Martine (dd_martine) wrote in diamonddogs, @ 2010-05-02 00:29:00 |
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Current mood: | worried |
Entry tags: | aidan, martine, picasso |
Who: Martine, open as practicable
What: Martine is worried
When: Sunday April 11th, about an hour after Dr. Ferguson is taken from his house.
Where: Her own place
Status:
Martine made her way home, having to force herself to concentrate on her whereabouts, given her thoughts that bordered on fearful.
She'd been on her way to Dr. Ferguson's house to give him an update on Aidan since it wasn't always easy or advisable for the doctor to visit all the time. As luck would have it, or not, she'd been on the corner of his street when she'd seen his front door opening, which had made her shrink back into the shadows and pull the hood of her ever-present cape over her head.
She'd recognised the doctor immediately, but was alarmed at the fact that he'd needed helping out of the house. She was too far away to make out anything beyond knowing it was him, but she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was injured. She thought she recognised Icarus with him but wasn't quite so sure... the girl again she'd seen around but didn't know her name.
She'd waited until the doctor had been put into a car, then watched as maybe-Icarus and the woman had got in, the action had paused for a moment, then the car pulled carefully away.
Martine had stood where she was until the car had turned at the next road, then she'd moved quickly after checking up and down the street. It was deserted but she still stayed as close to the shadows as she could, out of long habit since it was past curfew.
She debated crossing to the doctor's house, but decided against it. The building might be being watched and, besides, Dr. Ferguson wasn't there and it was only him she'd called to see.
She'd headed back towards the river, then followed its course a short distance and turned northwards once more. Stopping on the pavement-set cellar door of a long-disused pub, she dragged a heel along it, then tapped her foot twice and dragged the heel back along again, retracing the original movement. Then she stood back and waited, not for long, for the sound of chains being removed on the underside of the door and for it to lift very slightly. "Cygnet?" came a quiet voice. "You were quick..."
The voice broke off as Martine grabbed at the door and pulled it up just enough to sit down and slide through it onto a ladder. She lowered it over her and moved as quickly as she could down the ladder, trusting the man who had opened the door to get out of her way. Not many of them knew about her claustrophobia but she was in luck. This one did, and he got out of her way quickly, letting her pass him into the far less oppressively-sized cellar where she waited while he chained up the door again.
She barely waited for him to complete the task and return to the cellar before she lit a couple of oil lamps that she'd grabbed from the wall, finding them quickly through memory and necessity. She turned as he rejoined her. "Carsmile's been hurt," she said shortly. "I didn't get to see him and no, I'm sorry, I couldn't get the suture silks you wanted. He was being taken away as I got there and I couldn't risk getting closer."
A look of alarm flashed in the man's eyes and Martine shook her head. "No, I'm sure he's with some of our lot," she said in reassurance, although she didn't mention who she thought she'd seen. "Just get me home, will you? And put the word out, quietly. See if anyone knows anything."
Her companion nodded and disappeared in the opposite direction from the stairs and trap door, taking one of the oil lamps with him while Martine sat and huddled close to the other.
It didn't take long before he returned. "The car'll be outside in a couple of minutes," he told her. Normally, they used one of several tunnels under the river to get from one side to the other, but Martine had never been able to complete the journey without losing her nerve. It wasn't discussed between the two of them - they'd known each other long enough that she trusted him not to laugh at her - but he never even suggested her taking that route anymore. She nodded and stood up. She far preferred laying on the floor behind the front seats of a car, wrapped in her cloak and risking being discovered by a search. The bridge guards tended to be fairly lax at night, but it was still considerably more dangerous than taking the tunnel.
She lifted the lamp and went back to the stairs. The chains hadn't been put back on the doors yet, so she turned to her companion and handed him her lamp, which he held for her along with his own while she climbed up and, after some effort, opened the trapdoor again to let herself out. They were far from light, but she'd done it often enough now that she'd worked out the knack of lifting it up. She climbed out quickly and lowered the door once more, whispering goodbye, then stood and listened as the chains were fastened once more. Before they were finished, her lift home turned the corner and pulled up next to her.
She climbed into the back of the car, muttered a greeting to the driver without exchanging names, then settled herself on the floor and let him worry about getting across the bridge. They were stopped at the start of it, but obviously the driver's papers were in order - they generally used the excuse of Candidacy business of some description to account for being out this far after curfew. Then they were moving again.
Martine, in spite of her worry over Dr. Ferguson, found herself drowsing slightly, lulled by the movement of the car and by the warmth of her cloak, which she kept over her body and head while they travelled. Oddly, this never bothered her although there was no denying that she was squeezed into a very confined place. But then this time she had more to think about.
Why had the doctor been hurt? Was it self-inflicted? Even doctors could fall down the stairs, after all. She hoped and prayed that was what it was. The alternative, to her mind, was that somebody had connected him with Aidan, who was still officially missing, and had called round to "speak to" the doctor. She had no idea what he might have said in such a situation. For all she knew, the Military could very well be on their way to her home right at that moment. She half-expected her driver to suddenly take a detour and drive her somewhere else entirely.
However, when the car eventually stopped, it was at the end of Martine's street. She was almost surprised when she sat up to see that the place seemed utterly deserted, and was certainly quiet. She patted the driver on the shoulder and muttered her thanks, then climbed out of the car, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could.
Rejoining the shadows for the last stage of her journey, she finally let herself into her place and closed the door behind her. It was only then she realised that she was shaking slightly. She leaned against the door for a moment to concentrate on calming her nerves, then she took off her cloak and hung it on a wall hook before heading first to the kitchen for a drink. She'd need to tell Noah and Aidan as quickly as possible since she couldn't wait for the Dead to show to do it. Well, she could, but that would just be so much more lost time, and it was always better to be safe than sorry.
She raised her voice to a pitch that anyone awake would hear, but shouldn't wake anyone already asleep. "Hello? I think we might have a problem."