A Night in the Lonesome October (28 page)

    
"You really mean that?"

    
"Sure.
 
You've been a help."

    
"Of course you do live near a cat. . . ."

    
Graymalk made her laughing sound.

    
"You gave us professional help," she said.
 
"I'll leave you on my professional courtesy list."

    
"All right, I'll do it," he told me.

    
He emerged and we headed back.

 
   
I knew, but of course I had to check it out by laying it on the terrain.
 
I strolled by most of the places I had visited yesterday, wondering who else might have figured it out yet.
 
I saw the vicar and he saw me, from a distance, after Tekela'd brought her notice of me to his attention, in passing.
 
He was just carrying a carton into the vicarage from a wagon, and he stopped to glare.
 
He was still wearing the bandage on his ear.
 
The Great Detective Mrs. Enderby happened to be in a tree in her yard with a pair of binoculars when I passed, and called out to me.

    
"Snuff, please come here!"

    
I kept going.

    
The sun was shining intermittently through masses of clouds.
 
Yet more leaves, fallen and falling, were scudding in the breezes.
 
I headed south.

    
Bubo had set up housekeeping in our basement, though he wandered the house with our leave and ate with me in the kitchen.

    
"What became of the Things in the Mirror?
 
Or to the mirror, for that matter?" he'd asked.

    
So I told him the story of the attack, following our trip to town.
 
Which led into the story of our trip to town.

    
"Wouldn't put it past the vicar," he said.
 
"He's taken many a shot at me with that crossbow of his, and I never did anything to him, except hunt through his dustbin on occasion.
 
Is that cause to put an arrow in a fellow?
 
I hope he fudges the final business and you fellows blow him to oblivion."

    
"Just how much do you know about the Game, anyway?" I asked.

    
"I've heard a lot.
 
I've seen a lot.
 
Everybody talked freely because they assumed I was a part of it.
 
After a time, I almost got to feeling I was," he reflected.
 
"I know so much about it."

    
And he proceeded to tell me the story of how a number of the proper people are attracted to the proper place in the proper year on a night in the lonesome October when the moon shines full on Halloween and the way may be opened for the return of the Elder Gods to Earth, and of how some of these people would assist in the opening of the way for them while others would strive to keep the way closed.
 
For ages, the closers have won, often just barely, and there were stories of a shadowy man, half-mad, a killer, a wanderer, and his dog, who always showed up to attempt the closing.
 
Some said that he was Cain himself, doomed to walk the Earth, marked; others said he'd a pact with one of the Elders who secretly wished to thwart the others; none really knew.
 
And the people would acquire certain tools and other objects of power, meet together at the designated spot and attempt to work their wills.
 
The winners walked away, the losers suffered for their presumption by a reaction from the cosmic principles involved in the attempt.
 
Then he named the players and their tools, adding an awareness of the calculation, of divinations, of magical attacks and defenses.

    
"Bubo," I said, "you have impressed me as few have impressed me, learning all that without giving yourself away."

    
"Rats have strong survival instincts," he said.
 
"I needed to know it to stay safe in this area."

    
"No, you didn't," I said.
 
"You could have remained out of it and gone about your business.
 
The deception itself was a lot more dangerous."

    
"All right.
 
I got curious about all these cryptic comments I kept hearing.
 
Probably too curious for my own good.
 
What it was, I think, is that I enjoyed pretending I was playing, too.
 
I'd never done anything important before, and it felt good."

    
"Come on," I told him.
 
"Get up on my back, and I'll take you to see the Gipsies.
 
Good music and all."

    
We stayed late at the camp.
 
I don't have that many friends, and it was a good evening.

    
As I made my way to Dog's Nest I came across another set of the huge, misshapen footprints at the hill's base.
 
There were some up on top, too.
 
I wondered where the experiment man would go, now his home was destroyed.

    
I made a circuit of the hilltop, drawing my lines again, laying them out upon the land, excluding the ruined farmhouse to the southwest now, which moved things considerably northward, taking into account the two satellite graves, trying it both with and without Larry's place in the formulation.
 
With it, it came to another nothing wilderness spot.
 
Without it, however, came a place already touched by the High Powers.
 
I was standing upon it.
 
It was here, Dog's Nest, amid its broken circle of stone, where the final act would take place.
 
Larry was just a friend of the court.
 
I threw back my head and howled.
 
The design was complete.

    
On the rock where our earlier adventure had begun the inscription flared briefly, as if in endorsement.

    
I departed quickly, skipping upon the hill.

    
Midnight.

    
"I've found it, Jack!" I said, and I told him Bubo's story.

    
". . . And subtracting the Good Doctor leaves us atop my hill," I concluded.

    
"Of course the others will divine it within the next few days."

    
". . . And the word will be passed.
 
True.
 
I can only recall one time when no one figured it properly."

    
"My, that was long ago. . . ."

    
"Yes, and we all sat down to dinner together, made a joke of it, and went our ways."

    
"Such things are rare."

    
"Indeed."

    
"I think this will be a close one, Snuff."

    
"So do I.
 
And it's been a strange one from the start.
 
This quality may carry through."

    
"Oh?"

    
"Just a feeling."

    
"I trust your instincts.
 
We must be ready for anything.
 
Too bad about Jill and Graymalk."

    
"I've decided I will stay friends with them to the end," I said.

    
He squeezed my shoulder.

    
"As you would."

    
"It's _not_ like Dijon, is it?" I asked.

    
"No.
 
Many odd things have happened this time around," he said.
 
"Stiff upper lip, friend."

    
"That's how I smile," I said.

    
Following lunch at Jill's place, to which Bubo was also invited, having finally acknowledged Graymalk to be a cat of a different category, I took a walk back to the ruin of the Good Doctor's place.
 
The meal had had an almost elegiac quality to it, Jack having asked outright whether she'd consider switching, Jill having admitted to a conflict in her sympathies now, but being determined to play the Game through as she'd started.
 
It felt odd to be dining with the enemy and to care that much about them.
 
So I took a walk afterwards, more for something to do while being alone than for any pressing purpose.
 
I took my time in going.
 
The charred ruin still smelled strongly; and though I circled it many times, I could see no bones or other signs of dead humans within.
 
I wandered over to the barn then, wondering whether the experiment man might have returned to it to hide.

    
The door was opened sufficiently for me to enter, and I did.
 
While his disconcerting odor was present, it did not seem a recent thing, as smells went.
 
Still, I sought in each stall, even stirring through the hay.
 
I checked in every corner, cubby, and bin.
 
I even mounted the ladder to the loft and looked about there.

    
Then I noticed a peculiar shape to the rear, that of a bat hanging from a beam.
 
While all bats look pretty much alike to me, especially when you turn them upside-down, it reminded me a lot of Needle.
 
I approached and said loudly, "Hey, Needle!
 
What the hell are you doing here?"

    
It stirred slightly, but did not seem inclined to wake up.
 
So I reached out and prodded it with my paw.

    
"Come on, Needle.
 
I want to talk to you," I said.

    
It unfurled its wings and stared at me.
 
It yawned, then, "Snuff, what are you doing here?" it said.

    
"Checking out the aftermath of the fire.
 
What about you?"

    
"Same thing, but daylight caught me and I decided to sleep here."

    
"Does the experiment man still come here?"

    
"I don't know.
 
He hasn't today.
 
And I don't know whether the Good Doctor got away either.
 
How's the Game progressing?"

    
"Now I've learned that the Good Doctor was never in it, I've found the point of manifestation, the big hill with the fallen stones."

    
"Really.
 
Now that's interesting.
 
What else is new?"

    
"Rastov and Owen are dead.
 
Quicklime and Cheeter went back to the woods."

    
"Yes, I'd heard that."

    
"So it seems someone's killing openers."

    
"Rastov was a closer."

    
"I think Owen talked him into switching."

    
"No, he tried but he didn't succeed."

    
"How do you know that?"

    
"I used to get into Owen's place through Cheeter's attic hole and listen to them talk.
 
I was there the night before Rastov was killed.
 
They were drinking and quoting everybody from Thomas Paine to Nietzsche at each other, but Rastov didn't switch."

    
"Interesting.
 
You sound as if you're still in the Game."

    
There came a faint sound from below, just as he said, "Oh, I am, Get down!
 
Flat!"

    
I threw myself onto my right side.
 
A crossbow bolt passed very near and embedded itself into the wall right above me.
 
I turned my head and saw Vicar Roberts below, near to the door, just lowering the weapon.
 
His face held a nasty smile.

    
If I ran and jumped I'd be downstairs in a trice.
 
I might also break a leg in the process, though, and then he could finish me easily.
 
The alternative was to climb down the way I'd come up, backing down the ladder.
 
For anatomical reasons, my descent is always slower than my ascent.
 
If I did not do this, however, he could crank the weapon back, seat a bolt, and come up after me.
 
In that case, the odds would be in his favor.
 
At least, he didn't have any armed assistants with him. . . .

    
I thought back quickly, recalling how long it usually took to get such a weapon cocked.
 
There was no choice, and there was no time to wait if I were to have any chance at all.