Causing a Scene July 16 (13 Feb 2003) Mrs. Smith faints at the sight of Ahearn ... and several people of Ainigton rush to her aid.

The Corner of Main and Nash
These two streets meet at a small circular plaza, with Ainigton's Town Hall dominating the southwest corner. Regal leonine statues flank either side of the long steps up it. A few smaller office buildings occupy the streets north and west, whilethe street going east has several two-story townhouses.

Just east of the round plaza, a curious tableau unfolds, as a man who looks to be in his early thirties catches an older woman whose knees have suddenly buckled beneath her. A greyhound and a great white stallion with two young riders stand beside them, surprised and taken aback by this unfortunate turn of events.

"Mrs. Smith!" the blonde girl cries as the woman collapses. She leans slightly to one side from her position on the horse, as the reflexive urge to help the poor woman comes to her. But even were the princess beside her she'd be little help in stopping her fall. "Agatha, we should get her somewhere comfortable; I can try and help her then."

While the little girl leans forward, an old Ford pickup, driving leisurely along Nash, suddenly turns and pulls over a few yards away. A middle-aged man in denim coveralls hops out, looking concerned.

The door to the house across the street from the scene pops open, and a woman holding a dish towel in one hand emerges, saying, "Mrs. Smith?" in a panicky voice.

Agatha dismounts Ahearn, and offer her hands up to help Alice down as well. Noticing the woman from the nearby house, she calls to her, "Can we have some water for Mrs. Smith? She's fainted!"

"This isn't good at all," worries the princess. She frowns as she climbs down from Ahearn and makes rushes around Agatha to try and get beside the fallen elderly woman. "Excuse me," she urges the thirty-ish man not impolitely.

"Goodness!" the young woman says, and darts back into her house. Meanwhile, John Cortlynn is maneuvering Mrs. Smith into a more comfortable position, with her legs stretched out before her on the street, and his arm supporting her back and head. He gives the girls a silent, pleading look, almost desperate, as if he doesn't know what to do and is hoping that they do.

"What's happened here?" the man in the coveralls says, and Agatha recognizes him as Mr. Jones, the farmer who owns the fields south of town. "I saw her fall -- is she all right?" he continues, approaching.

Alice lays a hand on Mrs. Smith's forehead even as she places her ear to the woman's chest. She closes her eyes as she tries to concentrate on the woman's heart rhythm and breathing. "Water would be great," agrees a few minutes late and more than a bit distracted. "Towel too!"

"I think she just overexerted herself, Mr. Jones," Agatha says to the man. After all, she doesn't think that there's anything physically wrong with the woman.

Mr. Jones makes a grunt, hunching down next to Mrs. Smith, and raises his eyebrows. "Why, it's Mrs. Smith!" he says. He fans a hand in front of her face. "What's she doing walking so far from home? We'd better get her to the hospital -- put her in my truck, Mr. -- hey, who are you?" He glares at Mr. Cortlynn suspiciously.

A nasty chill runs down Agatha's spine. "The hospital?" she asks, worriedly. "Maybe we should wait until she has a drink of water first?"

"I'm John Cortlynn," the dark-haired man answers, looking sheepish and bewildered. "I was just visiting Mrs. Smith -- she suggested the walk -- is she going to be all right?" he asks Alice, anxiously. "What happened?"

The little girl's eyes blink open. "M'lady's ok-, um, Mrs. Smith will be a-okay." Sitting up to watch the elderly woman with a guilty expression the girl continues with her diagnosis, "She shouldn't, um, 'overexert' herself anymore," she gives Agatha a look, "and, um, um, well water would be nice along with a wetted towel. It's a hot day. Oh! And I think I have some smellies." The blonde reaches over to dig through her purse.

"Well, it's plain to me she oughtn't be walking about town like this," Mr. Jones says, firmly. "Imagine that! A woman her age!" He says this despite the fact that Mrs. Smith leads, to the best of the girls' knowledge, quite an active life, and looks rather younger than Mr. Jones himself. "You all should be ashamed of yourselves, dragging poor Mrs. Smith all over!" He glares at the three of them.

Mr. Cortlynn wears a guilty look the mate of Alice's. "I'm sorry, really, I had no idea," he stammers.

After sniffing the contents of several bags of herbs (with the little girl displaying varying degrees of funny-faced reaction) the blonde settles on one and pulls a few leaves free. These she holds under Mrs. Smith's nose careful that she doesn't accidentally tickle her. At the adult's admonishment the girl hunches over more to hide her face as she looks all the more guilty.

Agatha can't help but blush under the glare, and doesn't try to come up with an excuse (like saying that Mrs. Smith was already on her way here when they ran into her). She looks away to the houses to see if the woman with the dishcloth is returning yet or not, instead.

The woman with the dish towel re-emerges, carrying a big bowl of water, and her towel still. Water sloshes onto the street as she hurries towards the others. "Mrs. Smith! Are you all right?" she calls.

Another woman is poking her head out a second-story window, yelling, "Mabel! What's the matter?"

The woman with the dish towel answers, "It's Mrs. Smith! I think she's had a heart attack!"

"Oh no, it's nothing that serious!" Agatha says as she goes to meet the woman, hoping it's the truth. Tom would kill her if he found out she gave his grandma a coronary!

At the far end of the street, a few kids with ice cream cones are pointing and whispering to each other, wild-eyed at the commotion. The tall, thin Mr. Foxworthy emerges from his shop, shading his eyes.

"Oh phooey," says Alice at the adult's review. "It's not a heart attack. Mrs. Smith just fainted, that's all." The suggestion that the three of them gave her a heart attack at all makes the blonde blush fiercely.

The second-story woman gives a gasp at Mabel's answer, and ducks her head back inside. It's not clear whether she heard Agatha's response or not.

A moment later, Mrs. Smith stirs, her nose wrinkling at the wafter herbs. Her eyelids flutter as Mabel sets the bowl of water down next to Alice. "A what?" she says.

Letting out a sigh of relief as the woman comes to, Agatha realizes her own heart is pounding and tries to relax, before she passes out next.

"It's not a heart attack," repeats the blonde for the elderly woman. "You fainted, Mrs. Smith. Over- ... overexertion. Which we're terribly sorry about. Very much so!" The little glances at the water and then up to Mabel. "Miss Mabel, may I borrow your towel if it's clean?"

"I saw it all! That monstrous beast of a horse gave Mrs. Smith a horrible fright!" Mabel declares, with a glare at Ahearn. Almost absentmindedly, she hands the towel to Alice. It's already a little damp, but it doesn't look dirty.

At this, Mr. Jones glances at Ahearn. "Where did you get that animal?" he asks. "That doesn't look like one of Mrs. Danzwyck's."

For his part, Ahearn tries to look unassuming and harmless. It might be more convincing if he hadn't just gone through his whole Lord-of-the-Horses presentation.

Forcing a grin, Agatha glances at Mabel before telling Mr. Jones, "He's... from out of town. Just visiting."

"Thank you," offers the little blonde. She dips the towel in the water enough so it's wet but not dripping and then daubs it along Mrs. Smith's forehead tenderly. "You'll be okay, Mrs. Smith. Just a bit of fainting. Ahearn didn't mean to give you such a start. It's okay now." The little girl doesn't look wholly convinced everything is "okay" however.

"Oh," Mrs. Smith says, sitting up a little further. Mr. Cortlynn hastily rearranges himself to support her better, bracing one of his knees behind her back. "It wasn't that much exertion -- I was just, ah ... " She blinks a few times, looking confused.

"Really," the farmer says, in an entirely unconvinced tone. He stares at Agatha for another moment.

"It's okay, Mrs. Smith," repeats Alice. She sounds a little numb. "I'm very sorry this happened. I'm sure Agatha is too."

"Well ... I'm sure ... " Mrs. Smith peters off, as though she's not really sure of anything.

Mr. Cortlynn says, "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Smith. Are you feeling any better?" he asks solicitously.

"He belongs to a friend of Mr. Kuning," Agatha says to the farmer, trying to look more convincing. "I take care of Destre for him, remember? That horse I was walking when I ran into you on the highway?"

The middle-aged woman abruptly seems to realize that she's cradled against Mr. Cortlynn, and blushes bright red, fussing to straighten up. "Oh! I -- I'm fine, Mr. Cortlynn," she says, flustered.

Mr. Jones makes a hmph sound, while Mabel says, "Well! That Mr. Kuning has some nerve, bringing such an unruly beast around town! You'd better get him right out of here, Agatha Cunningham! Scaring innocent women like that!"

The farmer offers his hand to Mrs. Smith. "Come now, Mr. Coughlin, was it? Help Mrs. Smith to my truck. We'll get you right home, Mrs. Smith," he promises.

Alice looks sympathetic. "It's all a bit overwhelming sometimes," she offers even as the woman sits up, flustered. "Do you need any water Mrs. Smith?"

"Oh no, ma'am, Ahearn is really well behaved," Agatha explains to Mabel, trying not to sound desperate. "He's... a trained show horse, and Mrs. Smith was just a little surprised by one of his tricks, really," she says, patting Ahearn on the side of the neck to show that he isn't going to bite her hand off or anything.

"He's very gentle," offers the blonde in support of her friend. "I was riding Ahearn earlier. He wouldn't let me fall even if I tried to."

"No, I'm ... " Whatever Mrs. Smith meant to say is lost as she accepts Mr. Jones's hand and gets to her feet. John Cortlynn anxiously hovers over her, one arm around her shoulders as Mr. Jones steers her to the passenger side of his truck. Cortlynn glances over his shoulder to the girls again, with another pleading, confused look.

Mabel folds her arms and looks skeptical. Ahearn lifts one forehoof close to his chest, tosses his head, and whickers, then gives Mabel his best wide-eyed, innocent look.

Apparently not having any idea herself of what to do, the little blonde girl returns the confused look and then redirects it to Agatha.

"Are you okay with going home, Mrs. Smith?" Agatha asks the woman before Mr. Jones can get her into his car.

"Yes ... I suppose that's best ... " Mrs. Smith still sounds disoriented.

The farmer says, soothingly, "Of course. Now, come along, Mrs. Smith." With Cortlynn's help, he hands her into the pickup and closes the door. He turns around to favor the rest of the group with a stern look, not distinguishing between Cortlynn, Alice, or Agatha, as if he judged them all equally guilty. "I'll take Mrs. Smith on home. You keep that animal of Mr. Kuning's under control, you hear me, Agatha? Best get him out of town and back to the stable, where he can't hurt folks."

Agatha turns to give Ahearn an apologetic look and a shrug. Making up stories on the spot isn't her strong point, after all -- she prefers to be straightforward and honest. Until it makes somebody faint, anyway. "Sorry, Ahearn, I didn't mean to embarrass you," she whispers to the horse.

Ahearn turns his wide-eyed, "Who me?" look to Mr. Jones and whickers innocuously. In the tongue of horses, Agatha translates it as a muttered, I'll give him a 'hurt folk'.

Mr. Cortlynn stands with his hands at his side, helplessly. He has the same I-don't-know-what-I-did-but-I'm-sorry look on his face while Mr. Jones delivers the reprimand.

Looking to Alice, Agatha whispers, "Let's wait for everyone to leave, then check out the Siege."

"I'm sorry," Alice sheepishly offers to the farmer. To Agatha she leans to whisper back, saying, "Okay. But Mr. Cortlynn is probably going to follow us."

The sounds of a siren echo in the distance, as the woman whom Mabel had given the heart-attack story to steps out of her front door. "I called an ambulance," she says, breathlessly. "Is she -- where is she?"

Mr. Jones rolls his eyes and gets into the truck, starting it up. Mabel says, "Pearl! Whatever were you thinking? She just had a faint." Mabel bustles over to the other woman, continuing, "You'd better go back inside and tell them not to come." She then turns back to Agatha. "And you -- the lot of you! You'd better do what Mr. Jones said and get that horse out of town! Don't you be riding that beast 'round here or I'll call your father, Miss Cunningham!"

Alice further adds to Agatha, "Maybe Ahearn should cross over again and tell everyone there what's happening." She givesAhearn an apologetic look. "He can tell anyone who wants to be able to join us to mark themselves with the lion symbol too."

"We'll take him to the stables now, ma'am, don't worry," Agatha says, and starts leading Ahearn up the street -- North, towards the Siege des Anges, but that's also the direction she'd go to take him to the Danzwyck's anyway. "Come on, Alice. Make sure Kuon doesn't get into any trouble," she adds, out loud. She doesn't want to reply to Alice more until they get away from all the commotion.

"Okay," replies Alice out loud. As she puts away her herbs and hurries to follow along the little girl leans in to whisper again. "I don't want to go too far away from the Siege," she explains. "I think I know where the book is, too."

Agatha looks back to see what Mr. Cortlynn is doing, and whispers to Alice, "Good, we'll check around there first then."

Alice follows Agatha's gaze and peers back at the thirty-something man as well. "He seems so nice this time," she offers aside to Agatha. "But he was polite at court, too, until he was revealed. And then he tried very hard to still be polite, he just wasn't as good at it then."

Mabel glares after Agatha and the others, but Pearl when comes back, saying, "Mabel, whatever do I tell them?" Mabel throws up her hands and follows the other woman back inside. Leaving the girls free to walk up Nash, and John Cortlynn to stand, looking lost, alone in the street.

After a moment, Mr. Cortlynn follows, rather sheepishly, after the girls. "Miss Cunningham?" he says, his voice hesitant.

After taking a deep breath, Agatha puts on a smile and turns to face the man. "Yes?" she asks, as if nothing unusual has happened.

The blonde girl meanwhile continues to peer at the man from behind Agatha as if she wasn't quite sure what to make of him even now.

The dark-haired man seems to take some courage from Agatha's smile. "Well ... if you're going to take your horse back to Mr. Kuning's manor anyway ... Er. You did say earlier ... that I might have a look?"

The blonde whispers again to Agatha. "I'm worried about his pendant. He used one to make the goblins attack the gate when he didn't want to go in to the chapel. I don't know if he can still do that here," she warns.

John Cortlynn stands in the street, some paces away from the girls, to avoid crowding them. He watches Alice, on tip-toes, whispering in the taller girl's ear, and his brown eyes look curiously melancholy.

Agatha opens her mouth, then closes it and glances at Alice. This is the first she's heard about the pendant being one that the false Lord April must have worn. Now she's not sure how to proceed. "Oh, right, the Manor," she finally says. "First though... what did you think of Ahearn's... trick? You weren't as shocked as Mrs. Smith, obviously."

"Can I see your pendant again?" asks the blonde girl. The blonde lowers herself off her toes and steps partially from behind the older girl.

The young man runs a hand through his hair. "Oh. Well, it's not -- I was rather distracted when Mrs. Smith fainted, you see -- and." He stops abruptly, then swallows. "What exactly did he do, again?" Mr. Cortlynn asks, with the air of one who's a little worried that he knows the answer. Almost absently, he fumbles out the little gold locket. "All right," he says to Alice, stepping forward to hand it to her.

"He introduced himself," Agatha tells the man. "As in talked. He's a magic horse, sort of. Do you believe in magic, Mr. Cortlynn?" she asks politely.

"Well -- er -- no -- " He stops again, and takes another deep breath. "That is to say, I didn't, until I saw your horse talk. Only I'm still not quite convinced I didn't imagine it, you see." He moves his left hand, the one not holding the pendant, and pinches his right wrist.

Alice glances at Kuon with a "if I act funny when I take this slurp me" expression. Then she reaches one hand to clutch the doll in her purse for support as she extends the other to gingerly accept the pendant.

"For it me, it was meeting a faerie out in a field," Agatha explains. "But even then, it didn't really surprise me, I guess," she notes, and watches Alice and the locket, figuring there's a picture inside of John Harcourt.

The small round locket drops into her palm. It feels warm, probably from being in the inside breast pocket of Cortlynn's jacket, on a sunny day. An ornamental design of tiny flowers and vines decorates the edges of the face. A clasp on one long side holds the trinket closed.

Alice gives the two older people a further look. This one with a "I can't believe you didn't believe in magic" expression. When she feels the pendant rest in her hand she looks down at it curiously. Carefully she removes her free hand so she can open up the antique and examine the contents.

"Oh," Mr. Cortlynn says. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it only to say, "Oh," again. "It rather surprises me," he finally admits, unnecessarily.

On the right side of the inside of the locket is a small, portrait, in faded brown and white, of John Harcourt. On the left side is engraved, "Mary," then beneath that, "John," then under that "1929."

The little girl looks between the two inner faces of the pendant and then focuses on the picture of John Harcourt. "Mary is your mother's name, Mr. Cortlynn?" the little girl asks.

"I think magic is everywhere," the girl adds absently as she squints at the old portrait.

"Yes," Mr. Cortlynn answers. "And -- my name is John. But I was born in 1930. Not 1929." He hesitates. Looking between him and the portrait, Alice thinks that Mr. Cortlynn looks like a much handsomer version of the rather ordinary-looking man in the picture. As if someone had taken John Harcourt's image and made him sharper, somehow, more focused, more striking.

"Mr. Kuning has done a lot of research on the Harcourts, but he's out of town right now," Agatha explains. "I don't know if John Harcourt's old room was kept up as well as his sister's was though, so there may not be much there to see. A lot of the rooms are still closed off until the floors can be fixed." To Alice, she asks, "Think you and Kuon can handle that other errand while I take John to the Manor, Alice?"

The little girl glances between the portrait and its owner. "Um, Cortlynn? Court-land? Is that you're mother's last name Mr. Cortlynn?" She peers at the man for a moment. "You're not pretending now, are you Mr. Cortlynn? Swear three times?" She glances to Agatha at the whisper and nods her head energetically.

"My mother's name was Mary Cortlynn," the young man answers. He looks between the two girls, his eyes melancholy again. "Miss Cunningham -- Miss Westfield," he begins, inhaling.

"Yah?" inquires the little blonde as she offers the pendant back to the man.

Agatha nods to the man to continue.

"It's not that I mind you including me in your game -- " he glances to Ahearn anxiously, and adds, "If it is a game -- I'm flattered, really." He offers an earnest smile. "It's just that -- do I have to be the villain?" He finishes on a sad, almost plaintive note.

Looking first to Alice, Agatha tells the man, "We're sorry about that, it's just that... well, John Harcourt sort of was the villain originally and... uh... we're really protective of some things." She doesn't really look like she's happy with that explanation, but isn't sure of what else to say.

"Well, noooo," answers Alice. "But then the story would be confusing. So maybe you can be the villain who isn't a villain anymore. If you swear three times that you'll try and help people and won't do anything bad anymore then it's true. And maybe John Harcourt didn't want to be a villain either anymore. Angelique and Bram would have liked if he was nice again."

"Oh and you have to swear your name is really John Cortlynn too. It doesn't count if you don't swear by your real name," the girl adds. "Very important. It's in the Rules."

Cortlynn drops to one knee, looking earnestly at the two young girls. "Mrs. Smith told me about John Harcourt," he says, quietly. "She said that all the Harcourts used to play together, and were very close. Except that John Harcourt would get very angry with his younger siblings, sometimes, when things didn't go his way. One day, in his anger, he broke something that could not be fixed or replaced, and neither Bryant or Anastasia ever forgave him for it, not as long as he lived. They made him the villain of their game, and he could never be a hero again." John looks sad and contemplative. "And then he killed himself. Over money. Isn't that stupid? And then they were sorry." He shakes his head and closes his eyes.

"A lot of men did that during the big stock crash," Agatha says. "But your mother must have seen something special in him, right?" she adds, trying to sound more upbeat.

"Not special enough," Cortlynn says. "Not special enough to live for. Nor me either. But I suppose he didn't know. May I please have my mother's pendant back, Miss Westfield?" he asks, politely, extending his hand.

"Then we shouldn't do that," says the little girl. "Bryant and Anastasia don't play the game anymore, and I bet if they did and they knew what would happen they would forgive him. Because they knew. But sometimes people make very bad mistakes. I feel bad for making Mrs. Smith faint but that wasn't what I wanted to happen. So I said I'm sorry, but it was too late wasn't it? But I was still sorry. And, um, what I really mean is just because Anastasia and Bryant couldn't forgive John Harcourt doesn't mean we can. Or that we can't forgive you Mr. Cortlynn and you don't have to be the villain anymore if you don't want to. But you have to not want to be a villain too, of course." She offers the pendant back to the man. "I'll forgive you, but maybe you should forgive too. Before it's too late."

"I don't want to be the villain," John Cortlynn says, with quiet sincerity. He still has his hand out.

Alice drops the pendant in to John's hand. "Okay," she says. "Want to be, um, what do you want to be?" She closes his hand around the pendant and gives it a pat.

He closes his fingers around the ornament, its chain dangling down, and offers a smile to Alice. "Oh -- I don't know. What are my options?"

"You could be a knight. There are lots of knights and they're very nice. John Harcourt liked magic, I think. So maybe you could be the wizard? Lady Nymuae likes magic and she's very nice," offers the little blonde girl. "Do you want to get some ice cream? I don't have any money now but I can pay you back later. I promise." She glances at Agatha and gives her a smile. "Sounds like fun Agatha?"

Agatha draws a blank at that question, unsure of what to suggest, if anything. "But we may need to bring him through the Siege later, and he'll probably need a role for that to work," she thinks. "Ice cream?" she asks, her train of thought derailed. "I think it would be better to wait until things have settled down a bit before going to Foxworthy's, and I really should check up on Destre down at the Manor. Want to meet there after I show John around though?"

Alice glances to John questioningly, asking, "What do you think, Mr. Cortlynn?"

John Cortlynn tucks the locket back into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, and stands, brushing dust off the knees of his pants. "Well. I would quite like to see the Harcourt Manor," he admits. "And I'm a bit thirsty. But if you'd rather go to the Manor first, that'll be fine by me."

"I guess we could stop for a soda if you're really thirsty," Agatha concedes. "There's Coke at the Manor, but it's a bit of a walk."

"Okay then." The girl bounces on her toes with restrained energy. "I guess Kuon and I can go look for the books and we'll be outside Foxworthy's when we're done."

Cortlynn darts an anxious, guilty look to Alice. "Er. You're not going to look for Mrs. Smith and the Harcourt's books, are you?"

Agatha closes her eyes as Alice mentions getting the books. So much for keeping that errand a secret.

"Yep," answers Alice with a few nods. "We can look at it together in Foxworthy's. I promise I'll bring it. You don't have to worry, Mr. Cortlynn," she explains.

"Well. It's not that," Cortlynn says. "It's just that I don't think Mrs. Smith would want us to get them. And they're hers, really. And if she wanted us to take them without her permission, she would have said where we could find them."

"Well, she was going to show us anyway though, right?" Agatha notes. "That's sort of like permission."

"Yes. It's sort of like permission," Mr. Cortlynn says, meaningfully. He gives each of the girls a stern look.

"Mmm, that's true," agrees Alice. "But you know what? I wasn't lying when I said I'm related to Angelique. And you're related to John Harcourt. And Agatha is right she was going to show us. If it means making the past, the Rules better, then I don't think Anastasia or Bryant would mind."

"It's very, very important that we see that book, John," Agatha says seriously. "And time is sort of critical too. Please believe me when I say that lives hang in the balance."

Cortlynn has a torn expression on his face, looking from one girl to the other. He folds his arms across his chest. "I don't suppose there's anything I can do to talk you out of this, is there?"

"Probably not," Agatha admits. "Unless you have something as impressive as a talking horse to back you up?"

"I don't like 'sort ofs' any more than Agatha does, Mr. Cortlynn but Agatha's telling the truth," continues the blonde. "I don't want to be tricky, I don't want 'sort ofs' and 'maybe truths.' But I think some things are more important than what I want. I don't want my mother to get hurt. And just like you saw, Mr. Cortlynn, Mrs. Smith won't like the truth of it. I don't want to have to lie to her."

Cortlynn throws up his hands. "All right, I give," he says. "But please be careful with them! I wonder if Mrs. Smith will ever forgive me ...?"

"So should I go get them or do you two want to come?" asks the little girl. She peers around until she spots Kuon who she smiles at and waves to come to her. "Any way it goes, Kuon, it's you and me."

"We'd better get going," Agatha remarks, looking around. "I feel a bit exposed just standing around like this, and it's a good walk yet to the Manor. I want to have Ahearn disguise himself as Destre along the way, to avoid more questions also. Would you mind letting Alice go look for the books, John? If you don't know where they're hidden, that's one less thing you have to feel guilty about if you see Mrs. Smith again."

John Cortlynn glances to Agatha. "Well. It's not as though I can convincingly claim ignorance of your wicked plot to Mrs. Smith later." He speaks soberly, but with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that belies his seriousness. "But all right. I do wish to see the Manor. We'll meet you at Foxworthy's, Miss Westfield?"

"Boy I feel worse now," pouts the little girl. She reaches over and rubs Kuon's ears gently. "Being a princess is hard work. I wonder if her Highness will ground me in the tower for breaking so many rules?" She sticks her tongue out at the thought until John surprises her with a question. "Oh! Yep. I'll be sitting on the bench outside in the shade. But if I get dirty I'll go inside to wash first."

"We'll try to be quick, Alice," Agatha promises, then asks John, "Have you ever ridden a horse before?"

He is not riding me, Ahearn says, even before John has a chance to answer.

Mr. Cortlynn opens his mouth, gapes at Ahearn, and closes it again. "I don't think I'm about to learn how," he answers, finally.

"I was thinking of Destre, don't worry," Agatha replies to Ahearn. "I don't want to leave him at the Manor this time."

"Come on, Kuon! I'll need you to doggy-dig." The little girl gives the older two a big wave before she starts off towards the Siege. "Nice meeting you, Mr. Cortlynn. Remember what I said! You don't have to be a villain if you don't want to, and don't forget about forgiveness!"

Ahearn snorts.

"I can try," Cortlynn says. "I hope Destre likes me better than your Lord of Horses."

"He's more open-minded, don't worry," Agatha says, and starts leading Ahearn and John south.

During a peaceful walk, Agatha learns that Mr. Cortlynn is from New York City originally, though he's lived "here and there," moving around a fair bit. "I didn't like the city much." He speaks well of Ainigton, with an affection for little details that Agatha, so accustomed to the town, doesn't consider. "It's so endearing how, what, three people came out to offer to help Mrs. Smith, just as soon as she fell? In New York, there'd be five hundred times that number of people watching you, and not one of them would say a word."

"Well, they weren't exactly strangers, either," Agatha notes. "I imagine people know each other in their own neighborhoods in a big city, though, and would come to help."

"May be some people do. I never did, not really. Know my neighbors, I mean," Mr. Cortlynn hurries to correct his words, looking embarrassed. "Not that I never helped anyone." They come into sight of Harcourt Manor. Agatha finds it looks much the same as when she had left it; grassat the same height, doors locked, sawdust still dusting the ground where recent repairs occurred. She hears a whinny around the back.

"I'll take you around the back," the girl says. "It's better to come in through the kitchen, and I can see to Destre and Ahearn." She guides John through the remains of the garden towards the stable.

"All right." As they come round the back, they spot Destre standing on the back lawn, nosing at some of the browning grass in a patch of sunlight. He looks up and whickers at Agatha, and she recognizes the greeting as, What took you so long?

"It's only been one night for you, Destre," Agatha says to the black horse. "This is John Cortlynn, who is probably John Harcourt's son. You probably recognize Ahearn?" she says, as she checks over the horse.

Destre bows to Ahearn, deferentially, as the white stallion emerges onto the back lawn. Mr. Cortlynn watches, blinking. "Are all the horses you know like this?" he asks, while Ahearn gives a regal nod of his head to Destre.

"These two aren't typical horses," Agatha answers, and removes her pack from Ahearn's back so she can rummage through it for the keys to the manor. "Destre probably has a ton of questions, so Ahearn can fill him in while I get us something to drink, I imagine. I'm sure Destre won't mind sharing some of his oats."

What oats? Destre asks Agatha, as she produces the keys and heads for the kitchen door. Does that mean you'll put some more out? Cortlynn tags along after her.

Ahearn snorts. Ignore him. He's already pulled down the bag that was in the storage shed. I can smell it.

Agatha nods back to the horse, and whickers, Nice try, Destre, then unlocks the back door into the kitchen and lets John inside. "There's no ice or anything, but I've got some cold sodas down in the pantry," she offers to the man.

"Thanks. That'd be great," Mr. Cortlynn answers, stepping into the house. He seems a little awestruck. "I didn't realize it would be so ... big."

Agatha sets her pack and the bundle with her armor and sword down next to the oven, and opens the door down to the pantry. "Most of the place is in poor shape, since it was pretty much abandoned for a long while. Anastasia's room was kept up okay though, so maybe John's is too," she says while lighting the candle kept by the pantry steps.

"Do you ... do you think it'd be all right if I went in there?" Mr. Cortlynn asks, still looking around the kitchen. "I feel a bit strange about all this. Did you know this place was supposed to be haunted? Oh, never mind, of course you know." He looks sheepish.

After retrieving two bottles of pop from the cold store, Agatha leads John to the main stairway. "Well, if you're his son, I suppose anything he left behind would belong to you anyway. The bedrooms are up this way," she says.

John Cortlynn accepts one of the offered bottle with another grateful "Thanks." As they walk up the stairs he says, "No, it's not like that. I didn't come to Ainigton to try to lay claim to ... stuff. I don't have a claim to the house or anything like that. I just want to know where I came from."

"Well, you're probably going to have a few surprises before the day is over then," Agatha notes, and opens the door to the room next to Anastasia's, figuring it to be the one John used.

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This site serves as a chronicle of sessions in an online roleplaying campaign moderated by Conrad "Lynx" Wong and May "Rowan" Wasserman. The contents of this site are (c) 2001, 2002 by Conrad Wong and May Wasserman except where stated otherwise. Despite the "children's fantasy" theme of this campaign, this site is not intended for young readership, due to mild language and violence.