Nobody there. A cabbie.
You should probably [[ask if he's there for you|the_cabbie]].The town is a long drive from the station through the looming pine forest with its floor of needles and its silence, until finally the narrow track through the woods gives on to a main street. Maybe a mile long, it slopes downward through a series of quaint, country stores before descending toward the glittering ocean, that undulates like a dark blue curtain in the breeze.
"Well, this is it," the cabbie says. "Charming downtown Mittelthwick. They say it hasn't much changed the last hundred and fifty years or so." He tips his hat to an elderly man atop a bicycle with a huge front wheel. "Yep, yep. Folks here like their traditions."
[[I take it you're not from here?|immigrant_cabbie]]
[[Where are you supposed to be taking me?|the_mansion]]You can't help but doze as the landscape rolls through the window of the train car, like an endless scroll of marshy exurbs with cranes like robots their only inhabitants under gunmetal skies; suburbs demurely hidden from the train tracks by graceful lines of trees; and then everything opens up into fields and lands of unclear purpose: some farms, some plots enclosed with chainlink fences containing some other titanic Machine, puffing and churning away. "What do they do?" you wonder. Whatever it is, they will pursue it until they die.
[[Until...|the_seaside]]"From, ah, well, you know. I had some debts with some nasty folks and no way to pay 'em back that would leave me with all me pieces and parts, you might say. And I rather like me pieces and parts. So I spun the globe and stuck a pin in it and here I am. Next month is nine years."
"Interesting," you say. "You don't seem like the kind of person to run."
The cabbie looks at you in the mirror with a twinkle in his eye, lifts a very large, meaty hand from the steering wheel for you to see.
"Talkin' about these, are ya? Well, ye're right. Put it simply, I could take five men at a time. Six if any was smaller than me."
"Whoa," you say, impressed.
"Yeah, did a bit of prizefightin', bit o' bar-brawlin', you know. It's me talent for what it's worth."
"Doesn't seem like much occasion to use it in a place like this," you say.
"You're right about that," he says, ruefully. "But then again, no fight: no blame."
"Lao-Tze," you say.
"Someone, sure," he says. "But I'll tell you this: I'd rather have me around than not if things get thick, that's for certain." He hands you a business card over his shoulder.
Kendrick Carnegie. There's no job title, no cab company. Just a phone number.
"Oh, that's more me personal card," he says. "Ran out of the cabbie ones. Number's the same."
[[Pocket the card|take_card]]
[[Leave it on the seat|leave_card]]<<set $hasCard to true>>You slip the card into your jacket pocket. Could come in handy.
"And here we are, the grand Castle Mistlethwait!"
You get out of the cab and [[look where he's pointing|meeting_amanda]].You leave it sitting on the vinyl. Probably just another cabbie.
"And here we are, the grand Castle Mistlethwait!"
You get out of the cab and [[look where he's pointing|meeting_amanda]].As the smell of the sea wafts through the open window, the swirling reverie of the journey snaps into the present tense. You are about to arrive in a town where a young woman awaits, with an urgent request.
You pull the letter from your backpack and read it again.
[[Read the letter.|the_letter_pt_1]]Before you've gotten 400 feet from the train station down the road bulging and warped from weather and civic inattention, the cab pulls up along side you.
"Come on, get in," the cabbie says through the open window. "I was just joshin' ya. Ain't no other fare within a hundred miles! What kind of businessman would I be if I didn't take it?"
[[Hop in.|Drive on]]"Me? No. I'm from Edinburgh."
"What brings you to place like this?"
"Well, I was lookin' for a change, you might say."
You've learned during the past two and a half years doing this that you usually get more from people by remaining silent and letting them talk rather than asking too many questions. Awkward to master at first, but very effective.
[[Remain silent.|cabbie_pt_2]]<<if $hasCard>>You pat your pocket — Kendrick's card is still there. Good. Something tells you you'll need it.<<else>>You wish you'd taken that cabbie's card. Too late now.<</if>>"Excuse me. Please look at me when I'm talking to you," you say. The cabbie looks up from his newspaper, surprised. "I am the only Benjamin Woodrow-Fisch on earth. The only one. So if you've been tasked with driving such a person somewhere, for example by a Ms. Amanda, then you'd best take me. Else you'll be waiting here 'til your eyes fall out, your flesh turns to dust and the knowledge of even so much as your name has passed out of the knowing of any living thing."
The cabbie pauses, imagining this with clear horror, then with a toothless smile, reaches back and pops the door open.
"I was just joshin' ya. Course I knew who you was. Weren't nobody else on the 3 o'clock, that's for sure."
"[[Let's go|Drive on]]," you say. "You've already made me late."Cabbie's crabby. "Reserved," he says dismissively.
"For whom?"
"For Benjamin Woodrow-Fisch."
"Well, I'm Benjamin Woodrow-Fisch."
"Likely story. Buzz off."
[[Do you drop the "kid affect" and speak to him as a wizard on a mission?|stern_talk]] Or [[start walking into town|hoofing_it]]?Her name is Amanda O'Shaughnessey, she says, and she is ten years old. She is writing to you without her parents knowing, because they would never let her tell anyone about such a strange and shameful secret.
"But I'm too scared not to do anything, Benjamin. It's only getting worse and I can't imagine where it will end."
[[Read on.|the_letter_pt_2]]"Here it is, then. In our town of Middlethwaite there have long been legends and tales about a mysterious being called 'The Cliff Wraith.' On nights where the moon is shining, it is seen walking the tops of the highest cliffs, screeching and keening and making the most awful sounds. And anyone who goes to learn more... well, they never come back."
[[Read on.|the_letter_pt_3]]"But here's the thing: my dad has started sleepwalking. And going toward the Wraith when she appears. So far, we've caught him before he could reach the cliffs, but I'm so afraid, Benjamin: what if one time we don't wake up in time and he finds the Wraith in his sleep. Oh, I can't even think of it! It is too, too horrible.
"We've tried tying him up with rope. Even with heavy weights attached. We've tried waiting watch for the moment when he departs. But somehow, he manages to shrug the bonds and escape no matter what we do.
"My mother would never admit such a thing, but to me it's clear there's magic involved. Or witchcraft. Or sorcery. Oh, I don't know the difference! But you do, I think."
[[Read on.|the_letter_pt_4]]"Which is why I'm writing. Please come on the 3pm on Friday from Penn Station on the Highland Line, all the way to the last stop, and I shall be waiting for you then.
"Please say nothing to anyone! I fear any disclosure may add risk for my father, who already flirts nightly with annihilation.
"Help us, Benjamin. You may be our only hope.
"Your friend,
"Amanda."
[[Fold the letter and look up. You've arrived.|Arriving at the station]]Until finally, the pressure of the suffocating land lifts and the sky seems to rise and scrub grass and pines replace the empty flatness and suddenly, there it is: a slice of blue, blessed blue. It disappears as the train takes a turn, but you saw it — you really did — the wise, old sea. You have accumulated such a sack of questions and woes since last you saw her, but somehow she will hold them all, you know. Somehow she always has.
[[You're almost there.|coming_to]]