A Night in the Lonesome October (8 page)

    
While I was resting under the tree Graymalk came by.

    
"How's it going?" she asked.

    
"Pretty fair," I answered.
 
"I still have a long way to go, but he's stashed safe enough.
 
I saw the horse go by.
 
I gathered you took care of things."

    
"Yes, Quicklime was very cooperative.
 
You should have seen his routine.
 
The horse was quite impressed."

    
"Good.
 
Has anyone been by?"

    
"Yes.
 
I watched the constable's place earlier.
 
An inspector was by there from the city.
 
So were the Great Detective and his companion, whose wrist was bandaged."

    
"Poor fellow.
 
Did they stay long?"

    
"Not the inspector.
 
But the Detective stayed to visit the vicar, and several others."

    
"Oh my!
 
I wonder what he told them?"

    
"I wasn't in a position to hear.
 
But the Detective did considerable strolling about the neighborhood afterwards.
 
They even went somewhat afield toward the Good Doctor's place."

    
"Didn't go off in the Count's direction, did they?"

    
"No.
 
They stopped and asked Owen about beekeeping, though.
 
A pretext, of course.
 
And I was near when they noted the arrows stuck in the side of your house."

    
"Damn!" I said.
 
"Forgot.
 
Have to do something about them."

    
"I have to go bury some things now," she said.
 
"I'll try to talk to you again later."

    
"Yes.
 
I have some work, too."

    
I made my rounds again, then went off to drag the inspector a little farther along.
 
Having done it both ways, they're easier when they're stiff than when they're limp, and he was limp again.

    
Evening.
 
Jack wanted to go out again.
 
When it gets to this point in the game there are always a few last-minute items on the shopping list.
 
This time the place was swarming with patrolmen, some of them walking in pairs.
 
Crazy Jill swooshed by at one point, turning a few heads; through the opened door of a gin mill I saw Rastov seated at a table, alone, save for a bottle of vodka and a glass (I wondered what happened to Quicklime on these occasions, if he's gone internal); a rat resembling Bubo scurried by, a finger in his mouth; Owen went staggering past with a pair of fellows, faces streaked with coal dust, singing something incomprehensible in Welsh; I saw Morris, bewigged, dressed like a woman, heavily rouged, hanging onto MacCab's arm.

    
"Party time," Jack observed, "before things start to get serious."

    
An eyepatched man with shaggy hair, a terrible limp, and a withered hand staggered by, selling pencils from a tin cup.
 
I went on point even before he emerged from the fog, recognizing from the scent that it was the Great Detective in disguise.
 
Jack bought a pencil from him and paid him handsomely for it.

    
He muttered a "Bless you, guv'nor" and limped off.

    
Our quest was extremely difficult this time, and I must say the master took unusual chances.
 
As we were fleeing, a number of patrolmen in pursuit, whistles ablare, a door opened to our left and a familiar voice said, "In here!"

    
We ducked inside, the door was closed softly behind us, and moments later I heard the police rush past.

    
"Thanks," I heard Jack whisper.

    
"Glad to be able to help," Larry replied.
 
"Everybody seems to be out tonight."

    
"It's getting to be that time," Jack said, and his parcel began to drip softly.

    
"I've a towel here that you can have," Larry said.

    
"Thank you.
 
How'd you know it might be needed?"

    
"I've a way of anticipating things," Larry replied.

    
He did not accompany us back this time, and I excused myself shortly after the bridge to return to the corpse and drag it farther.
 
Something had gotten to it and stolen a few nibbles, but it was still largely intact.

    
As I was struggling along I thought I heard Graymalk voice a greeting from somewhere overhead, but my mouth was full and I did not want to stop work to look up.

    
I slept awfully well last night, awoke aching, and made the rounds.

    
"How's about an Afghan?" the Thing in the Circle asked, having assumed that lovely, aristocratic form.

    
"Sorry.
 
Too tired today," I responded.

    
It cursed and I departed.

    
The slitherers were all clustered, bluely, at one point, and I could not figure why.
 
One of life's small mysteries. . . .

    
Outside, I found a dead bat nailed to the tree by a crossbow bolt.
 
It wasn't Needle, just some civilian.
 
Something would have to be done. . . .

    
I made my way back to the body, which had a few more parts missing and didn't smell too good, and dragged it to the next place of concealment.
 
But my heart just wasn't in it.
 
I could go no farther.
 
I turned and walked home, jaws sore, neck aching, paws tender.

    
"I want to die.
 
I want to die," came a small voice almost from underfoot.

    
"Quicklime, what's the matter?" I asked.

    
"The master was sick right here," he said.
 
"I took advantage and got out.
 
I want to die."

    
"Keep lying in the road and some cart will come along and give you your wish.
 
Better get over to the side.
 
Here, I'll help."

    
I carried the ailing reptile into the brush.

    
"What should I do, Snuff?" he asked.

    
"Lie in the sun and sweat it out," I told him.
 
"Drink lots of liquids."

    
"I don't know if it's worth it."

    
"You'll feel better later.
 
Trust me."

    
I left him moaning atop a rock.
 
I went on home, entered, and dragged myself through my rounds.
 
The master was not in.
 
I went and slept in the parlor, woke and ate, dozed again.

    
Later, I heard Jack's footsteps approaching the front door.
 
He was accompanied, I knew from the footfalls, by Larry Talbot.
 
They halted outside, continuing a discussion which must have been ongoing as they'd walked.
 
It seemed they had just come from Constable Terence's office, where they'd been invited, in the company of a number of other neighbors, for questioning by city police concerning the missing officer I'd been dragging through fields.
 
I gathered that another neighborhood group had followed them in, to continue the investigation.
 
So far as I felt just then, they could have what was left of the man.

    
". . . And Vicar Roberts, sitting there, glaring at everyone, as if we'd _all_ done it," Larry was saying.
 
"What right had that man at an official investigation?
 
He's more than a little dotty."

    
"Fortunately," Jack responded.
 
"Otherwise, someone might pay more heed to his notions."

    
"True," Larry said.
 
"If anyone had to be done in, he'd seem the best choice."

    
"Then they would give some credence to his vision."

    
"Of course."
 
There followed a sigh.
 
"I'm just venting a little spleen at those who make difficult things more difficult."
 
He sighed again.
 
Then, "I noted he hadn't his crossbow with him," he added.

    
"Now _that_ would have raised a few eyebrows."

    
They both chuckled.

    
"Larry," Jack said suddenly.
 
"I confess that I really don't understand your part in this.
 
That you are knowledgeable is obvious, that you know what you are doing, I am certain, and that you've been helpful, I can't deny.
 
And I am grateful for it.
 
But you haven't apparently been collecting the items necessary to assemble a structure of power to be focused one way or the other.
 
Now, I admit that when you came out that first day and as much as proclaimed yourself a closer, I thought it a bit gauche.
 
But even that, I suspect now, had a method to it.
 
Still, so far as I can tell, you have done nothing that would further that end, let alone assemble defenses against the days ahead.
 
If this be true, you are inviting disaster by announcing affiliation and continuing to reside in the precincts of the Game."

    
"You are the only one I've told, Jack," Larry replied.

    
"Why?"

    
"I've met most of the others, of course.
 
But there was something about you, perhaps it had to do with the dog, that assured me I was safe in revealing my persuasion.
 
I've told you that anticipation is my _forte_."

    
"But your role in things, sir! What is it?"

    
"I never tell anybody everything.
 
It might influence their actions and affect those things I've anticipated.
 
Then I'd have to start over again, and it might be too late."

    
"I confess you've almost lost me, but I can feel some rationale behind your words.
 
Tell me what you would then, when you would."

    
"Assuredly."

    
I heard their palms strike together as they clasped hands, then Larry's retreating footsteps.

    
Later, I went back to drag things along a little farther.
 
I'd come to a place where the ground was mushy, and it was awful.
 
He kept catching on brambles and getting knotted up in fallen branches and stuck between hillocks.
 
He may have lost a few pieces in that area but I was too tired to look.
 
Finally, I just gave up and went home.
 
It was near noon, and chances were we'd be going out again that night, it being the Eve and all.
 
I needed my rest.

    
On the way back, I looked for Quicklime on his stone, but he was nowhere in sight.
 
There was a very twisty trail leading away, though.

    
Graymalk was waiting on the tree's most popular branch, on my return.
 
I noted that the pierced bat was missing, though the quarrel was still in place.

    
"Snuff," she asked, climbing down, "have you done it yet?"

    
"Don't ask me," I said.
 
"This is proving a major undertaking."

    
"I'm sorry," she said, "but I was at the constable's this morning with the mistress, and I heard all the talk...”

    
"What did they say?"

    
"That they knew he came here and they know he didn't come back, and they won't leave a horse pie unturned till they find him or know what happened to him.
 
Things like that."

    
"Oh.
 
Nothing new.
 
How did the questioning go?"

    
"Fine, with us.
 
The mistress did her crazy act and talked about him being carried off by fairies for a changeling.
 
They had to ask her to be still.
 
Rastov suddenly understood a lot less English than he used to.
 
Morris and MacCab were very polite and said they knew nothing.
 
Jack was quite urbane and seemed very sympathetic but also had nothing to add.
 
The Good Doctor was indignant that the quiet hamlet he'd sought to do his research should suddenly be violated by things he'd wanted to get away from.
 
Larry Talbot said he'd never seen the man.
 
Owen said that they'd talked but he hadn't seen him again after that, and didn't know where he'd gone after he'd left him.
 
He may have been the last to see him, though, according to a rough schedule the officer'd mentioned to the constable."