Episode Three
The Lion and the Adder – Episode Three - Transcript
SCENE 1
AUNT CLARA'S STUDY - A STILL, QUIET ROOM, TUCKED AWAY OUT OF THE REACH OF THE CITY SOUNDS. A CLOCK TICKS CHEERFULLY ON THE MANTELPIECE AND A FIRE CRACKLES AWAY. AUNT CLARA IS WRITING AT HER DESK.
FROM DOWNSTAIRS, THE SOUND OF THE FRONT DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING WITH A BANG. BASH CALLS UP THE STAIRS.
BASH: (OFF) Only me! You upstairs?
AUNT CLARA: (TO HERSELF) And she's back...
BASH BOUNCES UP THE STAIRS AND ENTERS THE STUDY IN A BUSTLE OF ENERGY.
BASH: There you are. Didn't you hear me calling?
AUNT CLARA: I did. Fortunately, despite your best efforts, I have not yet succumbed to the indignity of hollering at people down the stairs.
BASH SIGHS.
AUNT CLARA: You also didn't knock.
BASH: Fine!
SHE GOES TO THE DOOR, LEAVES, AND KNOCKS.
AUNT CLARA: Enter.
BASH COMES BACK IN, GOING THROUGH THE MOTIONS OF GOOD MANNERS.
BASH: (SARCASTICALLY) Good afternoon, Aunt Clara. How was your day?
AUNT CLARA: (SINCERELY) It's been very pleasant, thank you. And yours?
BASH: You're a nightmare.
AUNT CLARA: (SIGHS) There are rules, Bash. Trust me - things will go a good deal more smoothly if you learn how to play by them.
BASH THROWS HERSELF INTO A CHAIR, HEAVING A PUT-UPON SIGH. AUNT CLARA SOFTENS.
AUNT CLARA: How was your day, dear?
BASH: Fine. (BEAT) I think I upset Mrs Higgins this morning.
AUNT CLARA: Ah, is that what it was? She's been in a strange mood today. I put it down to the weather.
BASH: Because her knees hurt!
SHE MAKES AN EXASPERATED NOISE
BASH: That was what I said. I was getting ready to go out, and we were chatting - just normal stuff, about the day and what we were doing and so on. And she said she was going to polish the silver and do some mending. So I said she was doing her sitting-down jobs - because her knees get stiff when when it's all wet and miserable like today. And she-
AUNT CLARA: Thought you were calling her lazy?
BASH: How did you know that?!
AUNT CLARA: Bash, darling, we've talked about this! You can't make personal comments about people, it's rude.
BASH: (SCOFFS) I wasn't making personal comments! I was talking about the weather. Everybody talks about the weather. They never shut up about it!
AUNT CLARA: You were talking about her knees. Next time, try asking a question instead. Say something like, "The weather's bad today. How are your knees?"
BASH: But I already know how her knees are.
AUNT CLARA: It's not that sort of question, dear. It's like, "How was your day?" It's just-
BASH: (SHE'S HEARD THIS BEFORE) Yeah, "social noises".
AUNT CLARA: Exactly. People like it when you make noises at them.
BASH: (GROANS) Can't I just honk or something? Ring a bell. Moo, like a cow!
AUNT CLARA: (LAUGHING) Oh, it would be easier, wouldn't it? Or if you could just say, "I've noticed you're here. I am also here."
BASH: "I have no particular feelings about this situation."
AUNT CLARA LAUGHS, SYMPATHETIC.
AUNT CLARA: No, I'm afraid it won't do. You just have to play the game, my dear. Give Mrs Higgins an apology and chalk it up to experience.
BASH GROANS. SHE STANDS UP AND STARTS SEARCHING THROUGH SOME DRAWERS.
AUNT CLARA: Were you working today?
BASH: Hm? Mm. A house survey. Young couple buying a new home, wanted to get an assessment of the spiritual health of the place.
AUNT CLARA: How did it go?
BASH: Fine. Um... Good strong threshold, no tragic deaths or tortured souls or anything like that... Do you know where my pipe is?
AUNT CLARA: Yes. I saw Mrs Coleman today when I went out for my walk. (MEANINGFULLY) Her son, Richard, is home from Catalonia.
BASH: Can you tell me where my pipe is, please?
AUNT CLARA: You oughtn't to smoke a pipe. It's not ladylike. Men don't like women who smoke pipes.
BASH SLAMS THE DRAWERS A LITTLE HARDER THAN NECESSARY.
BASH: I don't care what men like.
AUNT CLARA: Men don't like women who don't care what men like.
BASH: Yeah... You can see, can't you, how this conversation is going to get rather circular rather quickly?
AUNT CLARA OPENS A DESK DRAWER WITH A SIGH. SHE TAKES OUT A PIPE AND A POUCH OF TOBACCO AND HANDS THEM OVER.
AUNT CLARA: Here. (MEANINGFULLY) Richard Coleman is home from Catalonia.
BASH PACKS HER PIPE.
BASH: He the one with the big head?
AUNT CLARA: His mother would like him to take you to tea.
BASH: Bully for her.
BASH LIGHTS HER PIPE, PUFFING ON IT TO MAKE THE TOBACCO CATCH.
AUNT CLARA: He's a very nice young man.
BASH SITS BACK, EXHALING WITH SATISFACTION AND LAUGHS
BASH: I don't care about nice young men. What's she want him to take me to tea for?
AUNT CLARA: What do you think?
BASH: I think it's pointless. I won't marry him. That's the end goal here, isn't it? Marriage?
AUNT CLARA: You could at least consider it.
BASH: (PUFFING ON HER PIPE) You never did.
AUNT CLARA: And I regret it daily, if only for setting a terrible example to my favourite niece. You should marry, Bash. The stability. The security. The money!
BASH: I don't need Richard Coleman's money! I have a job.
AUNT CLARA: You aren't getting work like you used to. If you don't learn to get along with people better, the work will stop coming in!
BASH: (MORE BOTHERED THAN SHE'S LETTING ON) I'm-I'm getting work. I've got my own money. If the work stops coming, I have you. (GRINNING) And when you pop your clogs, I'll have your money.
AUNT CLARA: Huh! Charming.
BASH: True! Unless you're going to disinherit me for, uh, pipe-smoking.
AUNT CLARA: I'm not going to disinherit you. I just wish you'd make life a little easier for yourself.
BASH: Don't think I'm built like that, I'm afraid.
AUNT CLARA: (FOND) No. No, and never have been. Oh, uh- There's a letter here for you, by the way.
BASH: Oh?
BASH TAKES THE ENVELOPE
AUNT CLARA: It's a miracle it reached us, really - the address looks like it was written by a drunken spider.
BASH HUMS THOUGHTFULLY AS SHE OPENS THE LETTER. BEAT.
AUNT CLARA: (WHISPERING) Who is it from?
BASH: Oh, you'll like this. It's from a nice young man, asking me to tea.
AUNT CLARA GASPS EXCITEDLY
OPENING CREDITS
THEME MUSIC PLAYS
H.R. OWEN: The Lion and the Adder. Created by H.R. Owen and starring H.R Owen as Robin Sylvester, Paul Warren as Nicholas Hawthorn, and Méabh de Brún as Evelyn 'Bash' Sebastian. Episode Three.
THEME MUSIC ENDS
SCENE 2
A LARGE LECTURE HALL FULL OF STUDENTS. ARIADNE IS IN THE MIDDLE OF A LECTURE
ARIADNE: Foliate masks, for example - carved faces formed of leaves and other such foliage - are prevalent above the doors, windows, and other apertures and boundaries of Medieval buildings - but are largely absent from around the 15th century onward. Slide.
THE CLICK OF A SLIDE PROJECTOR
ARIADNE: One might assume these changes are the result of less effective symbols giving way to their more effective counterparts. However, if any of you have ever tried to convince an elderly relative to set aside the protective devices of their youth in preference for something more powerful, perhaps, but alas, insurmountably unfamiliar...
THE STUDENTS LAUGH
ARIADNE: ...then you will realise how indifferent are the winds of change to anything so banal as logic. People do not choose protective symbols based on reason. Instead, they are influenced by the cultural norms - and aesthetics - of the world around them. Slide.
CLICK!
ARIADNE: These grave marks date from the Interregnum. The preference for simple shapes, strong lines and a stripped-back, almost Spartan aesthetic-
A DOOR AT THE BACK OF THE ROOM OPENS WITH A LONG, LOUD, AND VERY DRAWN-OUT CREAK. ARIADNE STOPS SPEAKING, WAITS FOR THE INTERRUPTION TO STOP, THEN TUTS IN IMPATIENCE.
ARIADNE: Oh, just come in, if you're coming!
ROBIN OPENS THE DOOR PROPERLY AND SLIPS INSIDE.
ROBIN: (STAGE WHISPER) Sorry! Didn't want to interrupt!
ARIADNE: And yet, here we are. Interrupted.
ROBIN: Yes, the door, you know. Really could do with some oil on those hinges...
ARIADNE: Is this an urgent matter?
ROBIN: Urgent? No! No, I just wanted to drop in and see if you were-
ARIADNE: Then sit down and be quiet.
ROBIN: Oh. Yes, ma'am!
HE TAKES A SEAT
ROBIN: (STAGE WHISPER) Is she always this strict?
THE STUDENT BESIDE HIM GIGGLES
ARIADNE: Don't answer him, Miss Rakefield, or I shall mark your next essay with extreme prejudice.
THE STUDENTS LAUGH AGAIN, AND SETTLE INTO QUIET. ARIADNE PICKS UP WHERE SHE LEFT OFF, UNRUFFLED.
ARIADNE: The clean, strong lines of Interregnum witch marks seem almost fashionable to our modern eye, used as we are to the geometric symbols preferred in our current era. They stand in stark contrast...
HER VOICE FADES OUT.
SCENE 3
THE LECTURE HALL, AT THE END OF THE LECTURE. STUDENTS ARE FILING OUT EN MASSE. ROBIN APPROACHES.
ROBIN: I say, Pol, you really are a dab hand at this professorial lark.
ARIADNE: Robin. What are you after?
ROBIN: I'm not after anything! Nothing but plain old-fashioned friendship. Cement of the soul, sweetener of life, sticky-tape of society, all that rot. Do you fancy a spot of tea?
ARIADNE: Now?
ROBIN: Why not? It's a lovely day - the sun is shining, somewhere, presumably, the birds are, if not precisely singing, at least humming quietly under their breaths. A perfect wintery afternoon in London town.
ARIADNE: (NOT CONVINCED) Mmhmm?
BEAT, ROBIN SIGHS.
ROBIN: There's a girl.
ARIADNE: A girl.
ROBIN: A woman! I met her on a case I was asked to advise on and thought she seemed interesting. So I asked her out to tea, but I realised this morning, it mightn't be quite the thing, might it, meeting a young woman alone like that, however noble my intentions. I don't want her to feel uncomfortable.
STUDENT: Goodbye, Doctor Pollett.
ARIADNE: Goodbye, Miss Rakefield.
THE STUDENT LETS THE DOOR CLOSE BEHIND HER, THE LAST TO LEAVE. THE HALL IS SILENT AND ECHOEY IN THE WAKE OF THE OTHERS LEAVING
ARIADNE: (TO ROBIN) And you assumed I had nothing better to do than come along and play chaperone.
ROBIN: No, I knew you didn't have any lectures this afternoon and I thought you might enjoy a bit of a change of pace. (BEAT) She is, uh... rather a pretty girl. If you notice that sort of thing.
ARIADNE: I teach women undergraduates. I am surrounded by pretty girls every day of the week. Frankly, I'd be more inclined to join you if she were that block-headed policeman of yours. That would be a change of pace.
ROBIN: Mm. Not likely. He's not exactly her biggest fan.
ARIADNE: (PERKING UP) Really? Hawthorn doesn't like her?
ROBIN: Oh, now you're interested.
ARIADNE: Well, he's always been a bit of a pill, hasn't he?
ROBIN: That's my very good friend you're insulting.
ARIADNE: I'm sure you've said far worse about him, and to his face. (SIGHING) Oh, alright then. Let's go and meet this interesting girl of yours.
SCENE 4
A BUSY TEAROOM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. CLINKING OF CUTLERY, BACKGROUND CONVERSATION, A BUSY STREET OUTSIDE. THE BELL ABOVE THE SHOP DOOR RINGS
ROBIN: Miss Sebastian!
HE SPRINGS TO HIS FEET, KNOCKING OVER THE TEA THINGS
ARIADNE: Oh, Robin!
ROBIN: Oh- Oh, crumbs! I'm so sorry- Miss Sebastian! Over here! Gosh, sorry, let me, uh, I'll just, uh-
ARIADNE: Stop flapping and fetch a cloth!
ROBIN: Uh, yes- Uh, Bash, Polly. Polly, Bash.
BASH MAKES AWKWARD SYMPATHETIC NOISES
ARIADNE: (WARNINGLY) Robin!
ROBIN: Going, going! Sorry! (OFF) Excuse me? Terribly sorry, seem to have had a bit of mishap with a pot of tea...
BASH: Here, take my handkerchief. Was it hot?
ARIADNE: Not too bad. (TUTS) It's going to stain something awful, though. Just my luck.
BASH: Ah, sorry!
ARIADNE: Oh, it's not your fault. You couldn't have known he'd go leaping up like an over-excited spaniel. (SIGHS) You're Miss Sebastian, I take it?
BASH: Call me Bash. And you're... Did he say, Polly?
ARIADNE: He did. Polly, short for Pollett, short for Ariadne Pollett. Robin tagged me in, in case you were worried about meeting a strange man alone.
BASH: Alone, in a tea shop, in the middle of the afternoon? I think I like my chances. Nice to meet you, all the same. Do you prefer Polly?
ARIADNE: I do not. Everyone else in the universe calls me Ariadne.
BASH: I suppose you can take the boy out of public school...
ARIADNE LAUGHS, AND ROBIN ARRIVES BACK WITH SOME TOWELS
ROBIN: Here you are, Pol! Clean yourself up. You've done your introductions, I assume?
ARIADNE: Yes, Bash was just commenting on your public school manners.
ROBIN: Oh, the manners are all my own, I'm afraid. No school in the country would have me - and I sent most of the governesses running for the hills, too. How about you, Bash?
BEAT
BASH: Me? Uh. Do you know a lot of the schools in Cork?
ROBIN: Well, not by name...
BASH: I went to a convent school. Left at 16 and came here.
ROBIN: (SYMPATHETICALLY) Oh. To find work? Send money home, that sort of thing?
BASH: (AFFECTING A THICK, RURAL ACCENT) Oh, to be sure, to be sure. For me and my twelve sisters, we were all to one bed, and the fifteen boys in the other while Mammy and Daddy slept on the floor with the family cow.
ARIADNE BURSTS OUT LAUGHING WHILE ROBIN SPLUTTERS IN PROTEST
ROBIN: Oh, I didn't mean it like that!
BASH: Yeah, believe it or not, we do actually have a middle class in Ireland. My father's a wool merchant. He doesn't need a penny from me.
ROBIN: Alright, alright. I'm very sorry. Though I really didn't mean it like that.
BASH: No, it's alright. Call it even - I was rude enough to you when we met. And to the Inspector.
ROBIN: Well, "the Inspector" deserved it. You've got nothing to apologise for there.
BASH: Oh, I wasn't apologising.
ARIADNE: Do you work with the police often?
BASH: They don't need me most of the time. I mean, if a fella's found dead with a knife in his chest and his wife standing over him saying, "Take that, you rotten so-and-so," they don't usually need to check in with the spirits to find out what happened.
ARIADNE: (BEAT) No, I suppose not.
BASH: My bread and butter's a lot less interesting. Property surveys, verifying insurance claims, occasionally just reassuring people their house doesn't hate them.
ROBIN: Does that happen often? People's houses disliking them?
BASH: God, no! House spirits are built to care about you - that's their whole job. Even if you did some awful like breaking the threshold, they still wouldn't turn on you. Just don't tell my clients that - the more insecure they are, the more they pay me.
ROBIN AND ARIADNE LAUGH
BASH: What about you, Ariadne? You don't seem like police.
ARIADNE: Absolutely not.
ROBIN: Pol's an anarchist.
ARIADNE: I'm an academic. Arcane semiotics - magical symbols.
BASH: Oh, I know what semiotics means.
ROBIN: Ha! Who's putting their foot in their mouth now!
BASH: And you? You're definitely not police, not at that height.
ROBIN: Oh, God no. No, Collie just calls me in when he needs a bit of demonic expertise. I'm a physicist - applied demonology, to be specific. I've helped out on a few rather high profile cases. Don't know if you read much about the spate of possessions in Tottenham last summer?
BASH: Mm... Don't think so.
ROBIN: Really? Well, the affair with the Duchess of St Albans, then! That was all over the papers.
BASH: Not ringing a bell.
ROBIN: (SLIGHTLY DESPERATE) The Lambeth Flayings?
BASH: Sorry. I don't really keep up with the gossip columns.
ROBIN: Gossip-! (BEAT) You're pulling my leg.
ARIADNE AND BASH START LAUGHING
BASH: Just a little.
ARIADNE: Oh, the look on your face!
BASH: (NOT SORRY) Sorry!
ARIADNE: Don't apologise. It's good for him to be taken down a peg or two.
BASH: That's exciting, though. I don't really know anything about magic.
ROBIN: (BEAT) You talk to ghosts for a living.
BASH: They're not ghosts. And I don't know how I talk to them or where they come from. I don't know what an aura's made out of. I've no idea how my dampener works. I just know that wearing silver makes everything sort of quiet and fuzzy.
ARIADNE: In fairness, silver is rather poorly understood even in scientific circles. We don't really know why some materials have a thaumaturgic effect and others don't, whether that's salt and silver or the herbs in your lintel protection.
BASH: Oh... I-I thought it was about whether you believed they worked or not? That's why people get so picky about having the lintel herbs they're used to. Some people won't even hire a Catholic housemaid in case she puts something strange in the lintel.
ROBIN: Oh, what utter rot. As if Catholics haven't been keeping their own houses perfectly well since before Martin Luther was a twinkle in his father's eye!
BASH LAUGHS.
ROBIN: Sorry! That was crude.
BASH: No, I don't mind! You're right. The man who went missing the other day, he wouldn’t have been any better off if he’d been Protestant.
ARIADNE: This is the demon possession case?
ROBIN: That's the chap. How on earth did you know he was Catholic?
BASH: Uh... He had a honking great picture of the Virgin Mary on his mantelpiece? Not to mention the rosary on his shrine.
ARIADNE: Tell us again about your glittering detective career, Silly.
ROBIN: Oh, hush. I'm a big picture person!
BASH: It was a big picture. It was two feet across at least.
ARIADNE: Not exactly detail-oriented, are you, dear?
ROBIN HUFFS
BASH: I feel like all I see is details, sometimes. Lots of little bits, and no idea how to put them together. I remember when I was little, we had a new, young priest in the parish. And he was coming around for tea, and I piped up to ask why Mammy always made sure to wear a nice dress and do her hair for the new priest, when she never did for the old one. It was years before I realised why everyone was so angry about it.
ROBIN AND ARIADNE LAUGH
ARIADNE: Oh, bad luck!
BASH: So it really doesn't matter what you believe, then?
ARIADNE: Not in the case of protective materials. One's faith only comes into play when it's particular protective objects - amulets and so on. I couldn't protect my house with a crucifix, for example, any more than Silly could protect his apartment with a mezuzah.
BASH: Oh. Is it about whether somebody's made it into something, do you think? Something about the difference between a crafted item like a crucifix, compared to something like salt being in its natural state?
ARIADNE: That is an excellent question! The fact is we don't really know. It's awfully difficult to research, and not nearly as well-funded as other, more glamorous fields of arcanism.
ROBIN: (SMUG) Demons, for example. Just saying.
BASH: How does holy water work, then?
ARIADNE LAUGHS, LIKE SHE'S HEARD A GOOD, BUT VERY OLD, JOKE
ROBIN: Oh, Bash. Brilliant Bash.
BASH: ...what?
ARIADNE: You've just asked one of the biggest questions in the entire field of arcane study.
ROBIN: We have no idea how holy water works - not a clue! Water can be pretty magical, but a lot of that has to do with cultural significance.
BASH: Whether you believe water from this well can heal you, that kind of thing?
ROBIN: Just so. It's not like salt, which really does work, all the time, every time, whether you think it will or not. And yet, I can take a shot of water blessed by any old God botherer, and it'll rout out a demonic presence regardless of whether I share that faith or not.
BASH: People bless all sorts of things though. Does that just... not work? It's all placebo effect?
ARIADNE: Not far off, actually. There is a tangible, measurable increase in efficacy when using a blessed object as a thaumaturgic locus, but it appears to be because it increases the user's faith rather than being imbued with the faith of the person who blessed it.
BASH: Oh. (BEAT) That's ridiculous.
ROBIN: (LAUGHS) Honestly, the more you learn about magic, the more you have to just sort of throw up your hands and admit you've not got the foggiest clue how any of it works, and frankly we'd all be happier if we stopped asking. I worry one day some arcane scholar's going to dig something up that shows once and for all the whole universe is just some kind of silly stage-play put on to keep the angels entertained.
BASH: And that's what you lot do? Try and figure out the stagecraft?
ARIADNE: What a lovely way of putting it.
ROBIN: Sounds far nicer than spending my days up to my eyeballs in dusty old books trying to work out how gravity effects a summoning.
BASH: How does gravity effect a summoning?
ROBIN: No idea. Not got that far yet. More tea?
SCENE 5
ROBIN'S STUDY, LATE IN THE EVENING. IT'S RAINING OUTSIDE BUT COSY INSIDE WITH A CLOCK TICKING AND A FIRE BURNING. ROBIN IS FLICKING THROUGH BOOKS AND MAKING NOTES AND MUTTERING TO HIMSELF.
ROBIN: ...ignoring the Bradshaw revision from '08... Hm. Narrows it down a bit, doesn't it? Let's see, if he was trained before '08 he'd be... Well if he trained at twenty five, 1908 take twenty five is... (EMBARRASSINGLY LONG PAUSE) Wel... Wait, that's 9, 10, two and ten... 1812? No. 1898. Uh, 88. God, I hate sums. I was born in 1890 so 88, 89, 90. Three. Thirty three? (DISSATISFIED NOISE. THEN, MAKING NOTES) "Collie check sums please." Call him mid-thirties. Could be older, of course. Unless he's a non-conformist. But that form... I say, where's the Anthony? (PAUSE) There's nobody here, Robin. The Anthony is wherever you put it last. (HE STRETCHES AND GROANS) Which could be anywhere. Lord, my neck. I shall be a hunchback by the time I'm his age.
IN THE HALLWAY, THE FRONT DOOR OPENS AND SHUTS.
ROBIN: Who...?
HE RUSHES TO OPEN THE STUDY DOOR AND SEE WHO HAS JUST LET THEMSELVES INTO HIS FLAT.
ROBIN: Oh! Collie! Wait, what time is it?
NICHOLAS: Just after nine. Hang my brolly up would you?
ROBIN: No! Oh, you can't possibly come for dinner! It's already nine, and you've been up since eight-
NICHOLAS: I've been up since seven.
ROBIN: (HORRIFIED) Seven! No, it's too late - I forgot to make a reservation, we haven't anywhere booked-
WHILE HE'S TALKING, NICHOLAS MAKES A QUICK LIBATION - LIGHTS A CANDLE, SPLASHES SOME WINE INTO THE LIBATION BOWL. THE MAGIC JINGLES AS THE OFFERING IS ACCEPTED.
NICHOLAS: Hello, flat. Thank you for having me.
ROBIN: -and once we find somewhere it'll be ages before we're served and then we won't be done 'til gone twelve and then you'll have to go all the way back to Holborn which is half an hour at least, assuming you can get a cab, and you mightn't get to bed 'til after one and that's only five hours sleep!
NICHOLAS: Six hours.
ROBIN: I'm factoring in lying-awake time.
NICHOLAS: I never lie awake at night
ROBIN: Little wonder, if you're running on five hours sleep a night. It's a miracle you're conscious at all past 8PM. What's this?
NICHOLAS LIFTS TWO BAGS, NAMING THEM IN TURN.
NICHOLAS: Lamb chops. And an overnight bag.
ROBIN: Oh. The spare room's still made up from last time.
NICHOLAS: Thought it might be.
NICHOLAS GOES DOWN THE CORRIDOR TOWARDS THE KITCHEN. HE CALLS OUT TO ROBIN FROM THERE.
NICHOLAS: (OFF) Have you eaten recently?
ROBIN: I had a sandwich earlier.
NICHOLAS: Ham and cheese? With... with mustard?
ROBIN: ...you're not that good a detective. How on earth did you know that?
NICHOLAS COMES BACK AND SETS A PLATE DOWN.
NICHOLAS: It was sitting on the sideboard.
HE GOES BACK INTO THE KITCHEN.
NICHOLAS: (OFF) Have it as an appetiser. It's only a wee bit curly at the edges.
ROBIN: I am quite hungry, now you mention it.
SCENE 6
ROBIN'S KITCHEN - BIG AND BRIGHT AND BARELY USED. NICHOLAS IS ALREADY RUNNING THE TAP, PREPARING TO MAKE DINNER. ROBIN ENTERS, EATING HIS SANDWICH AND TALKING WITH HIS MOUTH FULL
ROBIN: Are you for talking shop? It can wait 'til morning if not.
NICHOLAS: No, it's alright.
ROBIN HOPS UP TO SIT ON THE COUNTER WITH A GRUNT
NICHOLAS: Don't sit on the counter!
ROBIN: It's my counter! I shall sit on it if I please.
NICHOLAS: What if I need that space?
ROBIN: I shall hold the chopping board on my lap.
NICHOLAS STARTS OPENING DRAWERS.
ROBIN: You're looking for a man in his thirties-
NICHOLAS: I'm looking for a colander.
ROBIN: Left cupboard. Other left.
NICHOLAS: Ah, right. A man in his thirties.
NICHOLAS STARTS WASHING POTATOES
ROBIN: Mid thirties. At least. He was a trained summoner, and the form he used-
NICHOLAS: How do you know he was trained? He could have got it out a book.
ROBIN: Mm. Not this one. Too complex for an amateur. (BEAT) Alright, if you really want the big word answer: there was an unusual level of care taken over the transference of subplanar energy at the point of instantiation. He did not get that summoning out of a book.
NICHOLAS: You did.
ROBIN: At the point when they have my kind of books, they are no longer amateurs. He was trained, and more to the point, he was trained before 1907.
NICHOLAS: Potatoes or carrots?
ROBIN: To eat? Both.
NICHOLAS: To peel.
ROBIN: Spuds, please.
NICHOLAS HANDS HIM THE POTATOES AND LOOKS IN THE DRAWER FOR A VEGETABLE PEELER. THEY PEEL THEIR RESPECTIVE ROOT VEGETABLES WHILE TALKING
ROBIN: In 1905- (HE STOPS, FINISHES HIS MOUTHFUL OF SANDWICH AND STARTS AGAIN) In 1905 Albert Einstein first published his paper, "Does the inertia of a body depend upon its energy content?" featuring which famous formula describing mass–energy equivalence?
NICHOLAS: E = mc2?
ROBIN: Hey! I knew that big head of yours couldn't be entirely empty! Then, in 1907, Victor Bradshaw - a demonologist at Cambridge - proposed a number of revisions to the classical summoning form, taking Einstein's theory into account. It caused rather a splash. By 1908, Bradshaw's revisions had been generally adopted across British demonology. The man who summoned a fifth order demon in Clarence Parks' back garden used a pre-Bradshaw form. He was trained before the revisions took root - 1907 or before.
NICHOLAS: Fifth order?
ROBIN: Hgog.
NICHOLAS: Bless you.
ROBIN: It's the demon's name. Hgog. Makes sense - fifth order puts it at just the right strength that it wouldn't be able to get past Parks' sigils without assistance, but powerful enough to stop the house spooks from getting in the way. And another thing-
NICHOLAS GROANS
NICHOLAS: I think I might be reaching capacity when it comes to things.
ROBIN: I'll be quick. Promise.
NICHOLAS: You've got to the end of this carrot.
ROBIN: The form he used is preferred by the high churches - Anglican or Catholic. He'd have learnt it in the seminary, while training to be a priest - it's part and parcel of exorcism training. Speaking of training...
NICHOLAS: The stabilisers.
ROBIN: Ah! Go on.
NICHOLAS: I don't know. Something you said - fiddly and not really necessary. I-It made me think of... Well, honestly, it made me think of handwriting.
ROBIN: You've got the most fabulous brain. Have I ever told you that?
NICHOLAS: (SNORTS) Anyway. You know the writing you learn at school - the proper way to join your letters and so on. Eventually you develop your own style. My fist's completely different to yours. It's legible, for one thing. But we would have been taught the same style to begin with.
ROBIN: You are absolutely spot on. Bravo! Yes, those stabilisers add a bit of intrigue to the whole affair. (NICHOLAS STARTS CHOPPING VEG) He'd have been taught to use them when he was in training, and the fact he's still using them - and the old, out-dated form - suggests to me he hasn't actually been active in the field for quite some time. Possibly since he was ordained. Question is, what's he been doing for the last... however many years? And what's got him summoning demons in people's gardens now?
NICHOLAS: Well. Those sound like questions for tomorrow. How are your spuds?
ROBIN: All done!
NICHOLAS: Good-o. Pop some water on, we'll get them boiling. I was thinking mash?
ROBIN: A feast! What were you up to today?
HE FILLS A POT WITH WATER AND SETS IT ON THE STOVE AS THE CONVERSATION CONTINUES
NICHOLAS: Ah, the scrying team came up empty-handed, as per usual. I don't know why we bother with them, bunch of wifty wafty time-wasters.
ROBIN: Cut them a little slack. Scrying a city the size of London is no mean feat.
NICHOLAS: Aye, well, mean feat or no, it leaves me back at square one. Speaking of square one, Edwards and I went up at Parks' office to see what we could dig up.
ROBIN: Not an introduction that fills me with giddy optimism.
NICHOLAS GRUNTS.
NICHOLAS: The man might as well have been a ghost for all anybody knows about him. He signed everybody's birthday cards, put in for every whip-round, even got stuck in organising the Christmas do. All that, and not a single person said they were friends with him.
ROBIN: God, how miserable. Nothing at all?
NICHOLAS: One secretary said she thought he might have gone on holiday to Southend recently, but then again, it might have been Skegness. He joined the firm two years ago! I've known Edwards two years - if she went missing, I'd be talking to the other WPOs, her mam up in Wakefield, there's a sister somewhere, a cousin in Hampshire she stays with every summer, she's got her walking group, her book club, her watercolour class-
ROBIN: And she still finds time to bring you tea and biscuits of a morning?
NICHOLAS: I just don't understand it! I don't understand how a man can show up somewhere week in, week out, and the best a person can say of him is that he might have gone to Southend once.
ROBIN: Or Skegness.
NICHOLAS: Or Skegness.
ROBIN: I say, let's drop the work chat, shall we? You're clearly exhausted.
NICHOLAS: (BITTER LAUGH) Is it that obvious?
ROBIN: Go on, have a grumble. Get it off your chest.
NICHOLAS: No, it's fine. I'm alright. (BEAT) I just hate this part, where you're just grinding away, trying to find a foothold. And my tinnitus has been playing up.
ROBIN MAKES A SYMPATHETIC SOUND.
NICHOLAS: And Edwards! The cheek on her!
ROBIN: Your star pupil? I thought she hung the moon.
NICHOLAS: Oh, she's good. But I think she's starting to realise it.
ROBIN: You don't want that. The only thing worse than a clever copper is one who knows it. That's why I like you. No offence.
NICHOLAS: Uh, I jolly well am going to take offence.
ROBIN: (LAUGHING) What can I say? I like my police officers like I like my ponies - big, slow and simple.
NICHOLAS: I will walk out of here right now, and you'll have no dinner.
ROBIN: You will not. It's your dinner too.
NICHOLAS: (LAUGHS) Edwards said if I ever went missing, she'd assume I'd throttled you and gone on the run.
ROBIN: You're right, she is good.
NICHOLAS LAUGHS, SUCCESSFULLY CHEERED UP
SCENE 7
ROBIN'S DRAWING ROOM, MUCH LATER. THE RAIN IS STILL FALLING OUTSIDE AND THE FIRE IS ALMOST OUT. ROBIN IS READING, TURNING THE PAGES THOUGHTFULLY. THEN, SOFTLY - A SNORE.
ROBIN: Hm? Oh...
HE CLOSES HIS BOOK QUIETLY.
ROBIN: Collie, darling?
NICHOLAS SNORTS AND TWITCHES, MAKING ROBIN LAUGH QUIETLY.
ROBIN: Wake up, Col. It's time for bed.
NICHOLAS: (MOSTLY ASLEEP) I'm already in bed...
ROBIN: You're on the sofa. Chasing rabbits.
NICHOLAS: Wha...?
ROBIN: Your leg was twitching. Come on, Collie, rise and shine.
NICHOLAS GRUMBLES, WAKES UP A BIT MORE, AND FLINCHES.
NICHOLAS: Oh, Christ.
ROBIN: Mm. Sorry, didn't realise you were dropping off. I'd have advised a more comfortable position otherwise.
NICHOLAS: Not your fault. (YAWNING) You still working?
ROBIN: Just some odds and ends.
NICHOLAS: You look worried.
ROBIN: Thinking about Parks.
NICHOLAS: Robin, this flat's one of the best warded homes in London. You of all people should know-
ROBIN: Oh, not that. No. No, I was thinking about... About how lonely he must have been. (PAUSE) Oh, I'm just being silly. Go on, get to bed.
NICHOLAS: If you're sure...
ROBIN: I'm sure. Off with you.
NICHOLAS STANDS, GROANING - TOO OLD TO BE SLEEPING ON SOFAS.
NICHOLAS: Don't stay up too late.
ROBIN: I won't. Goodnight.
NICHOLAS: G'Night. (BEAT) We'll find out what happened to him. Alright?
ROBIN: Of course.
NICHOLAS SLOPES OFF DOWN THE CORRIDOR
ROBIN: Not worried for him.
SCENE 8
ROBIN'S KITCHEN, MORNING. IT'S BUCKETING DOWN OUTSIDE. NICHOLAS YAWNS, POURING HIMSELF COFFEE. ROBIN ENTERS.
ROBIN: (VERY SLEEPY) Morning.
NICHOLAS: I didn't think I'd see you up and about.
ROBIN: Mm. Wanted to see if you were serious.
NICHOLAS: About what?
ROBIN: There being a seven in the morning.
NICHOLAS: Here. Coffee's fresh.
NICHOLAS POURS HIM A CUP AND ROBIN TAKES IT, DRINKING GRATEFULLY.
NICHOLAS: That a new dressing gown?
ROBIN: Mm, swish, isn't it?
NICHOLAS: Never seen a dressing gown with pink cabbages on before.
ROBIN: They're peonies!
NICHOLAS: I know a cabbage when I see one.
ROBIN: Yes. So do I. (NICHOLAS LAUGHS) Listen, I was thinking, last night. I don't think Clarence Parks has anything to do with this.
NICHOLAS: You don't think the man who got possessed has anything to do with his possession?
ROBIN: No. I don't think it was personal, I mean. I think he was handy, somehow.
NICHOLAS: Hell of a thing to do to someone if it isn't personal.
ROBIN: It's a hell of a thing to do to them if it is. If you were out to do something horrible to somebody, having them possessed is a funny old way to go about it. Most people just stab each other or push one another down the stairs. Make them get up at seven in the morning, that kind of thing.
NICHOLAS: I don't know, Robin, it seems a bit of a stretch.
ROBIN: You said yourself, nobody knows him well enough to want to do him in.
NICHOLAS: We haven't found anyone yet. That doesn't mean there isn't-
THE PHONE RINGS.
ROBIN: Who the devil calls a person at 7AM?! Sorry, Col, back in mo.
ROBIN WALKS DOWN THE CORRIDOR, GRUMBLING, AND PICKS UP THE PHONE.
ROBIN: Robin Sylvester speaking. Oh, hello! Don't you know what time it is? It ain't civilised. Oh, I see. Yes, he's here. Do you need him? (CALLING) Collie! It's for you.
NICHOLAS: (OFF) Who is it?
ROBIN: Edwards. Says she tried your flat and then thought to give me a go. Here you are.
NICHOLAS: (TAKING THE PHONE) Edwards. What's up? (PAUSE) Oh, Christ. Hampstead Heath? I'll be right there.
HE HANGS UP, SIGHS HEAVILY.
ROBIN: What've they got on Hampstead Heath that's so damned important for you to see at this hour of the morning?
NICHOLAS: Clarence Parks' body.
THEME MUSIC PLAYS
H.R. OWEN: The Lion and the Adder is a Monstrous Productions podcast created by H.R. Owen. With special thanks to Maguerite Kenner and Alasdair Stuart.
Episode 3 starred, in order of appearance: Méabh de Brún as Evelyn 'Bash' Sebastian; Colette Hart as Aunt Clara; Ella Gans as Ariadne Pollett; H.R. Owen as Robin Sylvester; and Paul Warren as Nicholas Hawthorn, with additional voices from Rebekah McLoughlin.
It was written by H.R. Owen, script edited and directed by Sophie B., and sound designed by Eira Major.
THEME MUSIC ENDS
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