memorial
The Professor’s service.
More people than I anticipated were here. Not meant as a stinging remark, really, but the man seemed closed off. He wasn’t one for making friends and so when I noted the pews were fairly filling out I lifted my brows but kept my comments to myself.
Not that I had anyone to comment to. I’d come alone, of course.
Ha. I didn’t have many friends, either. Didn’t have any friends, now that I thought about it.
Not to mention I felt fairly certain that several inspectors were out on the watch for me. That damned doctor had blabbed all over about the professor and me, and while some naturally disbelieved him, others took his word at face value.
I pulled my hat lower over my face, settling back into the pew. A private affair, but I was still surprised at the turnout. I half-expected men to burst in and haul me away at any moment.
A fellow shambled past me, stopped, looked at me and I seized up, feeling rather exposed. I had a gun on me--I always had a gun on me--but I felt that if I could avoid using it at all, that would be the better solution.
He sat down next to me and I cursed audibly. I didn’t care if he heard me or not; I’d rather not be near anyone if I could swing it. Here or elsewhere.
“Who are you?” the man asked pointedly, and I glanced sharply at him. He was old and wrinkled with a long white beard that reached down to his chest. With any luck, I could visit his memorial next.
I scoffed. “That’s none of your business, I think.”
“I’m his uncle,” he said, continuing as if I had actually answered him. “Mortimer.”
“Mortimer Moriarty? Jesus Christ,” I said, glancing around and wondering if someone would object to me smoking. Probably. Most of his family was doddering or seemed unyielding. I sighed.
“’S not so bad. My brother named two of his children James. The first was sickly, you know, and as they quite liked the name they thought they’d name t’other the same so’s they had everything covered, but wouldn’t you know it, both lived.”
“Charming story, really. Fascinating stuff. Tell me more,” I said, gazing around and wondering if I might be able to make a hasty escape. For the moment, I could not.
“’Course, the first actually did something with his life. A colonel. The bravest in the War, you know.”
I glanced at the man, now irritated. “I’m a colonel. Well. Was.”
“Medals, have you?”
“Don’t give medals to the dishonourably discharged,” I grumbled, watching the man as he smiled. I didn’t like it. All of the Moriartys seemed to have the same cold, smug smile. Oh, it was fine when it wasn’t flashed at me but when I had to sit here and have some old fool figure me all out with a few words…
I seethed.
“My brother is being falsely accused by this doctor!” the youngest Moriarty shouted, in the middle of his little speech for his fallen brother. He looked to be in his early thirties, perhaps, and had certainly taken well to the business of trains, putting on more weight than his elder sibling. “He is spreading slander and libel throughout London! How on earth could James be this--this criminal mastermind with a hired gun?! He taught classes! He was lauded for his work! His book! He drags my brother’s name in the dirt even before his body is properly cool!”
“Youngest brother--Johnathan. A bit dim-witted,” the uncle said helpfully in my ear. I rolled my eyes.
“No offense, sir, but they’re all dim-witted in comparison to the professor. No one could touch him.”
“You’re certain of that?” he asked, somewhat amazed. I scoffed.
“What? ‘Course I am. Listen to me,” I said, leaning closer to the old man as we were already getting a few annoyed looks from those in the pews around us. “I sat in on some’a his lectures, you know, when I was waitin’ for him--”
“Why would you wait for him?”
I paused. Damn it. I was no good at mind games and if I wasn’t careful I’d end up blurting out my own name, for god’s sake. “Nevermind that. Anyway. He’d talk and talk and talk about stuff and no one could keep up. His students would question him and his answers would confuse ‘em all the more. Not a person in the world could keep up with his brain--I know that.”
“Not even the great Sherlock Holmes? There’s been buzz about that, you know. That he had some sort of criminal dealings. ‘S what has Johnny there all in an uproar. The rest of ‘em too, yanno. They don’t care so much as it tarnishes his name but more our name.”
“Sherlock Holmes?” I snorted, waving my hand. “Please. That man scrambled to--er. Well. I’m saying…if the two of them were to put their minds together and--and fight, the professor would come on top no matter what. Sherlock Holmes was desperate enough to use violence in the end. The man was mental. Who knows why he would attack the professor at a peace summit. Sound logical to you?”
The old man sat back, allowing me to hear from the professor’s mother.
-----
I itched all over.
Everywhere.
I didn’t understand how women put up with it. Honestly, I did not. I had fabric in places I never knew that fabric could go and I had licked all the lipstick from my lips twice now. Mary had told me (quite rudely, I might add. Sweet thing indeed) once before that applying that sort of make-up to one’s face was the hallmark of a lady of the night. I had, of course, then asked why she felt the need to so liberally douse herself in perfume if she felt in such a manner and then Watson had been kind enough to remove me from her sight, his touch a little rough on my arm, I might admit.
I missed him.
I also felt terribly guilty for keeping him in the dark as I was, but I had to. If Moran came after me, he would come after everyone else even remotely connected to me in order to bring me to my knees. For the moment he was like a wounded tiger, lying low and hiding from sight just as I was, which led me to believe that he would be here as well.
Perhaps if I could merely corner him, I could assure a swift transport to gaol and reunite myself with my dear Watson.
I fixed my bonnet, fidgeting slightly.
“Tell me, again, who you are?”
I had made the (admitted) mistake of making the acquaintance of the elder James Moriarty and now I could not shake him from me no matter how hard I tried. While I had had a good deal more time to prepare and properly shave I was still not utterly convinced of my abilites to pull off the illusion of being one of the fairer sex.
So I hid behind a fan.
Apparently, however, I had been inadvertently giving off some female code with the way that I held the fan or waved it or what have you so that he was like a bee to a flower, altogether too close in the pew to me.
“An acquaintance of the professor’s,” I said huskily, not trusting my voice above anything more than a whisper, attempting for the highest pitch I could manage while still sounding slightly believable.
“I don’t remember him mentioning you.”
“Yes, well, apparently he did a lot of things in secret, hm?” I asked with a thin smile before holding the fan up to my face, obscuring everything but my eyes before realising this might be portrayed as coquettish. Women--how infuriating.
“You don’t actually think he did all of those things, do you? How absurd!”
The man had nothing to offer me. I thought--perhaps--I might be able to wheedle out some places that Moriarty hid in that I did not know of, thus making it easier to track down a place with which to properly trap Moran, yet I could see he knew nothing.
Nothing about anything, even.
It was irritating.
“Excuse me. I think my corset has punctured one of my lungs,” I said.
“What?” the elder James Moriarty asked and yet I was already rising, grabbing up fistfuls of the dress in order to bustle away.
I had gone to great lengths to find a particular woman who might somewhat match my body style and even then the dress was a little long so that I found myself tripping on the fabric and stumbling anyway.
“Steady on, Miss!”
I would have flown headlong into the man in front of me, or hit the floor instead had he not helped me. He quickly reached out, keeping me upright and helping to smooth down my dress, quirking a brow at me.
“You all right, then?”
I tilted my head at him.
“Miss?”
The voice was changed everso but not enough to fool me, and as I stared at him I could mentally strip away the additional mutton chops that he had connected to his moustache. It was Clarkey, so it was, and just because he wore shabby clothing did not make him a new man. I could see through him instantly, and if he was here, then…
I quickly looked around, scanning the people. Of course I didn’t know any of them, but that hardly impeded me…ah! There! Hahaha!
A man, just to the left and in the second to last pew. Obvious bald cap--I could see the outline where his original hair threatened to--no, was peeking out. Amateurish at best. He had to keep a watch on that sort of thing if he was going undercover!
Terrible. But what did one expect from the most incompetent man in all of England?
As if he could hear my thoughts he looked directly at me and I stared him down. Not bad with the beard--I could see that he had rubbed ash into it to make himself look older. Ash or…no, perhaps it was powder. I’d have to get closer to be certain, but I didn’t want to get closer.
“I’m fine,” I said, and I realised I might have spoken too quickly and in a voice too like my own as Clarkey gave me quite a look. “I…I heard inspectors believe the professor might have had something to do with--with a lot of crimes?” I asked, fanning myself for greater effect.
Clarkey looked at me in a neutral fashion. “Perhaps, miss. I’m not with them, so I wouldn’t know. I’m merely here to pay my respects. If you’ll excuse me,” he said, tipping a hand to his hat, which he removed quickly to show such respect as he wandered off, heading in Lestrade’s general direction to no doubt join him and report.
I felt a strange restlesness within. I wandered off to find a new person to subtly interrogate.
-----
“Lovely service,” the professor’s uncle said to me and I nodded slightly.
“Yes. It is,” I said unenthusiastically, drumming my fingers restlessly on my leg, collar feeling stiff and itchy against my neck. Being here in the first placed forced ideas I wished to push away to sink in slowly.
I was alone again. Kicked out of the army.
Now I was without an employer. It was…different, though. Of course I had been glad at first to simply be paid, but after that I’d come to rely on the man and now that he was gone I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do.
I could always kill the doctor.
Naw. Didn’t feel the same. I mean, there was always the thrill of ending someone else’s life, but it wouldn’t bring me the satisfaction that snuffing out the great Sherlock Holmes would.
The bastard had gone and died in the falls too, which, ‘course, was better than him living while the professor had died, although it was hardly satisfactory for me.
I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to derail myself from this train of thought. It hardly worked; it was an idea, a problem, that had bothered me since that day.
“Been to many services?” the man asked. “Bein’ in the army and all.”
I growled slightly. I didn’t like all his questions, and I would have said something had we been elsewhere. “No.”
“No? Well, I am surprised.”
“This is the first,” I said, surprised to find myself divulging this information. “Don’t even know why I’m here…I just…I…am.”
The man snorted slightly but said nothing.
“It’s stupid, ‘cos he’s not here, but still…”
“He’s not dead, you know,” the uncle said, and I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t going to have any of this stupidity that as-long-as-he-was-in-your-memories-he’s-still-alive. What memories those were! Knives and guns and blood and screams.
Delightful.
“Must be in the wrong place, then,” I grumbled. “Thought I was going to the professor’s memorial. I’ve sat through two very dull hours for nothin’, then.”
The man seized my arm in an iron grip then and I realised that he had been leaning closer to me all the while so that his lips were nearly at my ears.
“Really? I thought the service was lovely enough. Perhaps not as much weeping as I would have liked. Ah! Don’t say it!”
He caught me before I had shouted his title in shock.
“I’m surprised you’re even here, but this is good. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Me?”
“If you keep talking like that I’m going to look for someone a little less dull,” he hissed, and out of the corner of my eye I caught him searching this way and that, still gripping my arm tightly. “Yes, you. You’re the best tool that I have.”
“Do…do you think Sherlock Holmes made it?” I asked and he finally released my sleeve, leaning back with a sigh. I should have known by his eyes; why had I not…
“I know he did. Essentially we’re back to square one--no, worse off. That doctor of his has been running his mouth about me--us--and so we’ll have to be even more careful. In fact, I think we ought leave now.”
“Now? But professor, you’ve not even been buried yet,” I said cheekily, and his lips quirked up faintly. I knew the macabre sense of humour would amuse him.
“Quite. But I’ve counted at least two inspectors here--three, I believe--and I have little doubt that Holmes will be here as well.”
“We could--”
“We could do nothing without out jeopardising ourselves. Dear me, Sebastian, you might be able to sense intellect but I begin to wonder if you possess any. Come along.”
He stood up and swept out without apology, leaving me to stumble after him, slightly stung at his words.
“Where’re we goin’, Professor?” I called as soon as we had exited the church, blinking back the rain that had chosen to fall in a downpour at that moment.
The professor stopped to carefully open his umbrella, holding it so that I was beneath its cover as well. “I wouldn’t mind having a cigarette, Sebastian,” he said pointedly so that I was fumbling for the tin in my breast pocket, pulling out two cigarettes and handing him one.
I struck the match upon the case and lit his before attending to my own and he inhaled, holding it for a moment before exhaling reflectively. As I pulled at my own cigarette I noted a woman just a few yards past us, weeping softly. Her dress looked too big for her, and when she met my eyes I was surprised at how fierce her expression looked.
I returned my attention to the professor when he spoke.
“I know you don’t like doctors, Sebastian, but what do you say about a house-call of our own?” he asked mischievously, and I felt a grin stretching across my face as I dragged once more at my cigarette.
I exhaled, letting the cigarette fall down as I stomped it out in the gravel. “Sounds ‘bout right, professor. Could always use a check-up.”
He laughed, then, and I realised it was more out of the thrill of the hunt than anything humorous that I had said and I joined him, somehow managing to keep my pace at a sedate walk as we left the church behind for far more entertaining business.
-----
More people than I anticipated were here. Not meant as a stinging remark, really, but the man seemed closed off. He wasn’t one for making friends and so when I noted the pews were fairly filling out I lifted my brows but kept my comments to myself.
Not that I had anyone to comment to. I’d come alone, of course.
Ha. I didn’t have many friends, either. Didn’t have any friends, now that I thought about it.
Not to mention I felt fairly certain that several inspectors were out on the watch for me. That damned doctor had blabbed all over about the professor and me, and while some naturally disbelieved him, others took his word at face value.
I pulled my hat lower over my face, settling back into the pew. A private affair, but I was still surprised at the turnout. I half-expected men to burst in and haul me away at any moment.
A fellow shambled past me, stopped, looked at me and I seized up, feeling rather exposed. I had a gun on me--I always had a gun on me--but I felt that if I could avoid using it at all, that would be the better solution.
He sat down next to me and I cursed audibly. I didn’t care if he heard me or not; I’d rather not be near anyone if I could swing it. Here or elsewhere.
“Who are you?” the man asked pointedly, and I glanced sharply at him. He was old and wrinkled with a long white beard that reached down to his chest. With any luck, I could visit his memorial next.
I scoffed. “That’s none of your business, I think.”
“I’m his uncle,” he said, continuing as if I had actually answered him. “Mortimer.”
“Mortimer Moriarty? Jesus Christ,” I said, glancing around and wondering if someone would object to me smoking. Probably. Most of his family was doddering or seemed unyielding. I sighed.
“’S not so bad. My brother named two of his children James. The first was sickly, you know, and as they quite liked the name they thought they’d name t’other the same so’s they had everything covered, but wouldn’t you know it, both lived.”
“Charming story, really. Fascinating stuff. Tell me more,” I said, gazing around and wondering if I might be able to make a hasty escape. For the moment, I could not.
“’Course, the first actually did something with his life. A colonel. The bravest in the War, you know.”
I glanced at the man, now irritated. “I’m a colonel. Well. Was.”
“Medals, have you?”
“Don’t give medals to the dishonourably discharged,” I grumbled, watching the man as he smiled. I didn’t like it. All of the Moriartys seemed to have the same cold, smug smile. Oh, it was fine when it wasn’t flashed at me but when I had to sit here and have some old fool figure me all out with a few words…
I seethed.
“My brother is being falsely accused by this doctor!” the youngest Moriarty shouted, in the middle of his little speech for his fallen brother. He looked to be in his early thirties, perhaps, and had certainly taken well to the business of trains, putting on more weight than his elder sibling. “He is spreading slander and libel throughout London! How on earth could James be this--this criminal mastermind with a hired gun?! He taught classes! He was lauded for his work! His book! He drags my brother’s name in the dirt even before his body is properly cool!”
“Youngest brother--Johnathan. A bit dim-witted,” the uncle said helpfully in my ear. I rolled my eyes.
“No offense, sir, but they’re all dim-witted in comparison to the professor. No one could touch him.”
“You’re certain of that?” he asked, somewhat amazed. I scoffed.
“What? ‘Course I am. Listen to me,” I said, leaning closer to the old man as we were already getting a few annoyed looks from those in the pews around us. “I sat in on some’a his lectures, you know, when I was waitin’ for him--”
“Why would you wait for him?”
I paused. Damn it. I was no good at mind games and if I wasn’t careful I’d end up blurting out my own name, for god’s sake. “Nevermind that. Anyway. He’d talk and talk and talk about stuff and no one could keep up. His students would question him and his answers would confuse ‘em all the more. Not a person in the world could keep up with his brain--I know that.”
“Not even the great Sherlock Holmes? There’s been buzz about that, you know. That he had some sort of criminal dealings. ‘S what has Johnny there all in an uproar. The rest of ‘em too, yanno. They don’t care so much as it tarnishes his name but more our name.”
“Sherlock Holmes?” I snorted, waving my hand. “Please. That man scrambled to--er. Well. I’m saying…if the two of them were to put their minds together and--and fight, the professor would come on top no matter what. Sherlock Holmes was desperate enough to use violence in the end. The man was mental. Who knows why he would attack the professor at a peace summit. Sound logical to you?”
The old man sat back, allowing me to hear from the professor’s mother.
-----
I itched all over.
Everywhere.
I didn’t understand how women put up with it. Honestly, I did not. I had fabric in places I never knew that fabric could go and I had licked all the lipstick from my lips twice now. Mary had told me (quite rudely, I might add. Sweet thing indeed) once before that applying that sort of make-up to one’s face was the hallmark of a lady of the night. I had, of course, then asked why she felt the need to so liberally douse herself in perfume if she felt in such a manner and then Watson had been kind enough to remove me from her sight, his touch a little rough on my arm, I might admit.
I missed him.
I also felt terribly guilty for keeping him in the dark as I was, but I had to. If Moran came after me, he would come after everyone else even remotely connected to me in order to bring me to my knees. For the moment he was like a wounded tiger, lying low and hiding from sight just as I was, which led me to believe that he would be here as well.
Perhaps if I could merely corner him, I could assure a swift transport to gaol and reunite myself with my dear Watson.
I fixed my bonnet, fidgeting slightly.
“Tell me, again, who you are?”
I had made the (admitted) mistake of making the acquaintance of the elder James Moriarty and now I could not shake him from me no matter how hard I tried. While I had had a good deal more time to prepare and properly shave I was still not utterly convinced of my abilites to pull off the illusion of being one of the fairer sex.
So I hid behind a fan.
Apparently, however, I had been inadvertently giving off some female code with the way that I held the fan or waved it or what have you so that he was like a bee to a flower, altogether too close in the pew to me.
“An acquaintance of the professor’s,” I said huskily, not trusting my voice above anything more than a whisper, attempting for the highest pitch I could manage while still sounding slightly believable.
“I don’t remember him mentioning you.”
“Yes, well, apparently he did a lot of things in secret, hm?” I asked with a thin smile before holding the fan up to my face, obscuring everything but my eyes before realising this might be portrayed as coquettish. Women--how infuriating.
“You don’t actually think he did all of those things, do you? How absurd!”
The man had nothing to offer me. I thought--perhaps--I might be able to wheedle out some places that Moriarty hid in that I did not know of, thus making it easier to track down a place with which to properly trap Moran, yet I could see he knew nothing.
Nothing about anything, even.
It was irritating.
“Excuse me. I think my corset has punctured one of my lungs,” I said.
“What?” the elder James Moriarty asked and yet I was already rising, grabbing up fistfuls of the dress in order to bustle away.
I had gone to great lengths to find a particular woman who might somewhat match my body style and even then the dress was a little long so that I found myself tripping on the fabric and stumbling anyway.
“Steady on, Miss!”
I would have flown headlong into the man in front of me, or hit the floor instead had he not helped me. He quickly reached out, keeping me upright and helping to smooth down my dress, quirking a brow at me.
“You all right, then?”
I tilted my head at him.
“Miss?”
The voice was changed everso but not enough to fool me, and as I stared at him I could mentally strip away the additional mutton chops that he had connected to his moustache. It was Clarkey, so it was, and just because he wore shabby clothing did not make him a new man. I could see through him instantly, and if he was here, then…
I quickly looked around, scanning the people. Of course I didn’t know any of them, but that hardly impeded me…ah! There! Hahaha!
A man, just to the left and in the second to last pew. Obvious bald cap--I could see the outline where his original hair threatened to--no, was peeking out. Amateurish at best. He had to keep a watch on that sort of thing if he was going undercover!
Terrible. But what did one expect from the most incompetent man in all of England?
As if he could hear my thoughts he looked directly at me and I stared him down. Not bad with the beard--I could see that he had rubbed ash into it to make himself look older. Ash or…no, perhaps it was powder. I’d have to get closer to be certain, but I didn’t want to get closer.
“I’m fine,” I said, and I realised I might have spoken too quickly and in a voice too like my own as Clarkey gave me quite a look. “I…I heard inspectors believe the professor might have had something to do with--with a lot of crimes?” I asked, fanning myself for greater effect.
Clarkey looked at me in a neutral fashion. “Perhaps, miss. I’m not with them, so I wouldn’t know. I’m merely here to pay my respects. If you’ll excuse me,” he said, tipping a hand to his hat, which he removed quickly to show such respect as he wandered off, heading in Lestrade’s general direction to no doubt join him and report.
I felt a strange restlesness within. I wandered off to find a new person to subtly interrogate.
-----
“Lovely service,” the professor’s uncle said to me and I nodded slightly.
“Yes. It is,” I said unenthusiastically, drumming my fingers restlessly on my leg, collar feeling stiff and itchy against my neck. Being here in the first placed forced ideas I wished to push away to sink in slowly.
I was alone again. Kicked out of the army.
Now I was without an employer. It was…different, though. Of course I had been glad at first to simply be paid, but after that I’d come to rely on the man and now that he was gone I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do.
I could always kill the doctor.
Naw. Didn’t feel the same. I mean, there was always the thrill of ending someone else’s life, but it wouldn’t bring me the satisfaction that snuffing out the great Sherlock Holmes would.
The bastard had gone and died in the falls too, which, ‘course, was better than him living while the professor had died, although it was hardly satisfactory for me.
I clenched and unclenched my fists, trying to derail myself from this train of thought. It hardly worked; it was an idea, a problem, that had bothered me since that day.
“Been to many services?” the man asked. “Bein’ in the army and all.”
I growled slightly. I didn’t like all his questions, and I would have said something had we been elsewhere. “No.”
“No? Well, I am surprised.”
“This is the first,” I said, surprised to find myself divulging this information. “Don’t even know why I’m here…I just…I…am.”
The man snorted slightly but said nothing.
“It’s stupid, ‘cos he’s not here, but still…”
“He’s not dead, you know,” the uncle said, and I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t going to have any of this stupidity that as-long-as-he-was-in-your-memories-he’s-still-alive. What memories those were! Knives and guns and blood and screams.
Delightful.
“Must be in the wrong place, then,” I grumbled. “Thought I was going to the professor’s memorial. I’ve sat through two very dull hours for nothin’, then.”
The man seized my arm in an iron grip then and I realised that he had been leaning closer to me all the while so that his lips were nearly at my ears.
“Really? I thought the service was lovely enough. Perhaps not as much weeping as I would have liked. Ah! Don’t say it!”
He caught me before I had shouted his title in shock.
“I’m surprised you’re even here, but this is good. I’ve been looking for you.”
“Me?”
“If you keep talking like that I’m going to look for someone a little less dull,” he hissed, and out of the corner of my eye I caught him searching this way and that, still gripping my arm tightly. “Yes, you. You’re the best tool that I have.”
“Do…do you think Sherlock Holmes made it?” I asked and he finally released my sleeve, leaning back with a sigh. I should have known by his eyes; why had I not…
“I know he did. Essentially we’re back to square one--no, worse off. That doctor of his has been running his mouth about me--us--and so we’ll have to be even more careful. In fact, I think we ought leave now.”
“Now? But professor, you’ve not even been buried yet,” I said cheekily, and his lips quirked up faintly. I knew the macabre sense of humour would amuse him.
“Quite. But I’ve counted at least two inspectors here--three, I believe--and I have little doubt that Holmes will be here as well.”
“We could--”
“We could do nothing without out jeopardising ourselves. Dear me, Sebastian, you might be able to sense intellect but I begin to wonder if you possess any. Come along.”
He stood up and swept out without apology, leaving me to stumble after him, slightly stung at his words.
“Where’re we goin’, Professor?” I called as soon as we had exited the church, blinking back the rain that had chosen to fall in a downpour at that moment.
The professor stopped to carefully open his umbrella, holding it so that I was beneath its cover as well. “I wouldn’t mind having a cigarette, Sebastian,” he said pointedly so that I was fumbling for the tin in my breast pocket, pulling out two cigarettes and handing him one.
I struck the match upon the case and lit his before attending to my own and he inhaled, holding it for a moment before exhaling reflectively. As I pulled at my own cigarette I noted a woman just a few yards past us, weeping softly. Her dress looked too big for her, and when she met my eyes I was surprised at how fierce her expression looked.
I returned my attention to the professor when he spoke.
“I know you don’t like doctors, Sebastian, but what do you say about a house-call of our own?” he asked mischievously, and I felt a grin stretching across my face as I dragged once more at my cigarette.
I exhaled, letting the cigarette fall down as I stomped it out in the gravel. “Sounds ‘bout right, professor. Could always use a check-up.”
He laughed, then, and I realised it was more out of the thrill of the hunt than anything humorous that I had said and I joined him, somehow managing to keep my pace at a sedate walk as we left the church behind for far more entertaining business.
-----