In the morning, everyone had to wait until Festuscato got up and about. At one point, out of boredom, Gregor pointed behind Mousden and shouted, “Bear!”
“Where?” Mousden asked from half way down the street where he flew in the blink of an eye. Seamus laughed. Even Bran smiled.
“Now come, little one. Do you really think these Jutes would let a bear wander the streets?” Gregor asked.
Mousden shook his head after a moment’s thought. “I suppose not, though mortal humans are still very strange to me.”
“Quite all right,” Seamus said. “They are strange to me, too, and I am one of them.”
“Sorry.” Festuscato spoke up from the doorway. Without another word, he went straight to his horse and mounted. “Lead on Macduff.” He waved at Ingut who volunteered to lead them into Danish lands and to the hall of Hrothgar. Ingut the shipbuilder, became one of the few, in those times of tension, who could continue to move freely across borders. Ingut did not understand a word Festuscato said, but he understood the intent. He turned his horse into the lane, and everyone fell in behind, Luckless with his arms still full of breakfast.
Mirowen had her own horse then, and as soon as they passed through the city gate, she nudged up to ride beside Lord Agitus. “Vingevourt had duties, but he said he might see us at Heorot.”
Festuscato said nothing. He looked deep in thought.
“You missed breakfast, so Luckless ate your portion,” she tried again.
“Huh?” She at least got that much before he said something that did not really make sense. “My breakfast was eaten by a person you would least expect, but not find surprising, but it wasn’t me.” He fell again to thinking.
“Will my Lord be having gloom for lunch as well?” Mirowen asked.
“Huh?” Festuscato looked up then, and seemed to focus. “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about this monster. Twelve years is a long time not to have some lead on where the beast comes from.”
“From the place of the great swamps and dreaded pools,” Mirowen reported what she had heard.
Festuscato shook his head. “Speculation. It has never been seen. In fact, the tracks of the beast always disappear at the gate to the city, and not always the same gate. You know, an animal, even a monster, can be tracked, and all animals, and especially monsters, cannot help leaving a trail of some kind. But the trail of this beast apparently disappears at the edge of the city. I know, because I stayed up most of the night bothering people and asking questions.
“The king found a girl who spoke the British tongue, a slave of sorts I guess, but a nice lass, as Patrick would say.”
Mirowen looked at him, as if the answer to her concern simply raised another whole series of questions. “You overslept,” she confirmed. Festuscato nodded slowly and Mirowen frowned and thought she could not have been that nice a girl, at least in the way Patrick would have meant it. Then she had another thought. “I know with the spirit of Diana inside your heart, the gift given to your reflection in the old days, you know more than most about tracking animals. I do not doubt what you say is true. A monster, certainly ought to be easy to follow. But right now, I suspect it is the other gift shared with your reflection; it is the spirit of Justitia which is driving you.”
“Ah, yes.” Festuscato smiled. “Your suspicious gland is functioning very well I see. Every woman has a suspicious gland, you know, and you are exactly right.”
Mirowen ignored the insult, and after a pause, she spoke again. “How so? How am I right?”
Festuscato did not answer directly. “Did you notice the monster always attends the hall, but he never seeks victims in their homes or apartments?” He asked, though he made it a statement of fact. “It might become evident, you see, if one house never got attacked, or the houses of friends, if any.”
“But is it not a monster?” Luckless rode right behind them and he had been listening in with those excellent ears, at least between bites. “Don’t monsters just go for blood and gore and that sort of thing?”
“If it is a monster, it is an intelligent monster,” Festuscato said.
“Like a Troll or Ogre?” Mirowen asked, but Festuscato shook his head.
“I said intelligent,” he joked.
At least Luckless laughed. “If it is one of ours, it must be a dark elf to come only at night, like a Goblin,” he suggested.
“No. It is not one of my little ones,” Festuscato said. “I checked that out first.”
“Surely you don’t think an ordinary man would do all I hear this Grendel has done,” Mirowen said.
Festuscato paused to look at her closely. “Tell me. Do you know what a werewolf is?”
“I have only heard the word,” Mirowen admitted, while Luckless shook his head and wondered.
“It is a disease, actually,” Festuscato said. “Of the few humans who are really susceptible, most carry the gene without ever knowing it. But they pass it on through the generations, until it surfaces at some point. It happens when the moon is full, like the pull on the tides, and the man, like the Were people of old, changes into a wolf and is driven half mad in the process because human people are not built to be transformed. These people become mostly mindless killing machines, and I suspect this Grendel may be something like that, only with his mind still intact somehow.”
“Oh, I see,” Luckless said, not really seeing at all. But Mirowen understood perfectly.
“So, you think the monster may be an ordinary person by day, and it may actually be a person in the hall itself, every day,” she said.
“Exactly. And I think if anyone figures this out, there are plans already set to see someone else, someone innocent, accused. I feel it in my gut, but then I may be wrong altogether.”
“No.” Mirowen shook her head. “It is the only explanation I have heard that makes any sense at all.” She dropped back to consider the problem in her own private world. She said very little the rest of the day, and nothing at all about the monster. Then again, no one said much that day, until just before night when they entered a village in the forest where they were refreshed and could be bedded for the night.