The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 111: Hunting the Wilds

Chapter 111: Hunting the Wilds

There had been some discussion before they all headed out. Newt warned the demon about Shadwell's coat, to which he replied," He can't smell worse than Hastur."

Newt himself had to be pulled aside. The little witch insisted. "You're going to be travel with that angel, and you'll be awkward with unspoken inquiries the whole time."

"I can conduct myself; you know!"

"All the same," she asked Olivia to step up, and she took Newt aside.

He looked back terrified," I don't need to be told about what we...saw."

"It's not that we're talking about it," Olivia explained. "We'll just have a little chat about the way love might express itself," she flitted her eyes," hypothically."

The demon passed by on his way to the cottage. "He can't really be that unworldly, can he?"

The witch shrugged. "Never getting a change to use the internet, among other contributing factors? I was the first girl he ever kissed."

"Yikes, well, have fun with that. Angel!" He called him over and kissed him. Aziraphale held his hands in his own, and held them tight.

"When next we meet again," the angel smiled sadly.

"Enough of that. We'll be fine."

"And, I'll know if you're not," the angel added, tapping his collar. Crowley just hugged him. "Safe travels, my love."

"Safe travels, angel." They pulled away, the hands the last to release, and Crowley growled at himself for playing into Aziraphale's soppiness.

Over to the open cottage door he glimpsed Tracy and Shadwell saying their goodbyes. Apparently he wasn't the only one moved to soppiness.

And with goodbyes done, and Newt arriving popped-eyed with new information, they headed out.

The demon and the old witchfinder drove off to Mayfair in the Bentley.

The angel and the younger witchfinder took off to unknown parts in Canada, a la' bookshop.

***

The reception they were anticipating on trudging up to the mountain cabin of a Mr. Vincent St. John was not what they anticipated. Newt had regaled the angel with stories of super heroes and retired and rogue secrets agents disappearing in the wilds of Northern America, so much so the angel expected them to jump out from every snow drift. The hardest part, really, had been finding a horizontal enough spot for the shop to appear. Which meant trudging thru the snow and possibly getting shot at.

"Aren't there easier places to hide?" the angel inquired. "Wasn't there once a place in the Western States called Nose Punch, or something? Started out as a prospector's haven?"

"Breakneck," Newt puffed, working his way up the path. "Home to various fringe groups, all minding their own business. But, I agree. Be just as easy to hide in the kind of neighborhood that doesn't keep signs on the buildings."

"The wilds, urban or otherwise," the angel agreed. "Or any nondescript place where you can go on the take, as they say."

Newt paused to catch his breath. The angel looked back, wearing that silly early century expedition gear of his. Newt had chosen to bring more suitable clothing, whatever he had available. He had been prepared since he and Shadwell began their journey into self-employment. And it though the occult research agency was still in the talking stages, Shadwell still had plenty of gear from the old days. Newt has just supplemented it with modern versions.

"We do have one problem, though," the angel raised his voice over a sudden squall.

"What?"

"Well, I'm to understand this gentleman has many, many things that go bleep-bloop, with blinking lights and computations rolling around in their electronic heads, things he went all the way out here to construct in peace."

"You're point?" Newt was getting irked, and turned around to continue his trek.

"Will you have to keep your hands in your pockets? To prevent yourself from, you know, destroying all his hard work?"

Newt ignored the question. Raising his goggles, he peered ahead to the side of the hill. "I think I see it!" A small lean-to cabin, smoke wafting from a stove pipe in the roof. "Can you protect us, if he fires on us?"

The angel managed to march up to his side, leaning on a staff of some sort, and heaving. "Oh, if I had known I'd be using this body more I'd had treated it better. And on that note, yes, young man. I'm doing everything in my power to prevent our injury. It's not like I can just pop off to Heaven anymore if I want the latest trends."

Newt sucked in his lip and asked," Where will you go now, if you discorporate?"

"I try not to think about it. And now, hands in pockets." He waited until Newt frowned, and shoved his gloves into his coat. "Just a precaution."

"I could just wear those huge mittens of yours," Newt griped, as they made it warily up the slope. "Couldn't handle a velcroed rock, with those things."

"They're serviceable, and warm." At last, they made it to the solid cabin door. They looked at each other: by now if they were going to be shot at it would have happened. The angel said," Here we go," and, removing a mitten, gave a jaunty knock to the door.

A very disheveled and unshaved man swung it open as if he's been waiting for them. "Is there a red-haired woman hiding anywhere behind you?"

They actually turned and looked. "I don't think so," Newt said uncertainly, "should there be?"

"You're not government?"

"Do we look like it?" the angel quipped, Crowley's humor continuing to brush off on him.

"No, not that it matters," the mad looked left and right and ushered them in. "As long as that harpy isn't with you."

"My good man, if you are referring to the person we're looking for, and you can help us, then you'll never have to worry about red-haired harpies again."

**

"Nah, but he was right. It does stink."

"Coat's got o' history! Is that so bad!"

"Depends. Was the body still warm when you nicked it?"

Shadwell puffed his cheeks. "Why, nothin' o' the sort!" Then he cocked his head. "Waited til I made it to the outside, hid it in my things after he died."

"You raided the intake locker?"

"Sompin' like that. He had no kin. Woulda' disappeared to who knows where. Besides, made enough of an impression on you."

"To swindle me?" Crowley rolled up to the flat, and looked about. "Just so you know, I knew about Tracy."

"You did not!"

"M'mph, maybe. But it didn't hurt, did it?" he sneered at the witchfinder. "Worked out for both of you."

"I'll not speak to that," Shadwell grumbled, getting out of the car. Once they were both out, their eyes scanned around. "How does it feel to ye?"

"Cold and odorlous, which is good," Crowley observed, sauntering up to the building. "Means no one's been here since we were."

"Would be better if the shop dropped it off, as much as we've trekked here on this longest o' days."

"Better this way, trust me," the demon told him as he paced behind. "We're running out of time."