Harold Plimouth

Harold Plimouth, Three Strokes and a Name

Harold Plimouth is a death-bell ringer in Valeford (the one who walks the streets ringing a handbell to announce a death, give the hour of the funeral, and call on the living to pray for the departed). No trade drags more superstitions behind it. They say the bell rings by itself the night before a death, and that the ringer knows who will die before the physician does. Harold has done the job long enough to have heard every one of these stories, and to have seen some of them born. To whom he prays, he does not say. In the evening, he goes home to the lodging the city provides him in the outskirts, where his wife and children wait for him.

Describe him

You hear him before you see him: three strokes of a handbell, a silence, then his voice, deep and slow, giving the name of the departed and the hour of the burial. Passersby step aside without looking at him. He walks at an even pace, as if he had all day, and he smells of cold wax and damp earth. When he passes near you, he greets you with a courteous nod. His face stays grave, but his eyes are kind.

Play him

Play him courteous, patient, and utterly calm. He speaks little and slowly. He knows every dead person in the district, who passed, of what, and who paid for the burial, and he answers gladly when asked about them. The superstitions amuse him. He never denies them, because they earn him being left in peace. If someone asks about his faith, he steers the conversation back to the day’s departed. As soon as he talks about his children, his voice warms and he becomes almost chatty.

What he says (rarely)

“Three strokes for a man, two for a woman, one for a child. Today, it was three.”
“My bell doesn’t ring by itself. But I won’t tell your neighbors otherwise.”
(putting away his handbell, almost smiling) “My youngest is waiting for me at supper. The dead can wait.”