At Brenwicke's Books...
Sigmund decides that, as Niklas appears to be free right now, Kevin must be either inside, completely useless or dead. In any of those cases, he should probably do something. He goes outside and looks up. Well, window's broken. He guesses that means that Kevin's inside. Or at least Sigmund hopes that he is. If not, this will sound awfully silly.
"Well, Kevin, I think that you can thtart dropping thothe books. Begin with the ones we are looking for, but feel free to also grab thothe that you like. Particularly, I want a thientific treatithe about thoulth that should be there."
Kevin does not respond. Sigmund wonders what that could mean. Unfortunately for him, he can't really see Kevin rooting vainly through the vast quantities of books in the storeroom, finding that there seems to be far too many volumes here to search in any reasonable amount of time. Also quite unfortunately for him, Niklas appears to have taken an interest in him, walking right up and offering a sandwich. Sigmund looks at it, gulping reflexively.
"I'm thorry, Niklath, but I'm unable to eat any kind of food barring blood. Well, now that I have been transformed, I don't think that I can even drink blood... Vampirithm and demonology are not the betht combination," he explains, but Niklas has none of it, placing a whole lot of fleshy canapes in his hands. Sigmund looks down at them.
Hm... they do look... awfully bloody. Surely it couldn't hurt to... erm... uh...
While Sigmund stares at his armful of artful gore, Niklas looks for a kitchen and, to put it mildly, there simply isn't one. At all. No kitchens whatsoever in a bookstore. For some reason.
On the deck of the shrieking ship of Shriekpot...
Morton supposes for a moment, as a sort of wild idea, that he might ask Art whether he is indeed looking at the stars or if he is merely gaping aimlessly into the darkness. First, he believes he should check whether there are indeed stars up there. He tries to look up, but, having no neck, realizes that this is a bit of a difficult prospect. However, it is nothing for a mind such as his! He pushes himself off the ground, getting a very good look at the sky as he successfully topples himself, landing rather noisily on his... rear side, he guesses? Well, the side opposite the direction the drawers open in, anyway.
The stars are indeed there, Morton finds. They look pretty neat, all shiny and so forth. He-
Oh dear. Where are his manners? He should announce his presence to Art, who must have undoubtedly heard him.
"What are you looking at, Mage Art? The stars?"
"Uh, yeah. Got nothing better to do, really."
He pauses a moment.
"So, need any help or something?"
In a jail cell in Shriekpot...
Mark, after spending who knows how long sitting around motionless in a cell, takes a look around. Well, not really - he can already see in a 360 degree angle. Still, he takes stock of the situation.
He is still limbless and largely powerless, not to mention locked in a cell and without any sort of equipment, and the sergeant appears to have buggered off somewhere. Quite unfortunate, really.