---

The Doctor and his man walk up to the dark, quiet inn, passing the glitter of window glass with their light. The stables seem almost as deserted in terms of human life, no lanterns lit and the horses softly shifting and snorting to each other in disquiet. A chest lies on the floor at the bottom of the loft ladder, but the ostler's box stands open and untended and there's no sign of Kit, who'd volunteered to stay on and guard the horses. Some at the far end have been evacuated, being nearer the way out to the yard and the kitchen door, but their stall doors are only darker patches of dark, telling nothing.

Polzeath is tensed and frogbelly-pale, but still at heel for now, even if there's a tremor in the lantern's light. The horses seem to catch his unease and shy a little from the circle of brightness when it licks over the shape of their faces, heavy-lashed eyes glittering. None seem to have been asleep, despite the dark. A beast further on whinnies softly in the hopes these new people have come to take it out to work, or at least to provide some normal sounds or a reassuring pat. They can certainly smell that rotted bracken scent, faint as it is to Martin's nose as yet through the usual stable scents.

"Wait here in case you need to run for help" The Doctor says to Polzeath, mainly to save the servant having to enter where he quite obviously does not want to go, but also to save him spooking the animals. He then advances warily into the stables "Hush now. Good horses, you'll be out of there and free to work the fields again. Shhh now" moving towards the end where the box is, watching the floor as much as the horses, and wary of the troughs and buckets.

"And where's that fine mount, the Trugred? I'm sure it's looking after you all anyway."

Whilst Polzeath clearly doesn't believe for a moment that running for help is the primary reason he's been told to stay put, he hands over the lantern and does as he's bid, grateful for his master's discretion. For all that lack of protest, Martin can almost feel an anxious gaze upon him as he ventures further into the stables.

The ostler's box is empty, showing neither signs of immediate occupation nor hasty departure: just the chair and tally-marked pegboard to show which shift of coach horses are in, and where guests' riding beasts might be, and a used mug that might once have held flip. A quiet rustling about the straw suggests the spring swelling of the local mouse population is currently outstripping what the local cats can eat. A horse stamps.

Martin moves deeper into the stables, seeing little but the looming shapes of wary horses. Several ears are turned to his voice, though at the mention of Trugred at least a couple of heads raise right up as though to catch a distant whinnying, turning to watch towards the yard: Dr. Lovelace feels the presence clench to proximity nearby with some unnamed sense.

As Doctor and Polzeath leave the cell, Maggie slips along behind the houses that front the road, arriving at the end of that street in time to see Doctor leave his man on watch near the stable door.

Worried that Polzeath's keen senses will detect her if she approaches him too nearly, she skirts around well outside the stable-yard until she can duck through the railings and cross the yard to the half-door between paddock and stable. Crouching there, she listens to Doctor soothing the horses as she wraps the Trugred-skull in her shawl. When he invokes the sprite's name, the skull seems to leap in her hands and she nearly drops it.

Could he know? Truly realize her connection to Trugred? It's almost as though he's invoking her.

Was it her they saw? The doctor can't be certain, but she was carrying party of the Trugred at least, and they saw a woman carrying something. He ventures "Maggie? Are you in here? I'm off to check on our midwife, and could do with your company if you are able?"

Maggie rises from behind the half-door, peering into the stable's gloom.

"Aye, Doctor, I am. I'll go with ye to see Mercy and willingly."

She swings open the door and steps into the darkened space.

All the horses within the place swing their heads toward the newcomer, ears forward (save a couple of coach horses at the back keeping one turned warily on Polzeath) and nostrils flared. None snort any urgent alarm, though those nearest Maggie stretch out their necks, if not with absolute certainty, to huff her scent and blow their particular breath at her like a familiar horse that's been away and might answer in kind. Martin's light has no trouble picking out the angular planes of a horse's skull under the drape of Maggie's shawl.

"I..." the Doctor stutters, feeling his cheeks redden, and glad of the poor lighting. He coughs "That is let us make haste then. I should like to know the woman is well enough, and I should return to the church soon, before sunrise at least."

He heads for the doors "You should know Ma... Miss Yendale I have seen, I have seen to the lad's wounds and we had a little chat at the time. He has his mind set on shooting the squire dead even though I think he now realises that it could not have been him."

"Should they both survive tomorrow's duel, then he'll need keeping an eye on, for I fear he may try to do the same again."

With a sharp intake of breath, Maggie shivers head to foot. She gulps as Doctor begins to speak, edging toward the stable door without taking her eyes from the man..

"Aye, 'twas always pig-headed, our Jim Stone. If Nathan Fox is not the murderer but some foul fetch goin' in his guise, we'll need show proof of it to th' lad afore he gives over his grudge.

"Come, let's away to Mercy's cottage. She was devisin' a trap for th' muderous spirit."

At last (and with some effort), she shifts her gaze from Doctor and emerges from the stable.

"Hie, Polzeath, feelin' better are ye?"

The Doctor looks a little surprised, but says "Well then, all the more reason to find her. I didn't think such a thing possible after previous experiences, with the shape changing fox thing."

As they walk he says "The guardians. Until recently I would have thought of such things as, well, as superstitious fancies to make the people feel better."

"Recent experiences though lead me to think that there is more to them than superstition. I have come to think recently that there is far more going on in these parts that scientific investigation can explain... at least currently."

"I have also come to believe that if God has his plan for us, then there are other entities that have their own plans."

"I don't much like to be standen here, Mistress Yendale, but I'm glad t'see ye come out," Polzeath admits.

There's a soft jingling in place from the stable aisle left in darkness, as of some restless horse in harness. As Maggie and Martin get further up the road the dim sensation that moving away is somehow harder abruptly lessens and a rapid jingling fades as Trugred hurries to catch up, no longer so focused in presence but very much there nonetheless, no further away in whatever place it is than the two might reach out their hands to each other. They feel the guardian's low whickering in the second air, a comfort as they move on through the night (it does consider roundly biting Polzeath on the bottom, presumably to hasten him with the herd, but refrains somehow, pacing at heel).