A Night in the Lonesome October (3 page)

    
Nevertheless, it was enough to play around with, was sufficient for seeking some approximation.

    
I began walking.

    
My way took me through yard and field to a lane which I followed for a time.
 
When I reached what I deemed to be the proper spot I halted.
 
There were several large old trees off to my left, another across the way to the right.
 
The spot which I had so carefully derived by means of my mental mapmaking was situated, unfortunately, in the middle of the road.
 
And it hadn't even the good grace to be a crossroad.

    
The nearest house was to my right and back several hundred yards along the way I had come.
 
It was inhabited, I knew, by an elderly couple who fed birds, worked in their garden, and argued every Saturday night when the old man staggered in from the pub.
 
In my earlier investigations of the area I had seen no signs that they might be involved in the Game.

    
I decided to sniff about, anyway.
 
As I sought along the roadsides I heard a familiar voice:

    
"Snuff!"

    
"Nightwind! Where are you?"

    
"Overhead.
 
There's a hollow place in this tree.
 
Stayed out too long.
 
Came in here to get away from the light.
 
We think a bit alike, don't we?"

   
 
"Looks like we draw the same lines."

    
"This can't be the place, though."

    
"No.
 
It's the center of the pattern we have, but it's not a likely spot."

    
"Therefore the pattern is incomplete.
 
But we knew that.
 
We don't know where the Count is."

    
"If he's the only other.
 
It must take place at the center of the pattern we form."

    
"Yes.
 
What should we do?"

    
"Could you follow Needle back to the Count's place?"

    
"Bats are damnably erratic."

    
"I couldn't do it.
 
And I don't think Graymalk could."

    
"No.
 
Never trust a cat, anyway.
 
All they're good for is stringing tennis racquets."

    
"Will you try following Needle?"

    
"First I have to find the little bastard.
 
But yes, I'll watch for him tonight."

    
"Let me know what you find?"

    
"I'll think about it."

    
"It might be to your advantage, if you ever need an errand run by day."

    
"That's true.
 
All right.
 
Why do the players always form themselves into a pattern around the center of things, anyway?"

    
"Beats me," I said.

    
I returned home, growling at the Things in the Mirror, propped in the front hallway now, as I passed, just to let them know I was on the job.
 
The Thing in the Steamer Trunk was still.
 
I told the Thing in the Wardrobe to shut up.
 
Its pounding was shaking the place.
 
I had to bark several times to get it to be quiet.

    
Down in the cellar the Thing in the Circle had become a Pekingese.

    
"You like little ladies?" it asked.
 
"Come and get it, big fella."

    
It still smelled of Thing rather than dog.

    
"You're not really very bright," I said.

    
The Peke gave me the paw as I departed, and it's hard to turn your leg that way.

    
We were out again last night in pursuit of more ingredients for the Great Work.
 
It was very foggy, and there were many patrolmen about.
 
This did not stop us, but it made things more difficult.
 
The master's blade flashed, the woman screamed, and there was a rending of garments.
 
We passed the Great Detective in our flight, and I inadvertently tripped his companion, whose limp had lessened his ability to avoid onrushing canines.

    
As we crossed the bridge Jack unrolled the strip of cloth and regarded it.

    
"Very good.
 
It _is_ green," he remarked.

    
Why his list of materials required the edge of a green cloak worn by a red-haired lady on this date at midnight and removed while still upon her person, I am uncertain.
 
Magical rotas sometimes strike me as instructions for lunatic scavenger hunts.
 
Nonetheless, Jack was happy so I was, too.

    
Much later, after an unsuccessful search for Nightwind, I returned home and was drowsing in the parlor when I heard a small scratching sound from the rear of the house.
 
It did not come again.
 
So I went into my stalking mode and investigated.

  
  
The kitchen was empty, the pantry was bare.
 
I circulated.

    
At the entrance to the front hall I caught the scent.
 
I halted, watched, listened.
 
I became aware of a slight movement, low, and to my right, ahead.

    
It sat before the mirror watching the slitherers.
 
I suspended breathing and edged forward.
 
When I was near enough to catch it with a short lunge I said, "I trust you are finding your last moments amusing."

    
It leaped and I was upon it, catching it at the base of the neck, a large, black rat.

    
"Wait!
 
I can explain!" it said.
 
"Snuff!
 
You're Snuff!
 
I came to see you!"

    
I waited, neither tightening nor loosening my hold.
 
A toss of my head would snap its spine.

    
"Needle told me of you," it went on.
 
"Cheeter told me where to find you."

    
I couldn't say anything, my mouth being occupied.
 
So I continued to wait.

    
"Cheeter said you seemed reasonable, and I wanted to talk.
 
Nobody was around outside, so I let myself in through the little door in the back.
 
Could you put me down, please?"

    
I carried the rat to a corner, deposited him there, seating myself directly before him.

    
"So you are in the Game," I said.

    
"Yes."

    
"Then you must know that entering another player's home without invitation lays you open to immediate reprisal."

    
"Yes, but it was the only way I knew to get in touch with you."

    
"What is it you wanted to tell me?"

    
"I know Quicklime, and Quicklime knows Nightwind. . . ."

    
"Yes?"

    
"Quicklime says that Nightwind told him you know a lot about who the players are and what they're about.
 
And that you sometimes trade information.
 
I'd like to trade some."

    
"Why didn't you trade directly with Nightwind?"

    
"I've never met Nightwind.
 
Owls scare me.
 
Besides, I heard he's pretty closebeaked.
 
Keeps everything close to his feathers, and keeps his pinions to himself."

    
He chuckled at that.
 
I did not.

    
"If you just wanted to talk, why were you snooping around?" I asked.

    
"I couldn't help being curious when I saw the things in the mirror."

    
"Is this the first time you've been by?"

    
"Yes!"

    
"Who're you with?"

    
"The Good Doctor."

    
"I've a friend named Graymalk who happens to be a cat.
 
She comes around here a lot.
 
If I think you're planning to make mischief I'm going to let her start coming in regularly."

    
"I'm not looking for trouble, damn it!
 
Let's keep the cat out of this!"

    
"Okay.
 
What are you trading and what do you want?"

    
"I want you to tell me everybody you know who's in the Game, and where they live."

    
"What do I get?"

    
"I know where the Count takes his rest."

    
"Nightwind was going to seek that information."

    
"He's not good enough to follow Needle through the woods.
 
Owls can't zigzag the way bats can."

    
"You may be right.
 
You will take me to the place?"

    
"Yes.
 
For a list of the others."

    
"All right," I said.
 
"But you came to me.
 
I get to make the terms.
 
Show me the place first.
 
Then I'll tell you who else is playing."

    
"I agree."

    
"And what may I call you?"

    
"Bubo," he replied.

    
I backed away.

    
"Let's go," I said.

    
Outside, it was chill, windy, and damp.
 
A few clouds hung low in the west.
 
The stars seemed very near.

    
"Which way?" I asked.

    
He indicated the southeast and headed in that direction.
 
I followed.

    
He crossed several fields, coming at length to a stand of trees.
 
He entered there.

    
"These are the woods where Needle might lose Nightwind?" I said.

    
"Yes."

    
He led me among trees.
 
Finally, we came to a very rocky clearing, and he halted.

    
"Yes?" I said.

    
"This is the place."

    
"What is it?"

    
"The remains of an old church."

    
I walked forward, sniffing.
 
Nothing untoward. . . .

    
I climbed the low hill on which the ruins stood.
 
Among the blocks of stone I saw an opening.
 
When I peered within I saw that it continued downward.

    
". . . Goes back," I said, "as if this wasn't always ground level.
 
As if much of it were covered up, overgrown. . . .
 
We're actually standing above the ruin, aren't we?"

    
"I don't know.
 
I've never been down in it," he replied.
 
"That isn't the spot.
 
The cemetery's down the hill, over that way."

    
He headed in the direction he'd indicated, and I followed.
 
There were a few fallen, half-buried markers about.
 
Then there was a bigger place, I realized, when I saw that lines of stone in the ground were what had been the tops of walls of a crypt.
 
Weeds grew amid them.
 
Bubo rushed forward, stood in their midst.

    
"See, there's a hole here," he told me.
 
"His stuff's down there."

    
I moved toward it, looked inside.
 
It was too dark for me to distinguish anything.
 
I wished Nightwind or Graymalk had been along.

    
"I'll have to take your word for it," I said, "for now."

    
"Then tell me the names and places you'd promised."