Nandroid Witchhunt IV

	It had been a grueling few miles more until Prudence arrived at some form of landmark and not just the deep, consuming gnarl of the New England woodland. Following the winding, bobbing path of the compass she’d finally come to an overgrown footpath in the engulfing forest, resting against a tree as she steadied herself. Glancing down at the compass again she watched the needle rock and sway before tracing a circle rapidly around herself, it’s circumference counted in seconds as it spun again and again, now slowing as it made paced little spins in its glass case. She stared back into the thick darkness following the needle’s guidance and watched a pair of dim lights bobbing upwards and downwards as they circled her, glints of starlight hopping in the air. She set the compass aside and brought the rifle to bear again, staring down the long, unwieldy barrel as she watched the two wisps become four, then eight and more. Her iron spine shivered as she watched the growing mass of pearlescent marbles dotting the air, pacing and bobbing in the air like little luminescent corks. Leaning against a felled tree she worked the flint backwards with an imperceptible click, praying that her master had left her with at least a single shot, enough for her to have a chance at fighting or scaring the beast off. With a gentle squeeze of the trigger the woods were briefly illuminated, a mass of sparks dotting the air in front of her face before the pan ignited and a great booming erupted into the quiet blackness. As soon as she had opened her eyes again a shrieking cry flew through the air, the billowing smoke in front of her obscuring whatever she had struck as the rustle and snap of leaves and twigs trailed into the distance. Fanning it away she watched the mass of little lights flee away, its croaks and whimpers echoing through the forest as she slumped down against the tree, her energy finally run dry.
	As her eyelids grew heavy she thought she could hear voices calling out into the woods, shouts bouncing between trees as she watched more little lights bobbing around. She scolded herself for failing so soon in her quest, and her weakness in surrendering to the delirium her fatigue had put her in, her mechanical brain struggling to process what was around her. The voices quieted themselves to her pleasure, and the gentle lightening from black to deep blue through the woods signalled the coming of dawn.


	Hacking his way through the brush the squat priest swung his sword away through the brambles. He’d just been heading off to a very overdue rest when his sleep was interrupted by the crack of musket-fire ripping through the woods. Shaking the sleep from his eyes he advanced out into those wilds again, his lantern piercing through the darkness as dawn slowly approached. Slipping from tree to tree he pushed his arms ahead to clear the smaller saplings as he moved onwards, and as he pushed his hand off of a pine tree it found itself mired in a sticky puddle. Hand naturally recoiling in shock he stopped to examine it in the lantern light, the dim light revealing a coagulated grey blob splattered across his palm, the cold ooze drying still as he swung his hand in disgust. A whiff of iron was all he needed to know as he decided to press on, ignoring his now blood drenched hand. The trees thinned barely as he breached onto a trail he was intimately familiar with, now sure he was near whatever he was tracking, expecting  the worst as the woods grew silent around him. Shuffling ahead slowly he cracked his toe on an overly-solid log, stooping low to grab his foot before his lantern caught a rich metallic sheen. Twisting his head back and forth he lowered the light to the forest floor, scanning the ground for clues before spotting a small brass box, and next to it, he realized, the unfortunate person he’d kicked in his carelessness. He cursed his carelessness as he set the lantern down and scooped the figure up, her joints squeaking and swivelling to his confusion. They were extraordinarily light, he thought, and were likely in dire need of food and shelter. He investigated the ground again to find the little box he’d lost and, with a deeper look, what he expected was the offending rifle. Hands and back full and creaking, he made his way for his home with his burdens.


	Prudence shot awake with a start, the warm air thawing her chilled body as gears worked away to churn her body to activity. The warmth of the room was wholesome, encompassing, safe. She looked around for any sign of activity as evidently some good samaritan had found her and wound her up. She sat up in the bed she was laid in, her clothing ruffled but cleaned of any offending bits from outside, and she straightened her jacket as she stood up, uneasily at first but with purpose when she saw her belongings besides the bed. She seized the compass which had guided and, she pieced together through her foggy memory, saved her. As she paced around the house she couldn’t help but feel the aching similarity to her old home, the low ceiling and dense arrangement of furniture overwhelming her as she sat at a table and curled up, toying with the box in her one hand.
	She’d stared at the little needle for what felt like an hour, the slim piece of silver spinning rapidly, ceaselessly as it was propelled round repeatedly, followed by the misty eyes of the robot holding it. The groaning of a wooden door threw her backwards and onto the floor with a crack, and she scrambled across the floor for her gun and brandished it like a club, waiting around the corner for the unsuspecting intruder which she felt, she *knew*, was near. Heavy boots strode into the home, their owner sighing contentedly as they were peeled off and sent thumping to the ground. Prudence chose to act first, leaping past her corner and raising her gun-now-club above her head before stopping just short of cracking the head of the little man who was before her. He raised his hands in surprise and gently nudged the butt of the rifle away from the center of his forehead.
	“I’m happy to see you’re awake, sister,” he laughed, “and just as much a fighter as I figured. I was worried the cold had taken you and locked up the little machine in there.” He pointed to Prudence’s petite frame as she recoiled instinctively, and let the rifle down.
	“I-sir! Don’t say things like that!”
	“Like what, sister?”
	“I- Well- Never mind,” she spat. “Just please, tell me what’s going on now.” The man pointed to himself and then a crucifix upon the wall. Prudence then noted his complete black cloak, the abundance of books around the bespectacled man’s home.
	“I am, humbly, Auguste Donadieu. I am one of God’s representatives in this land and spiritual council to the natives here, at the behest of his holiness in Rome. I also dabble in,” he paused anxiously, scouting out an acceptable answer to his guest. “I work towards the erasure of what I would deem foul creatures. As we did in Europe we shall do anew here, God willing.” Prudence’s face scrunched just slightly at this latest revelation; saved by a Catholic, she mused, of all people. Even with all that had happened she couldn’t shake *all* of Jeduthan’s teachings, and it showed. However, for the time being, she had to do her utmost to work with the man.
	“You didn’t answer my question.”
	“Ye- Oh! So I didn’t, so I didn’t. Forgive me, sister, let me explain,” he began, gesturing back to the table as he sat down in turn. “I’ve been up late lately, I struggle to sleep and when I do I am plagued with nightmares and devilish imagery. I cannot fathom facing whatever evil has reared its head here in my state. The situation has been dire, sister…”
	“Prudence.”
	“Sister Prudence. Just yesterday three of the villagers I minister to were disappeared into the woods in the night, and I was out until dawn searching, vainly I am sad to say, for them when I heard you fire your gun, and found you and your possessions. I managed to work out well enough how to get you back in working order,” he said, producing a small key he’d carved from wood. He placed it firmly into her hands and pointed to the little door at her chest. “Evidently your maker didn’t leave you the faculty to, er, wind yourself, but now you do!”
	“I- Thank you, Mister Donadieu,” Prudence said, quieting her prejudices for a moment. “But now what, there’s something out there like you said and I believe it’s wounded at the very least, but I can’t be sure.”
	“I’m glad you asked,” he smiled, giddy at the prospect of sharing his work. He ushered her away from the little nook to another desk crammed into the home where a bowl of off-black powder sat. “This, sister, is some blood I found last night while searching - I do believe it is from our culprit in the woods, and if my tinkering with that box has taught me anything, you can use this to track the monster. May I?” He held out an expectant hand as Prudence hesitated, not sure what he wanted.
	“Sir?”
	“The box, dear.”
	“O-Oh!” She quickly seized up the compass from the table and relinquished it to the missionary.
	“If my theories are correct, whomever made this was trying to make something I’ve been toying with as well - a compass for monsters, an apparatus for tracing and tracking evil and witchcraft scientifically, accurately, humanely even. And your maker, who I will assume made this, managed to do what I’ve failed to do in years of work. However this,” he said, tapping the still spinning compass, “this is an issue.” He delicately removed the compass’ glass face and the needle in turn, much to Prudence’s chagrin. Laying the needle down on the table surface he took some water and poured it into the waiting bowl, mixing it diligently as the dried powder reconstituted into a bitter red paste. He deftly and carefully dipped one end of the needle in the foul mixture before replacing the needle and glass.
	“Well what did that do-,” she stopped short as she watched the compass, still now with purpose. The man spun it for effect but it struck truer than it ever had, wobbling to and fro all the way.
	“Your creator gave me the framework, yes, but this thing needs something to tie it to what it tracks, either that or proximity I figured. Put it in the home of a priest,” he smiled, “and it won’t do much good except make you dizzy.” The blocks started to fall into place in front of Prudence as the man pointed out the direction that the needle was now pointing.
	“Well now what?”
	“Well, you kill whatever is at the end of this needle, sister.”
	“J-Just me? Why can’t you help?”
	“If you haven’t noticed I’m in less than optimal shape to be out hunting beasts by moonlight but you,” he said, pressing an empathic finger into her chest, “you, sister, are a tireless machine built by a man of God. It is your purpose to rid this land of whatever evil befalls us. I must stay here for the faithful.” Prudence narrowed her eyes at the man’s face, the gentle creases and just-graying chin hairs betraying his age, something she’d not taken care to examine in the dim home.
	“I wish I could father but there’s not much I can do with nothing to defend myself - I’ve no ammunition, no weaponry,” she paused as the priest’s face broke into a wide, toothy grin. He was practically shaking as he flung open one of his cabinets in a frenzy of someone overdue to talk about their hobbies. He tossed a cloth bound package, then another, to the shocked robot as he dug into the cabinet and pulled out a plain leather scabbard, fishing deeper inside for whatever little accoutrements he could fish out. As he dug around Prudence unwrapped one of the packages to reveal a dozen or more little cartridges all bound in paper, their ends folded neatly and raring to go.
	“Ah I see you’ve already opened them - they’re yours,” he said, pouring an arms-load more onto the table. “You see in my line of, well, work, we must take an active role in rooting out evil. Everything here is silver of some kind - the lead shot you used may hurt something, yes, but kill them? No, no chance. With these you have more than a chance to rid these lands of what stalks them.”
Prudence reached her hand into the pile before her and withdrew the prominent scabbard, black leather cloaking a modest hilt. Withdrawing the saber from within, its curved blade glinting in the lamp light, she examined it closer. The blade shone bright, brighter than any iron or steel could, and the little inscriptions etched in the silver danced like faerie-light on their mirror background. The man proffered a belt to which she attached the scabbard and, standing up, she took the ammunition and miscellany, filling the deep apron pocket at her front.
	“Thank you, Father Donadieu,” she said, looking out the window towards the again darkening skies; her face turned to one of determination, a smile finding its place for the first time in too long. “I’ll do my best.”