Part 2: Swallows in the Chimney

Flutterpage: Welcome to Cross Street!
Makeshift stalls line the street as the arcanists celebrate the approaching Uluru Qualifiers. This event will decide who gets to represent Great Britain in the finals in Australia.
Flutterpage lets the last of the Uluru flyers slip from her fingers. They scatter as they soar on the wind and drift into half-open windows.
Will: Stop litterin', you grimy little bug!
Flutterpage: This is the Uluru Fair!
Tooth Fairy inspects the street, studying the alleys on either side, but finds nothing.
Tooth Fairy: The trace of the black fog seems to have disappeared into a large gathering of arcanists. A wise choice.
Tooth Fairy: A choice, I'm already assuming, that has a certain level of intelligence.
Ultimately, she is only a doctor. When it comes to things outside of illness, she often finds herself lost.
Flutterpage: It sounds like a monster. Like from tall tales what adults make up to scare us. But I heard people talkin' when I was sittin' on the roof. They say it was born from a smokestack!
Tooth Fairy: It does appear to have a similar composition to soot.
Flutterpage: That's no good for the birds, Miss Doctor. I sure hope it don't come here. I don't want it to muck up the Uluru Fair or scare the canaries away from the chimneys!
Tooth Fairy: What's so special about the canaries?
Flutterpage: They always know where the lanolin snails are hidin'. All do is give them a bit of old bread or seeds, and they find me the snails.
Flutterpage: It's my snail-catchin' day! Stay right there, Miss. I'll be back soon as I finish! Don't go gettin' off your sauce while I'm gone!
With that, Flutterpage drifts toward a stall decorated with Union Jack bunting, before disappearing like a whisper on the wind.
A gentleman in a fine gray woolen coat stands tall nearby. He is utterly incongruous with the rest of the street.
Tooth Fairy: Hmm?
???: This is an Arcanist Fair Booth Application Form. You need only fill this and get proper approval from the city government, then no one can bother you.
Vendor: Approval, eh? What's the point? The Games will be over by the time they've even looked at my application.
???: sigh Are we entirely certain we even want to hold the fair in these conditions? Don't you think ...cough the weather now isn't appropriate for that kind of strenuous physical activity?
Vendor: What else can we do? We need to earn our bread, or perhaps you could clean the air for us, eh, Mr. Fogwalker?
???: I'm doing all that I can.
Vendor: Which means you can't do nothin' at all, don't it?
Vendor: Yeah, we're coughin', but what we make in a day at the fair here is more than an entire week anywhere else! Not like we have royal allowances to rely on, unlike you.
Vendor: Enough of it, already. Now, would you mind moving aside for the little lady behind you? She's been waiting a while.
???: Oh, I do apologize, Miss. I ... Ms. Tooth Fairy?!
Tooth Fairy: I didn't expect to run into you here, Mr. Fog.
Mr. Fog: The pleasure is all mine, Miss.
Mr. Fog: Oh, where are my manners! Welcome to London!
A Cross Street local hurries by, letting out a sharp, violent cough.
Mr. Fog: Of course, we were supposed to meet in the office of the London Atmospheric Clean-up Committee. I'd have prepared a fine Indian tea for you.
Mr. Fog: But I was called away to deal with matters here on Cross Street. It's a happy coincidence that you popped by. It will save us both some time.
Mr. Fog awkwardly fiddles with his gloves, clearly feeling embarrassed at the indecency of their meeting.
Thankfully for him, Tooth Fairy seems more concerned about the issue at hand.
Tooth Fairy: Something the matter? You mean the air pollution?
Mr. Fog: Not precisely, no. Though one could say the problem is related. In fact, it seems just about every one of our problems comes down to these sticky contradictions.
Mr. Fog: For example, contrary to good wisdom, the people of Cross Street have opted to continue their fair despite the obvious dangers of the fog! That's just unreasonable.
Vendor: You're the unreasonable one here, mate. Stop the Uluru Fair on account of a bit of fog? Fog, in London! Should we cancel if there's water in the Thames next?
Mr. Fog: Citizens should be made aware of the harm caused by fog and reduce unnecessary outdoor activities.
Will: Pardon me. You lot government officials?
A few busybodies gather near the two of them, ready to catch the latest gossip.
Will: You sayin' we ain't allowed to celebrate the Uluru Qualifiers? So what you expectin' us to do? Just watch the games and then pop off home?
Will: It's not like there are many events left for us arcanists ... cough to celebrate in our own country ...cough
Tooth Fairy: Sir, you seem to have quite a severe cough.
Will: Oh, it's not so bad. Just a little curse, is all. Doesn't matter none. A good arcanist healer can cure me.
Mr. Fog: That's exactly what I've been talking about! A curse? Good lord, man. You have a disease called tuberculosis! You need a proper doctor, not a healer!
Tooth Fairy: Maybe this is just how citizens in Cross Street best comprehend the disease, in the arcanist way.
Tooth Fairy: It's not a matter of arcanists or humans. Tuberculosis is caused by the presence of bacterium in the air. It can't be cured through ritualistic "purification" or "exorcism."
Will: You just don't get it, do you? It's not like that.
Will: If this, tuber-what-have-you is the reason, then why does my chest burn like hell? I've never heard of no bacteria what could do that.
Tooth Fairy: You feel like your chest is burning?
Will: Like swallowing a flaming coal it is. It all started this month! Never felt anythin' like this before.
Vendor: Like I said, there's no disease. This has to be the Fog Hag's curse!
Vendor: She's the one who summoned this damnable black fog. She used to be a toad, before she was thrown into an alchemist's cauldron and came out as a twisted old hag that haunts our street.
Tooth Fairy: Could you tell me more about the black fog?
The vendor remains silent, shooting a hostile glance down Cross Street.
Will: Shh! Don't say anythin' about it. It'll bring bad luck!
He coughs, waving his hand to scatter the attention of the crowd, then vanishes into the yellow smog.
Mr. Fog: So, now we have a Fog Hag? What's to come next, I wonder?
He raises his hands in resignation, knowing that, as a gentleman, he should speak no further on the matter.
Mr. Fog: sigh Sometimes, despite being an arcanist myself, it's hard to understand my own people. But that's what they think around here.
Mr. Fog: My colleague is presently out investigating this "curse" they mentioned. But, to say nothing of his intrepid skills as a ranger, I doubt he'll produce any evidence of this so-called "hag."
Mr. Fog: In fact, he—
???: whistle
A long, sharp whistle cuts through the air, like that of a rider galloping across the plains of the land down under. But what follows is not the sound of hooves.
???: Arthur, a little help, mate! We've got trouble!
A hat riding a hobbyhorse races forward, its coat fluttering in the thick smog like a cavalryman returning from a reconnaissance mission.
A dark cloud follows close behind him.
Tooth Fairy: So, here it is.
Mr. Fog: What's that after you now, Old Hat?
"Old Hat": It's the black fog! Seems I've startled it, and now it's sent out critters into the streets!
"Old Hat": Steady on! Let's charge like soldiers of the Great Emu War!
Carbuncoal: hissing
Vendor: It's the hag. The hag's curse is coming for us!
Will: Those nasty critters are comin' from her garden! Run!

Brimley: May I say it was an honor to serve as your bodyguard, Miss. I'm Brimley, the ranger colleague of my mate here, Arthur Fog.
Tooth Fairy: I wasn't hurt, thanks to you.
Mr. Fog lightly brushes the soot from his coat before walking over to Tooth Fairy. Despite clearing away most of the black fog, his expression looks grim.
Mr. Fog: cough Thank you, Ms. Tooth Fairy, for telling us what happened at the hospital. We ought to make a summary of our investigation so far.
Seasoned government employees are particularly good at providing summaries.
Mr. Fog: We've encountered three oddities thus far today: this mysterious black fog, the unusual burning chest symptom, and ...
He carefully considers his words before bringing up the difficult third point.
Mr. Fog: This so-called Fog Hag living on Cross Street.
Brimley: Well done, mate, you did it! You said it out loud! We may just break the ice off your soul yet.
Mr. Fog: I'm only doing my due diligence by quoting the title verbatim.
Mr. Fog: Back to the topic. Combining these clues together, we should assume a causal connection: the hag releases black fog, giving Londoners this variant of TB with the "burning chest symptom."
Brimley: When did you move into 221B Baker Street, mate?
The Fogwalker shifts his gaze, knowing that, even if he were to inhale a mouthful of that black fog, his face couldn't look any grimmer.
Tooth Fairy: It's a reasonable speculation. If so, then the first thing is to determine if such a lady lives here on Cross Street. We'd better pay her a visit.
Brimley: If you insist, darl.
Brimley: I can already confirm that for you. She's here alright. Down at the house with the mangy front garden at the south end.
Mr. Fog: Very well, but might I suggest we don't all go in a rush to pay her a visit? We know nothing about her, or even whether this hag is a danger.
A little figure squeezes its way in.
Flutterpage: Oi, Ms. Witch Doctor, you done talkin' to Mr. Fog and Mr. Hat?
Tooth Fairy: Flutterpage. Where have you been?
Flutterpage: Hmm? Wasn't you listenin'? I was off catchin' snails.
Flutterpage: With a bit of help from the canaries.
Flutterpage lifts an old glass jar filled with snails.
Brimley: Good on you, little tacker. That's quite the harvest.
She tucks the jar away in the folds of her clothing, then lightly grabs the hem of Tooth Fairy's coat.
Flutterpage: Shall we then, Ms. Witch Doctor?
Tooth Fairy: Where are you taking me?
Flutterpage: Thought I'd show you around Cross Street! Figurin' since I'm the best guide here.
Tooth Fairy: Are you? Then do you happen to know about the house at the south end of the street?
Flutterpage ponders for a moment before her eyes widen in realization.
Flutterpage: Sure do. Actually, these snails are for her! You can tag along with me to see her, if you like.