A Night in the Lonesome October

October 21

The things are getting restless, but their restraints still serve. I stopped by Larry's place this morning, to suggest he answer to the name «Lucky,» if so addressed by any woodsy denizen in his wanderings. This necessitated my giving him a little background concerning speculations as to his status. He's agreed to be even more circumspect in his comings and goings. I filled him in on all the rest, too, since I considered us partners. Everything, that is, save for Linda Enderby's true identity. I was loath to destroy his illusions concerning the genial old lady whose company had given him such pleasure. Whatever had been learned there had been learned, and I doubted it could have been much in such a bizarre case as his, with him so guarded concerning it, and letting him live a little longer with his fond memory of the visit did not seem much in the way of risk taking. I resolved to wait a few days before revealing the deception.

«Hear anything more about the police and their search?» I asked.

«They're still investigating, but they seem to have questioned everyone and now they've started searching fields along the way. I think the latest theory is that the officer might have been thrown from his horse, which did make it back to their stables.»

«I guess he didn't wash up. Maybe he made it out to sea.»

«Possibly. I'm sure they'd be looking at any washups pretty closely.»

«I wonder what this beating of the bushes might mean to the Count, if they go very far afield?»

«I'll bet if you check today you'll find he's moved.»

«So you think he has another place, too?»

«Of course. That's his style. And he has the right idea. Everyone should have a place to run to. You can never be too careful.»

«Do you?»

He smiled.

«I hope you do, too,» he said.

When I smile no one can tell.

I went looking for Graymalk then, to see whether I could persuade her to climb down into the crypt for me again. But she wasn't anywhere about. Finally, I gave up and wandered over to Rastov's place.

Quicklime wasn't readily available either, and I began rearing up and peering in windows. I spotted Rastov himself, slouched in a chair, vodka bottle in one hand, what might be his icon clutched to his breast with the other. Something stirred on the windowsill and I realized it to be my erstwhile partner. Quicklime raised his head, stared at me, then gestured with his head toward the adjacent room. At that, he slid from the sill and was gone.

I made my way back to the near window of that room, which was opened slightly. Moments later, he emerged.

«Hi, Quick,» I said. «How's it going?»

«Sometimes I wish I were back in the fields again,» he replied. «I'd be getting ready for a long winter's sleep.»

«Bad night?»

«I got out just in time. He's at it again. Drinking and singing sad songs. He could get us into a lot of trouble when he's had too much. He'd better be sober for the big night.»

«I should hope so.»

We went off toward the rear of the place.

«Busy?» he asked me.

«Believe it.»

«Listen, Snuff, the boss doesn't tell me everything, and Nightwind said, just a day or two back, that there are divinatory ways for discovering whether someone's an opener or a closer. Is that true?»

«He's right,» I said. «But they're unreliable before the death of the moon. You really have to have some juice to make them work.»

«How soon after?»

«Several days.»

«So people could be finding out everyone's status pretty soon?»

«Yes, they will. They always do. That's why it's important to finish any mutual business before then. Once the lines are drawn, your former partners may be your new enemies.»

«I don't like the idea of having you or Nightwind for an enemy.»

«It doesn't follow that we have to kill each other before the big event. In fact, I've always looked on such undertakings as a sign of weakness.»

«But there's always some killing.»

«So I've heard. Seems a waste of energy, though, when such things will be taken care of at the end, anyhow.»

«… And half of us will die in the backlash from the other half's winning.»

«It's seldom a fifty-fifty split of openers and closers. You never know what the disposition will be, or who will finally show up. I heard there was once an attempt where everyone withdrew on the last day. Nobody showed. Which was wrong, too. Think of it. Any one of them with guts enough could have had it his own way.»

«How soon till the word gets out, Snuff?»

«Pretty soon. I suppose someone could be working on it right now.»

«Do you know?»

«No. I'll know soon enough. I don't like knowing till I have to.»

He crawled up onto an old tree stump. I sat down on the ground beside him.

«For one thing,» I said, «it would interfere in my asking you to do something just now.»

«What,» he said, «is it?»

«I want you to come back with me to the crypt and check it out. I want to know whether the Count's still there.»

He was silent, turning in the sunlight, scales shimmering.

«No,» he said then. «We don't have to go.»

«Why not?»

«I already know that he's not there.»

«How do you know this?»

«I was out last night,» he said, «and I hung myself in a plum tree I'd learned Needle frequents when he feeds. When he came by I said, “Good evening, Needle.”

“Quicklime, is that you?” he answered.

“Indeed,” I replied, “and how go your farings?”

“Well. Well,” he said. “And your own twisting ways?”

“Oh, capital,” I answered. “I take it you have come to feed?”

“Yes. I always come here last, for these plums are my favorites and put a fine end to a harvesting of bugs. I prefer saving the best for last.”

“As it should be,” I said, “with all endeavors. Tell me, for I was wise in these ways now, having lived with Rastov, have you ever sampled the long-fallen plums, those which look wrinkled, ruined, and unappetizing?”

“No,” he replied, “that would be silly, when so many good ones still hang upon the tree.”

“Ah,” I told him, “but looks may be deceptive, and good is certainly a relative term.”

“What do you mean?“ he asked.

“I, too, enjoy the fruits,“ I said, “and I have learned their secret. Those over yonder on the ground are far better than those which hang yet upon the limbs.”

“How can that be?” he said.

“The secret is that as they lie there, cut off forever from the source of their existence, they draw upon their remaining life to continue a new kind of growth. True, the effects wither them, but they ferment from their own beings a new and special elixir, superior to the simple juices of those upon the tree.”

“They taste a lot better?”

“No. They do not. This goes beyond mere taste. It is a thing of the spirit.”

“I guess I ought to try it, then.”

“You will not be disappointed. I recommend it highly.”

So he descended to the earth, came upon one of those I had indicated, and bit into it.

“Agh!” he exclaimed. “These are no good! Overripe and… ”

“Give it a chance,” I said. “Take more, swallow it down, and then some more. Wait just a bit.”

And he sampled again, and again.

“A little later”, he said, “I feel slightly dizzy. But it is not unpleasant. In fact…”

He tried another, suddenly more enthusiastic. Then another.

“Quicklime, you were right,” he said after a while. “There is something very special about them. There is a warm feeling…”

“Yes,” I answered.

And the dizziness is not quite dizziness. It feels good.”

Take more. Take lots more,” I told him. “Go with it as far as it will take you.”

Shortly, his words grew harder to understand, so that I had to slide down from the tree to be sure I heard everything he said when I began, 'You were with the Count when he created his new graves, were you not… ?

And so I learned their locations, and that he was moving to one last night,» he finished.

«Well done,» I said. «Well done.»

«I hope he didn't awaken feeling the way I did the other morning. I did not linger, for I gather it is a bad thing to see snakes when you are in that condition. At least, Rastov says it is. With me, it was humans that I saw last time, all those passing Gipsies. Then yourself, of course.»

«How many graves are there besides the crypt?»

«Two,» he said. «One to the southwest, the other to the southeast.»

«I want to see them.»

«I'll take you. The one to the southwest is nearer. Let's go there first.»

We set out, crossing a stretch of countryside I had not visited before. Eventually, we came to a small graveyard, a rusted iron fence about it. The gate was not secured, and I shouldered it open.

«This way,» Quicklime said, and I followed him.

He led me to a small mausoleum beside a bare willow tree.

«In there,» he said. «The vault to the right is opened. There is a new casket within.»

«Is the Count inside it?»

«He shouldn't be. Needle said he'd be sleeping at the other one.»

I entered nevertheless and pawed at the lid for some while before I found a way to open it. When I did, it came up quite easily. It was empty, except for a handful or two of dirt at its bottom.

«It looks like the real thing,» I said. «Take me to the other one now.»

We set off on the longer trek, and as we went I asked, «Did Needle tell you when these graves were established?»

«Several weeks ago,» he answered.

«Before the dark of the moon?»

«Yes. He was very insistent on the point.»

«This will ruin my pattern,» I said, «and everything seemed such a perfect fit.»

«Sorry.»

«You're sure that's what he said?»

«Positive.»

«Damn.»

The sun shone brightly, though there were clouds about, and, of course, a goodly cluster off toward the Good Doctor's place, farther south, and there came a bit of chill with a northerly breeze. We made our way cross-country through the colors of autumn, browns, reds, yellows, and the ground was damp, though not spongy. I inhaled the odors of forest and earth. Smoke curled from a single chimney in the distance, and I thought about the Elder Gods and wondered at how they might change things if the way were opened for their return. The world could be a good place or a nasty place without supernatural intervention; we had worked out our own ways of doing things, defined our own goods and evils. Some gods were great for individual ideals to be aimed at, rather than actual ends to be sought, here and now. As for the Elders, I could see no profit in intercourse with those who transcend utterly. I like to keep all such things in abstract, Platonic realms and not have to concern myself with physical presences… . I breathed the smells of woodsmoke, loam, and rotting windfall apples, still morning-rimed, perhaps, in orchard's shade, and saw a high, calling flock V-ing its way to the south. I heard a mole, burrowing beneath my feet… .

«Does Rastov drink like that every day?» I asked.

«No,» Quicklime replied. «He only started on Moon-death Eve.»

«Has Linda Enderby visited him?»

«Yes. They had a long talk about poetry and someone named Pushkin.»

«Do you know whether she got a look at the Alhazred Icon?»

«So you know we have it… . No, drunk or sober, he wouldn't show it to anybody till the time of its need.»

«When I was looking for you earlier, I saw him holding what looked like an icon. Is it on wood, about three inches high, nine inches long?»

«Yes, and he did have it out from its hiding place today. Whenever he feels particularly depressed he says that it cheers him up to 'go to the shores of Hali and consider the enactments of ruin' and then to contemplate the uses he has for it all.»

«That could almost be taken as a closer's statement,» I said.

«I sometimes think you're a closer, Snuff.»

Our eyes met, and I halted. At some point, you have to take a chance.

«I am,» I said.

«Damn! We're not alone then!»

«Let's keep it quiet,» I said. «In fact, let's not speak of it again.»

«But you can at least tell me whether you know if any of the others are.»

«I don't,» I said.

I started forward again. A small plunge taken, a small victory grasped. We passed a pair of cows, heads down, munching. A small roll of thunder came from the Good Doctor's direction. Looking left, I could make out my hill, which I'd named Dog's Nest.

«Is this one farther south than the other?» I asked, as we turned onto a lane which led in that direction.

«Yes,» he hissed.

I kept trying to visualize the pattern tugged in new directions by these new foci of residence. It was irritating to keep finding and losing candidates for center. It seemed almost as if the forces were playing games with me. And it was especially difficult to keep surrendering ones that seemed eminently appropriate.

At last our way took us to what seemed like somebody's family plot. Only, the family it belonged to was long gone. A collapsed building lay upon a nearby hilltop. Barely a foundation, really, was what remained. And I saw that the remains of the family had been adopted, when Quicklime led me into the overgrown graveyard, all but the eastern side of its fence fallen, and that side atilt.

He led me among tall grasses to a great stone slab. There were signs of recent digging about the perimeter it had covered, and the stone had been raised and offset to the side, leaving a narrow opening through which I knew I must squeeze.

I stuck my nose inside and sniffed. Dust.

«Want me to check it out?» Quicklime said.

«Let's both go down,» I replied. «After this walk, I at least want a look.»

I went through and descended a series of uneven steps. There was a puddle at the bottom and I stepped over it. There were others about, too, and I couldn't avoid them all. It was dark, but eventually I made out an opened casket set up in a raised area. Another had been moved aside to make room for it.

I approached to sniff about the thing. What odors I might have sought, I'm not sure. The Count had been scentless on the night we had met, a very disconcerting thing to one of my temperament and olfactory equipment. As I drew nearer and my vision cleared, I wondered why he had left the lid open. It seemed most inappropriate for one of his persuasion.

Rearing up, I placed a forepaw on the casket's side and looked down into the interior.

Quicklime, nearby, said, «What is it?» and I realized that I had made a small woofing sound.

«The Game has grown more serious,» I answered.

He climbed up to the ledge, then mounted the end of the casket where he hovered, looking like Pharaoh's headdress.

«Oh my!» he said then.

A skeleton lay within, atop a long black cloak. It still had on a suit of dark garments, somewhat in disarray now, opened in front. Splitting the sternum was a large wooden stake, angled slightly, passing far down, missing the backbone to the left. There was considerable dry dust within and without.

«Looks like the new site wasn't as secret as he'd thought,» I said.

«Wonder whether he was an opener or a closer?» Quicklime said.

«I'd've guessed 'opener,'» I said, «but I suppose we'll never know.»

«Who do you think nailed him?»

«I've no idea, yet,» I said, lowering myself and turning away. I squinted into nooks and fissures then. «See Needle anywhere about?» I asked.

«No. You think they got him, too?»

«Could be. If he turns up, though, he'll certainly bear questioning.»

I climbed the stair and emerged into light. I started walking back.

«What happens now?» Quicklime asked.

«I have to make my rounds,» I said.

«Do we just go on and wait for it to happen again?»

«No. We exercise caution.»

We slithered and trotted back to our own area.

Jack was out, and I took care of business about the house and went looking for Graymalk to fill her in on the latest. Was surprised to encounter Jack engaged in conversation with Crazy Jill on her back step. He had in his hand a cup of sugar which he had presumably just borrowed. He ended the conversation and turned away as I approached. Graymalk was nowhere about. Jack told me as I walked him home that we might ride into town for supplies of a mundane nature sometime soon.

Later, I was out front, still looking for Graymalk, when the Great Detective's coach passed, him still in his Linda Enderby guise. Our eyes met and held for several long seconds. Then he was gone.

I went back inside and took a long nap.

I awoke near dusk and made the rounds again. The Things in the Mirror were still clustered, and pulsing lightly. The flaw appeared slightly larger, though this could have been a trick of memory and imagination. I resolved to call it to Jack's attention soon, however.

Eating and drinking and passing outside then, I sought Graymalk once more. I found her in her front yard doing catnappery on the steps.

«Hello. Looked for you earlier,» I said. «Missed you.»

She yawned and stretched, cleaned her shoulders.

«I was out,» she responded, «checking around the church and the vicarage.»

«Did you get inside?»

«No. Looked into every opening I could, though.»

«Learn anything interesting?»

«The vicar keeps a skull on the desk in his study.»

«Memento mori,» I remarked. «Churchmen are sometimes big on that sort of thing. Maybe it came with the place as a part of the furnishings.»

«It's resting in the bowl.»

«The bowl?»

«The bowl. The old pentacle bowl they talk about.»

«Oh.» So I'd been wrong in assigning that tool to the Good Doctor. «That accounts for an item.» Then, disingenuously, «Now, if you can tell me where the two wands are …» I said.

She gave me a strange look and continued grooming herself.

«… And I had to climb the outside of the place,» she said.

«Why?»

«I heard someone crying upstairs. So I made my way up the siding and looked in what seemed the proper window. I saw a girl on a bed. She had on a blue dress, and there was a long chain around her ankle. The other end was attached to the bed frame.»

«Who was it?»

«Well, I met Tekela a little later,» she went on. «I don't think she was too eager to talk to a cat. Still, I persuaded her to tell me that the girl is Lynette, the daughter of the vicar's late wife Janet by a previous marriage.»

«Why was she chained up?»

«Tekela said that she was being disciplined for attempting to run away.»

«Very suspicious. How old is she?»

«Thirteen.»

«Yes. Just right. Sacrifice, of course.»

«Of course.»

«What did you give her for the information?»

«I told her the story of our encounter with the big man the other night, and the possibility that the Gipsies may be associated with the Count.»

«I'd better tell you something about the Count,» I said, and I detailed my investigations with Quicklime.

«No matter whose side he was on, I can't say I'm sorry to see him out of the picture,» she said. «He was extremely frightening.»

«You met him?»

«I saw him one night, departing that first crypt. I'd hidden myself on a tree limb, to watch it happen. He seemed to ooze up out of there as if he weren't really moving any muscles, just flowing, the way Quicklime can do. Then he stood there a moment with his cloak flapping about him in the wind, turning his head, looking at the world as if he owned it and was deciding what part of it would amuse him just then. And then he laughed. I'll never forget that sound. He just threw his head back and barked, not the way you do, unless you've a special way of barking just before you eat something that might not want to be eaten, and that this pleases you, adds to the flavor. Then he moved, and it played tricks with my eyes. He was different things, different shapes, flapping cloak all about, even in different places at the same time, and then he was gone, like a piece of the cloak sailing away in the moonlight. I wasn't unhappy to see him go.»

«I never saw anything that dramatic,» I said. «But I met him at even closer quarters, and I was impressed.» I paused, then, «Did Tekela give you anything besides the story on Lynette?» I asked.

«Everyone seems to be onto the idea of the old manse as the center now,» she said. «The vicar told her that it had served a much larger church, south of here, in the old days, one that the last Henry had ruined, as an example to the others that he meant business.»

«That makes it such a good candidate that I'm irritated at the Count's bad taste in throwing off the calculations.»

«Have you figured the new site yet?»

«No. I should be about that pretty soon, though.»

«You'll let me know?»

«I'll take you with me when I do it,» I offered.

«When will that be?»

«Probably tomorrow. I was just going to walk up the road to see the Gipsies now.»

«Why?»

«They're sometimes colorful. You can come along if you like.»

«I will.»

We headed on up the road. It was another clear-skied night, with multitudes of stars. I could hear a distant music as we neared Larry's place. Beyond, I could make out the glow of bonfires. As we continued, I could distinguish the sounds of violin, guitar, tambourine, and a single drum within the music. We drew nearer, coming at last to a hiding place beneath a caravan, from which we could watch. I smelled dogs, but we were downwind and none bothered us.

Several older Gipsy women were dancing and there was suddenly a singer making wailing sounds. The music was stirring, the dancers' movements stylized, like the steps of long-legged birds I'd seen in warmer climes. There were many fires, and from some of them came the smells of cooking. The spectacle was as much a thing of the shadows as the light, however, and I rather liked the wailing, being something of a connoisseur when it comes to barks and howls. We watched for some time, taken by the bright colors of the dancers' and players' garments as much as by the movements and the sounds.

They played several tunes, and then the fiddler gestured toward a knot of spectators, holding out his instrument and pointing to it. I heard a sound of protest, but he insisted, and finally a woman moved forward into the light. It was several moments before I realized it to be Linda Enderby. Obviously, the Great Detective was making yet another of his social calls. Back in the shadows, I could now make out the short, husky form of his companion.

Over several protests, he accepted the violin and bow, touched the strings, then cradled the instrument as if he knew its kind well. He raised the bow, paused for a long moment, and then began to play.

He was good. It was not Gipsy music, but was some old folk tune I'd heard somewhere before. When it was done he moved immediately into another on which he worked several variations. He played and he played, and it grew wilder and wilder…

Abruptly, he halted and took a step, as if suddenly moving out of a dream. He bowed then and returned the instrument to its owner, his movements in that moment entirely masculine. I thought of all the controlled thinking, the masterfully developed deductions, which had served to bring him here, and then this, this momentary slipping into the wildness he must keep carefully restrained, and then seeing him come out of it, smiling, becoming the woman again. I saw in this the action of an enormous will, and suddenly I knew him much better than as the pursuing figure of many faces. Suddenly I knew that he had to be learning, as we were learning other aspects, of the scope of our enterprise, that he could well be right behind us at the end, that he was almost, in some way, a player, more a force, really, in the Game, and I respected him as I have few beings of the many I have known.

Later, as we walked back, Graymalk said, «It was good to get away for a time.»

«Yes,» I said, «it was,» and I regarded the sky, where the moon was growing.