9:2

It was cold here in the abandoned farmyard. The failing summer left little heat to keep the air warm throughout the night, and as the wind whistled off the nearby reservoir it made for a chilly morning.

A few more moments, just be sure, and then we’ll move in. Edward, being a rabbit after all, had lots of experience ignoring the weather and remaining still. That didn’t mean he liked it, however. And if he was to be completely honest with himself, he may have gotten a bit spoiled over the last few years.

It hadn’t taken long to backtrack the beaver’s movements over the last little while. Most of it was of an insubstantial nature and seemed to have left no opportunity for gleaning any facts. But he had found out that the furry rapscallion had spent a significant period of time one summer in a small town in Alberta called Magrath. And a little research into the town’s history indicated that a potential nexus of events had occurred surrounding a solitary woman name Meredith, who had lived on this very farm on the outskirts of Magrath.

Unfortunately for Edward, the farm seemed abandoned. There had been no record of this woman’s death and no indication that she had moved or relocated. But there was definitely no one here and hadn’t been for months. Something at the edge of Edward’s mind seemed to think that observation was somehow significant to his purpose, but he just couldn’t make it connect with anything.

Well, enough of this. Edward emerged from under the rusted corrugated sheet metal that was leaning up against the shop and slipped around the corner. There was an old cat flap in the sliding, paint-flecked shop door, and Edward moved swiftly into the warmer interior.

Low morning light streamed in from the east through the high windows in the door, and as Edward moved across the floor he disturbed the dust that had accumulated there, sending up sparkling clouds that twisted and flowed through the beams and added a mysterious feel to the empty space. But a not altogether unpleasant feeling — really quite homey, Edward noticed.

This main floor was tidy and organized. A worn wooden bench filled the long wall, and neat wooden cubes mounted above the bench held all manner of nails, bolts and assorted cotter pins. An old seed drill was in the back, seemingly abandoned midway through some repairs. Parts were neatly arrayed before it, and on the workbench all the bolts and fasteners were lined up like freckle-faced army recruits doing drill. Edward could appreciate the meticulous nature of the farmer who worked here; it wasn’t often he found some whose appreciation of order and harmony approached his own.

“I’ll find nothing of the beaver here,” he murmured smugly.

In the center of the shop there was a set of stairs up to the attic that would swing down from the ceiling. They were held up by a  coffee-can weight over by the door that was filled with bolts and nuts. It was attached to a greasy nylon line that ran up to a pulley and secured the staircase.

Edward hopped over to the old coffee can and, upon investigation, found it superbly balancing the weight of the stairs. A quick nudge and it slowly moved toward the roof, and the foot of the staircase travelled down with an equally smooth motion.

At the top of the staircase, Edward found himself in a room that had been empty and undisturbed for a lot longer than a few months. Layers of thick dust coated everything, and mouse dropping and bird feces could be found pretty much everywhere. It was as different from the room below as could be, and Edward strongly suspected that there was a good reason the farmer had avoided this space. Which, knowing the beaver as he did, made it a pretty good place to start looking for clues.