A Night in the Lonesome October

October 19

I went out last night and sniffed around the ancient manse. There were signs of recent work on the place, smells of fresh-cut lumber, of paint, of roofing, but it was locked up tighter than a canopic urn, and I couldn't tell whether there was anyone about. I walked home, still feeling relieved that I was done with my corpse dragging. The wind whistled and dry leaves blew by me. There were flashes of lightning from off in the Good Doctor's direction.

The Thing in the Circle said, «French poodle?» when it saw me enter.

«Not today.»

«Anything else? Anything at all? I'd sure like to get out and kill and rend. I'm feeling stronger all of a sudden.»

«Your time will come,» I told it.

The Thing in the Steamer Trunk had poked a small hole in the front. An enormous yellow eye regarded me through it. It didn't make a sound, though.

Snoring noises emerged from the wardrobe in the attic.

I paused before the mirror in the hall. All of its Things were clustered again, rather than slithering, and a close inspection showed me that they had positioned themselves before a small flaw in the glass which I hadn't noted earlier. Had they found a way to create such dimensional flaws in their prison? Still, it was too finite to be of much use to them. I resolved to keep an eye on it, though.

I awoke to the crunching sounds of wheels, the clopping of horses' hoofs, and the sounds of several voices, one of them singing in a foreign language, from the road out front. Stretching, and stopping for a quick drink of water, I let myself out to see what was going on.

It was a fine, crisp morning, of sunlight, breezes, and leaves crunching beneath my feet. A line of caravans was passing on the roadway, men in sashes and bright headcloths, Gipsies, all, walking beside or driving, headed, I guessed, for one of the open areas between us and the city, off in the direction of Larry Talbot's place.

«Good morning, Snuff,» came a voice from the roadside weeds.

I walked over and investigated.

«'Morning, Quicklime,» I said, when I spotted his dark sinuosity there. «How you feeling?»

«Fine,» he replied. «A lot better than the other day. Thanks for the advice.»

«Any time. You headed anyplace in particular?»

«I was following the Gipsies, actually. But this is far enough. We'll get word where they camp, by and by.»

«You think they'll be stopping near here?»

«Without a doubt. We've been expecting them for some time.»

«Oh? Something special about them?»

«Well… . It's common knowledge now that the Count's in the area, so I'm not talking out of class. The master spent a lot of time in Eastern Europe, where he learned something of his ways. When the Count travels, he's often accompanied by a band of Gipsies. Rastov thinks he came here in a hurry when he determined where the locus would be, then sent for his band.»

«What function will they serve here?»

«Now we're past the death of the moon, with the power rising, things get dangerous. Everybody seems to know where the Count's residing, unless he's established a few more, uh, residences. So someone with a fence picket who's decided the Game would be better off without him could end his eligibility. He likely wants his Gipsies about to guard his quarters by day…»

«Good Lords!» I said.

«What?»

«I hadn't even thought of the possibility of a player's having more than one residence. Do you realize what that would do to the pattern?»

«Damn! No, I hadn't! This is bad, Snuff. If he's got another grave or two somewhere that throws all the calculations off! It's good you thought of it, but what'll we do?»

«My first impulse was to keep it to myself,» I said. «But then I realized we'll have to cooperate on this. We'll have to set up a schedule, take turns watching him come and go every night. If he's got another place, or places, we've got to find them.»

«Maybe it would just be easier to stake the guy.»

«That wouldn't solve the problem, though. It would just make it harder. And if he happens to be your ally, or mine? You could be sacrificing someone who'd make the difference.»

«True. True. I wish I knew which side you were on… .»

«I'm not so sure that would be a good idea just yet. We may work together better for not knowing it.»

«'Work together… .' On the guard duty business, you mean?»

«I had a little more in mind, for us, right now, if you've got a little time.»

«What do you have in mind?»

«I'll have to tell you a little of my calculations, but that's all right. Rastov has probably duplicated them by now…»

«You are the calculator in your pair?»

«That's right. Now, I propose telling you something, and then we'll go and check it out. No matter what we find, we'll learn something from it which will put us a little ahead.»

«Of course I'll come.»

«Good. My calculations show that one possible center of manifestation is that ruined church near where the Count is making his quarters. I don't know whether this is by accident or design. But either way it means that we can only check it by daylight. We'd better do it now, though, if there are going to be Gipsy guards around later.»

«What exactly do you want to check?»

«I want you to slither down into the place and see whether it's suitable or whether there's not enough left for it to be our center. I'm too big to fit down the opening. I'll stand watch above and let you know if anyone comes by.»

«I'll do it,» he hissed. «Let's be on our way.»

We started out.

«And you'll have to use your imagination, too. It may look bad, but if it could easily be enlarged by a few men with picks and shovels, tell me.»

«Does this mean that Larry Talbot is a player?»

«It doesn't matter,» I said. «It's one of the places it might be.»

«What are the others?»

«Let's not get greedy,» I said.

We made our way through the wood. When we reached the clearing there were no Gipsies about, nor anyone else.

«Check the crypt first,» I said. «You've gotten me wondering whether he's still using it.»

Quicklime slithered into its opening. A little later he returned.

«He's there,» he reported, «and so's Needle. Both of them are asleep.»

«Good. All right. Try the church now.»

I paced about, sniffing the breezes, watching the trees. No one was near, no one approached.

In a little while Quicklime emerged.

«No,» he said. «It's a complete disaster, filled with dirt and rocks. Nothing's left. We'd have to start over again and rebuild.»

I approached the opening, forced myself in as far as I could. It narrowed quickly to the crack down which he had taken his way.

«How far back in that crack did you get?»

«Ten feet, maybe. There were two side ways off of it. Neither goes as far.»

I believed him, from what I could see.

«So what does it mean?» he asked.

«That this isn't the place,» I replied.

«Then what is?»

I thought quickly. I didn't like giving anything to the competition. But in this case one real fact could be misleading; and it was a fact he'd learn sooner or later, anyhow.

I backed out of the opening, turned toward the woods.

«Vicar Roberts,» I said, «has a good disguise as a fanatic churchman… .»

«What do you mean?»

«He's a player.»

«You're joking!»

«No. He holds midnight services to the Elder Gods, right there in the church.»

«The vicar … ?»

«Check it out,» I told him.

«What does that do to the pattern?»

«I've calculated that if we count the vicar and drop Larry Talbot that places the vicarage and the church at the center of the pattern. This isn't final if the Count is moving around, of course, but that's how it looks right now if we figure it this way.»

«The vicar …» he repeated.

We entered the woods.

«So,» he said after a while, «if the Count has a home away from home, or two, we need to find out whether they were established before or after the death of the moon.»

«Yes,» I agreed. Everything was frozen at that point. Death, relocation, withdrawal of a player, all of these shifted things about only before that time. Afterwards, we could kill each other or move about as we wished without disturbing the geometry of the business. «If there were a way of getting Needle to talk, we could find out.»

«Hm,» said Quicklime.

It occurred to me as we passed among the trees that I could be wrong, that I had just given him the correct information. But it seemed to me that the weight of Larry's presence, along with that anticipation business he spoke of, made him too big an influence on the game not to count him as a player, whether he collected ingredients and wove dueling spells, protections, opening spells, closing spells, or not. With him included, along with the vicar, it had to be that old manse rather than the church. And the oft-restored place looked as if it went back far enough to have a chapel around somewhere, or something that had once been a chapel.

Besides, it wasn't really a bad thing to reveal the vicar for what he was. The others would start doing things to skew his efforts once the word was out.

«So what about watching the Count's comings and goings?» I asked.

«Let's hold off on it, Snuff,» he hissed. «No need to bring the others into this yet. I've a much better idea for finding out about the Count's doings.»

«Even with the Gipsies about?»

«Even so.»

«What've you got in mind?»

«Let me pursue it on my own for a day or two. I promise I'll share it with you, after this. In fact, it would be a good idea. I think you're a better calculator than Rastov.»

«All right. We'll hold off.»

We parted at the edge of the wood, him going left, me right.

I made my way back to my place, did a quick circuit, found everything to be in order, and went back outside.

It was easy to follow the Gipsies' trail, since they stuck to the roadway till they neared their destination. It was a field near Larry's place. I lay doggo for an hour or two and watched them set up their encampment. I didn't really learn anything, but it was colorful.

Then I heard sounds from the road and turned my attention. An old-fashioned coach was approaching, drawn by two tired-looking horses. I dismissed it till it slowed and turned up Larry Talbot's driveway.

I quitted my place of concealment in a stand of shrubs and headed that way, in time to see the coachman help an old woman to descend from the vehicle. I moved nearer, passing among a few ancient trees, upwind of them, as the lady, with the assistance of a blackwood cane, made her way to Larry's front door. There, she raised the knocker and let it fall.

Shortly, Larry opened the door and they spoke briefly. The wind prevented my making out their words, but after a short while he stepped aside and she entered.

Most peculiar. I circled the house to the rear, began peering in windows. I discovered them to be seated in the parlor, talking. Sometime later, Larry rose, absented himself briefly, returned with a tray bearing a decanter and a pair of glasses. He poured, and they sipped sherry, continuing their discussion. This went on for at least half an hour.

Finally, they both rose and departed the room. I raced about the house, checking windows again.

At last, I located them in the skylighted room where he grew his plants, engaged in an animated discussion with frequent gestures toward the flora. This went on for the better part of an hour, before they returned to the parlor for another glass of sherry and another long talk.

Then the coachman was summoned, and Larry loaded him with greenhouse clippings, then accompanied them both out to the coach before he bade her a cordial good-bye.

I was torn between following the coach and approaching Larry immediately. As the thing rumbled off, I realized that I could not contain myself, foolishly perhaps, for I can only speak with Jack between midnight and one o'clock. I raced up to him.

«Who was that lady?» I asked.

He smiled.

«Hello, Snuff. How are you?» he said.

I repeated my question, hoping that his canine spirit granted comprehension around the clock.

«A delightful lady,» he replied. «Name's Linda Enderby. Widow of an India officer who'd died in the Mutiny. She and her servant recently moved into an old manse she's restored near here. The city's grown a bit dear for her, and far too busy. She was just paying a social call, wanting to meet some of the neighbors. And she shares my passion for botany. We had a lively discussion of dicotyledons.»

«Oh,» I said, ordering my thoughts. «I was watching the Gipsies when she arrived. I guess I assume everything involves the Game these days.»

«Well, I guess they do, somehow,» he said. «Gipsies and I go way back.»

«I've heard the Count is sometimes associated with them.»

«There's that, too,» he said. «The whole matter will have to be explored, soon.»

«I was concerned about your welfare,» I said, truthfully.

«False alarm, Snuff,» he said. «She's an intelligent and very personable lady. Would you care to come in? I have a beef stew you might…»

«No, thanks,» I replied. «I've some errands I should be about. Thanks again for your help, the other night.»

He smiled.

«No trouble, really. We'll talk again,» he said, turning back toward his house.

«Yes.»

I walked back slowly, thinking. I had caught their scents as I'd watched, and I knew Linda Enderby and her servant to be the Great Detective and his companion.

Leaves blew by, and I caught one in my teeth, spat it out again. The pace was quickening.

As I was approaching my home, there came a soft «Meow» from the field across the way.

«Gray?» I asked.

«Yes.»

«Good. I wanted to talk to you.»

«What a coincidence,» she said.

I turned and entered the field. She was standing on the spot where the body had first been located.

«What about?» I asked her.

«I've decided not to play games with you. 'Ding, dong, dell,' as MacCab said.»

«Oh. Well… .»

«What I thought you should know is that when the vicar was out with the searchers, this was the first place he brought them.»

«Oh?»

«Yes. He had to know that the body was here. He wanted them to find it, wanted them to focus their investigation on Jack.»

«How interesting.»

«… And how else would he know unless he'd left it here, or been party to it? Snuff, the vicar's behind it.»

«Thank you.»

«You're welcome.»

I told her where the Gipsies were. She'd already seen them go by. So I told her, too, that we'd a new neighbor named Linda Enderby, who'd been by to visit Larry.

«Yes, I've met her,» she said. «She was also by to visit the mistress earlier. Charmed her completely. They share an interest in herbs and gourmet cooking.»

«Jill's a gourmet cook?»

«Yes. Come by later, and I'll see that you get some choice selections.»

«I'd like to do that. In fact, I'd like to collect you later, anyway. I want your help on an investigation.»

«Of what?»

I had to tell her the truth if I wanted her help. So I told her of my conclusions on the hilltop, there in my ring of pissed-on stones, and of the day's adventures with Quicklime, of his speculations on the Gipsies, of the other things I'd learned about the vicar, and of my conclusions concerning the manse. I told her everything, except that the Great Detective had come to town and had set up housekeeping in that place, and that I could talk to Larry Talbot and get an answer anytime.

«I found a broken basement window when I was prowling the other night,» I continued, «big enough for a cat to slip through easily.»

«… And you want me to go inside and see whether there's a chapel?»

«Yes.»

«Of course I will. I have to know, too.»

«When should I come by?»

«Just after dark.»

I wandered for a little while after that, organizing my thoughts. My peregrinations took me past the church; a large albino raven regarding me, pink-eyed, from its peak. Circling the place once, for the sake of completeness, I saw the rotund coachman feeding his horses out back. Linda Enderby was paying a visit to the vicar.