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Like countless tireless fingers, rain taps against the window. Outside, cloaked in blackness, the forest stirs with each gust of the wind. Staring out the window at the rain and the trees, you feel your imagination wandering free. You might as well be stranded within the black heart of the forest – you don't know where you are, and you don't know where you're going. Were it not for the occasional cry of the night owls nestled deep in the forest outside, you might think that you were the only living thing left.
With a shudder, you tear your gaze away from the window. It's been a long time, but you haven't forgotten the forest's sinister fascination. Sleep remains elusive, but you don't know what else to do with your precious time. No doubt there are still plenty of your father's papers to work through, but that particular torture can wait for morning – or, preferably, never.
The stairs creak quietly as you descend, wandering with no clear destination in mind. Standing in the front hall, you notice a door standing ajar – the telegraphy office, with that blasted machine waiting inside. Creeping a little closer, you peer through the gap in the door and spot Alex snoring gently as he lies slumped over the desk. Studying the sleeping man for a long moment, you go and fetch a blanket. As you're draping it over his shoulders, he stirs.
“Isambard? Oh, shoot. I was just resting my eyes for a moment...” he slurs, straightening up and rubbing his eyes, “Sorry. I didn't wake you, did I?”
“Considering that I'm the one who woke you, no,” you point out, “Don't you have a bed to sleep in? Or a home to go to, in fact?”
“I've made up a bed in one of the rooms around here,” Alex answers with a vague gesture, “And, well, there's not much point in going home. It's even more empty there than it is here. I'd been sending out some messages, and waiting to see if I'd get any replies. I thought, given what happened to Master Dunblane, I'd try and contact some of Gideon's old associates.”
“Probably wise,” you agree, “Any response yet?”
“Nothing yet, but I've not given up hope,” he sighs, “Most of them might not know what to think, getting a message like this out of the blue.”
“What, exactly, are you telling them?”
“I'm being discrete,” Alex insists, “Just saying hello at this point, essentially. If I actually get a bite, we can discuss the next steps. Until then...”
Until then, you finish for him, there's no reason to micromanage the man. Considering that he managed your father's affairs for God only knows how long, it's safe to say that he knows what he's doing. “Keep up the good work,” you tell the older man, giving him a firm nod of approval, “And let me know if you get anything.”
“Will do,” he assures you, “Now get some rest. You still need your sleep.”
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