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You peer ineffectually into the other rooms, seeing nothing that you haven't already seen, before your gaze returns once more the damned grass. Now, <span class="mu-i">if</span> the grass has a Mysterious aspect to it, and <span class="mu-i">if</span> that aspect is a component of a security-surety, and <span class="mu-i">if</span> that security-surety was left in an operational state by the unknown remediator, then any attempt at a safety-check could end rather unsafely. But ... clearly, the unknown remediator managed to get through here. And ... and that raises a salient point; isn't it odd, that whoever took the time, effort and risk to remediate away the Strangeness left behind the grass, which even those who haven't delved into the Many Mysteries might look in askance at. Why would they do this?
Or ... it is possible that you are wrong, and that the unknown remediator does have some scheme to destroy the grass? Immediately, you think of the Strange Incendiary that you recovered from the Harpoonist's Perch, but even as you start to panic at the prospect, you are realizing that it wouldn't make sense. If the grass has some Mysterious nature, or is itself a Mystery, then burning it would almost for a surety leave behind the Strangeness - unless of course, a Leadfire or some equivalent was used. But that wouldn't make any sense either. Why go to all of the trouble of removing every trace of the Strangeness, only to release more and have to cleanse again?
Could it be that the unknown remediator isn't done with the house? That they will be back - or that they haven't left? Oh, Maker's Mercy, you ... you might just be a matter of feet away from your father ... or from a hostile and markedly superior Witch. You hold your breadth and freeze, straining your ears as you stare wide-eyed at the ceiling.
...
Nothing.
...
Yeah, nothing. You feel relief and disappointment at the same time - until you remember just how big this house is, and that for all you know, the unknown remediator could be anywhere inside, at which point all you feel is panic. Panic, and nausea and heat, and sweat and all your damned aches and - damn it all, you need to stop that. Realizing that at the rate you are going, you will waste away on top of this tun before you make up your mind, you conclude that under the current circumstances, you are best served by at least attempting to make a safety-check. You fish a couple of eighth-talents - including the 'shy' one - out of your canvas bundle, and then pick a flagstone and patch of grass to aim for. You settle on one in the corner of the room closest to you, offer up a prayer asking remittance for your sins and trespasses - on the off-chance that this ends up killing you - and then you throw.
The coin that lands on the flagstone might just be the single noisiest piece of currency ever minted, but as far as you can tell, nothing happens when in lands. The ones that hit the grass are silent, and you cannot see or sense anything when they land - though perhaps you are too far away.
