I like a good storm as much as the next man, finding them, in general, quite exhilarating. That said; as much as I have enjoyed communing with nature and being inspired by her power, the current weather is not conducive to writing, save that I could possibly revert to the wax tablet and stylus. Sheltering under a tree was not to be even remotely considered, so I put my muse aside for a while and retreated to the tavern. Alas, solitude was not forthcoming there, unlike the past few nights. Aoibheann was there, looking quite perturbed. A moment later, Brigitte arrived, at which point, Aoibheann ran off to the kitchen to throw up. Hopefully this was coincidence and not a hitherto unobserved effect of Brigitte’s presence.
Brigitte was looking dressed for I don’t really quite know what, in some figure-hugging trousers. I am sure even my dear mother would have been mildly shocked, if secretly approving. Aoibheann returned and after dealing with some minor accounting details concerning a guest at the tavern, they got down to the nitty-gritty of why people were perturbed.
It seems our guest, Lilandra, is some kind of seer; who is predicting that the storm is some kind of evil force that will destroy the world, and that the only thing that can save us is the infant princess. I opined that while the concept of a great evil that can only be defeated by a complete innocent was a not uncommon motif in myth and legend, it seemed a somewhat unlikely scenario. This much discussion of a forthcoming apocalypse seemed too much for Aoibheann and she took herself off to the kitchen with a bottle of gin. I cannot say I blame her. If I am around at the end of days, I fully intend to meet it with a large bottle of rum.
In her absence, Brigitte and I were able to talk more freely. She told me that this Lilandra was a vampire of a breed that was of doubtful sanity. I recalled that one of the few things Katharina had told me was about these. I think the phrase she used was “Verrückt wie die Scheiße der Fledermaus.“ Which, so far as I could translate, meant bat-shit crazy. A colourful phrase, but an expressive one. I ventured the possibility that perhaps Lilandra had ulterior motives for wishing to gain access to the infant; which Brigitte allowed was possible, given that Lilandra has a particular hatred towards the king and queen. However, she had read the creature’s mind and found it full of genuine fear. I asked if there were any other seers or oracles on the island. Brigitte said that the queen is rumoured to be one, but it was unlikely that asking her would help. I suggested that it was maybe possible to arrange a meeting whereby Lilandra would not be able to harm the child. This seemed the most sensible solution, pending any further information. Brigitte agreed that this was so, and that she would approach the royals to discuss the matter.
Emanuel came in during the discussion, but did not contribute, nor did he want a drink. Instead, he was content to lean on the bar and relax, though he did appear to be listening. With Brigitte gone in search of the royal family, and nothing else to do with my time, I retreated to one of the tables with my notes. Fortunately, the muse did not desert me and I was able to advance Edwin’s journey by a further chapter.