed and stroked her scratched throat, "I'm sorry. I need a drink."
Cravendish bounded to his feet like an excited puppy after it had found a particularly delicious shoe, "Of course! Just - wait here! I'll get the Paramedics!"
It took a few moment, but once Cravendish had returned to the cave, he sat with Antonia and waited for the Emergency Services to arrive. While they sat, she told of how she heard and saw a commotion between a young plump girl and a poor black cat. the girl was insisting kitty got under the water, in the rock-pool a short distance from shore. The cat was visibly and understandably reluctant, but the young rambunctious child would have none of it. The actual instance that turned child against cat was entirely missed, but the consequence was immediate and cruel. The cat hissed against her, which just made the bundle of flabby spoiled child more aggressive and punctilious. This was when Antonia felt she had to intervene, and marched over to the unruly child to reprimand her for her actions. The girl immediately released the cat, which scurried away behind some low rocks to lick its wounds, and its genitals as was its want. The girl looked sickeningly innocent in a well practised action that obviously worked on her unobservant parental units, but held no stock for Antonia. She hadn't noticed that she had largely been admonishing the child in her own language, seemingly a stream of consonants and vowels arranged in some lyrical way, but not flashing understanding over the girl, who looked now to all the world, like not only could butter not melt in her mouth, neither could a clump of ice. Antonia ignored the girl and went after the cat, assuming it belonged to someone else, and being an animal lover as she was, Antonia was desperate to return the cat to its rightful owner. This, of course and inevitably, led her further away from the familiar coast and deeper into the natural mysteries of Brayburn - namely the caves. There Antonia had remained, close to hypothermia for the last few days. Even the cat had been no help, not lying upon her for warmth. It simply remained aloof and licked its nether regions.
Once she had finished recounting her story, the Paramedics arrived and tended to her, checking her over and providing her with a warm, comforting blanket, whereupon she was slowly walked out of the caves - and into the arms of her boyfriend, the frantic Hoehler, gathering her up and lifting her to freedom and love.
Cravendish couldn't help admiring the bond they had together, yet also unable to prevent the green eyed snot-monster that was jealousy, rear its bald and eczema-laden head to be shot at by the forces of the lonely. It was certainly something Cravendish craved, but he knew he would have to wait a while until that pleasure was returned to him, by someone who cared enough about him to care to be with him - even with his quirks, his demeanour and his height. Oh, and his abysmal taste in clothes. And his condition. Certainly his condition. The methane alone could run a small City, if only it was harnessed properly.
Cravendish walked away from the commotion, to a relative peace of distance and detachment dictated by lack of attention. Oh how simple life can be, and how infinitely complicated it becomes.
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