Doctor Yeoman provided us with the barest of lunches, little more than some stale bread and butter. It was welcome, however. The final leg of our journey into the Vale of Clwyd had left us light on provisions and I had lost sight of just how famished we had become.

I had taken note of his fairly bare cabinets of medicines and instruments in addition to his distressing lack of seating in that musty building. While I admire deliberate austerity, this did not seem to be deprivation of his own accord. Indeed, he poured himself a generous glass of Port and dispatched it within mere seconds.

“So, what brings you here, Luke? And who’re they?” Noah asked with a heavy sigh.

“Let me introduce my friends here first,” Sir Lucas cheerily intoned. “This is Doctor Francis Willis and his sons, John, Robert, and Thomas.”

“Good set of names,” Noah chuckled. “Our four inestimable Willises.”

I nodded out of politeness, though I was unsure if he meant that as a compliment or a sarcastic insult. Or whether it meant anything at all.

“We, ah, have come from London where we have been part of the team treating His Majesty,” Sir Lucas changed to a more serious tone. “Have you heard anything about that out here?”

Noah raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“A thing or two. What happens with the King is, well… eh,” he whined with a shrug. “I can’t say it’s been my highest priority. Oh, uh, but congratulations on the patient. Sounds important.”

Sir Lucas’ face drooped at Noah’s dismissive acknowledgement. He gave me a sheepish glance before looking back toward his old friend.

“I should tell you, Noah, that it does not appear to be only a medical matter. Yes, this is something more than that and that is why—”

“Ohhhhh,” Noah interjected, wagging his finger at Sir Lucas. “Now I see why you come all of the way out here to Ruthin! Do you remember how convinced you used to be that nothing like that actually existed?”

“The books said so,” Sir Lucas weakly replied.

“And now?”

“Would you like an apology?”

“Oh no,” Noah closed his eyes and smiled. “This is fine.”

I took the opportunity of their posturing ripostes to further examine the room. I noticed various plaques that Noah had earned from a grateful town. It was not surprising, I suppose. In smaller towns, the local doctor was a particularly prized thing, at least usually. Oddly, that recognition did not seem to manifest in improved garments for Doctor Yeoman. His white stockings frayed while his grey coat was speckled with remnants of food and had seen holes eaten into various odd places.

“Doctor Yeoman, if I may ask,” I said, trying to put the conversation back on track, “do you have knowledge of the more peculiar sorts of events here in—”

“I’m just curious,” Noah interrupted me, raising a finger, “what link do you see between Ruthin and the King going crazy in London? Seems a leap to me.”

“Admittedly, Doctor Yeoman, circumstantial. The King was speaking Welsh, seemingly possessed. He does not Welsh, not a word according to the Queen,” I stated plainly. “It was therefore the case we surmised that the origins of this magic, or whatever else it is, must be from Wales and we went to where more incidents have been reported than anywhere else.”

“That’s weak,” Noah scoffed.

“And we are desperate,” I replied. “We slew a banshee haunting the grounds near Kew. It also spoke, or sang, or wailed in Welsh.”

Noah nodded at that piece of evidence.

“Oh, that wasn’t a banshee then. That was a—”

“Cyhyraeth,” Robert said confidently. “Yes, it was, Doctor Yeoman.”

“Smart boy. Read a lot about Welsh ghouls and such?”

“Enough to learn the rudiments,” Robert snarled at being mocked.

“In any case, Doctor Yeoman, incidents, rumors, or firsthand knowledge of these happenings would be useful,” I said, interrupting with a polite cough. “Have you anything to tell us?”

Noah sneered and poured himself another generous glass of Port. He drank that glass more carefully than he had the prior serving.

“So many such things, Doctor Willis, that one would do well to ignore them,” he said in an affected loud whisper, followed by licking his upper teeth.

“I am afraid that is not an option,” I shot back.

“I have only taken a few patients in the past several months. Have any idea why that might be?” Noah asked.

“I can’t begin to guess your own reasons.”

“Because the problems went from being ordinary to being… Well, more than what I can manage. You will find more than your share of lunatics here and it’s as though it became a damned disease, spreading like plague,” he dripped with anger, his voice becoming shrill. “Smart thing to do is keep your head down. Mark my words.”

Our visit to Doctor Yeoman did not last terribly much longer than that. At a certain point, one of his patients whom he would still see came by and ended our meeting for the day.

We decided to regroup and procure lodgings at the inn on the market square. Those were tiny little rooms, only large enough for a bed, a small wardrobe, and almost nothing else. Scarcely more than glorified closets, to be truthful. Yet there was a comfort to it as the wattle and daub walls had been made so thick that it felt as though we were protected by grand fortifications.

The beds were serviceable, better than anything I had slept on at Kew Palace for that matter. This was fortunate as the whole party of us turned in unusually early that first evening due to the indescribable fatigue traveling had inflicted upon us. The guards we had brought with us stayed up a touch later to make use of the tavern on the inn’s lower floor. How I envy the energies of younger men.

I lay awake for a time, listening to the groaning and creaking of the old inn as it absorbed the stiff wintry winds blowing down from the Irish Sea to the north and west. My room was in the interior, so I was spared the interminable rattling of the window shutters of the outer rooms. However, my bed did rest almost precisely against the chimney and the whistling of those shrill gusts passing over the top of the chimney caused me some disquiet. The sounded at times like the banshee’s distant wails. I convinced myself that this was not anything more than a natural occurrence.

When I slept, however, I had the most astonishingly odd dreams. For a moment, I could not see anything other than total abyssal darkness. I heard what sounded like bones rattling against one another. They clacked against one another in rapid succession. I was slowly able to see more. The silhouette of a horse came into view against a sickly dark green sky. My vision of the horse steadily improved and I saw a rider draped in flowing black robes, but the rider had no head. I approached it and noticed that the rider carried under one of its arms what I presumed to be the rider’s rotting head. Its skin had the consistency of moldy bread or cheese and a permanent twisted smile ran across it. I could not stop staring at this strange spectacle. As instant later, its eyes flashed a bright, devilish red!

I jolted awake covered in sweat and afflicted by confusion. Some moments passed before I regained my orientation. As a man who travels only relatively rarely, and never to Wales, I had for a moment the sensation that I was back in Lincolnshire, but then the cruel reality of being in Wales set in.

“Doctor Willis?” Sir Lucas’ muffled voice came through my door. “I think it’s time for breakfast.”

“I’ll be there shortly,” I mumbled just loud enough that I believe he heard me.

I glanced to the right where I had stored my compendium of incidents sent to us by Mr. Pitt. Strangely, it seemed to be missing. A search of my room did not uncover it, either. It was not likely that I had simply misplaced them. What that meant caused me to shudder.