01c - Rising - Martin, Cecil
Martin sounded loud to himself, though he had spoken normally. Of course, the village dogs and geese should be giving strident opinions on this newcomer, yet all was still. Polzeath remained some paces behind, though he had picked up Martin's unblacked shoe and the grease cloth as though not to be found idle if later men should find him struck down where he stood. He made some vague effort at continuing to work blacking into the leather whilst responding, shaking his head:
"He's not right, sir, not right at all. What he b'saying to them I can't tell, but I can't think it's right preaching." He hesitated.
"See you the beasts about the place, sir? Well, they're waiting and not right either, I got a rabbit and three partridge trapped alive under a box in the scullery, they come in the back door with that'n." Realising Polzeath was pointing at something, the doctor followed his man's indication and suddenly became aware there was another creature in the room, breathing this same strange air. A live hare looked back at him from beside the salting urn, sat calmly by the scullery door as though it, not he, had right to be here.
"She's not mazy like the other ones, won't let me catch 'er," Polzeath explained. The hare only watched in perfectly still silence, golden eyes unreadable. For some reason Martin believed Polzeath's linguistic assumption that it was a doe hare without question, though the skull shape and size might as easily be a young male's without looking underneath. "Won't leave, either, though, and the back door's propped open her width and more."