A Night in the Lonesome October (2 page)

    
As I made my way back I felt that I was being watched.
 
But whoever it was, was very, very good.
 
I could not spot him, so I took a long, long way about.
 
He left me later to follow another.
 
I hurried home to report.

    
Rainy day.
 
Windy, too.
 
I made my rounds.

    
"Up yours, cur."

    
"Same to you."

    
"Hi, things."

    
_Slither, slither._

    
"How's about letting me out?"

    
"Nope."

    
"My day will come."

    
"It's not today."

    
The usual.
 
Everything seemed in order.

    
"How's about a collie?
 
You like redheads?"

    
"You still haven't got it right.
 
S'long."

    
"Son of a bitch!"

    
I checked all the windows and doors from the inside, then let myself out the back through my private hatch, master Jack sleeping or resting in his darkened room.
 
I checked everything again from the outside.
 
I could discover no surprises of the sort I had discussed with Graymalk the other day.
 
But I did find something else: There was a single paw-print, larger than my own, in the shelter of a tree to the side of the house.
 
The accompanying scent and any adjacent prints had been washed away by the rain.
 
I circled far afield, seeking more evidence of the intruder, but there was nothing else.
 
The old man who lives up the road was in his yard, harvesting mistletoe from a tree, using a small, shining sickle.
 
A squirrel sat upon his shoulder.
 
This was a new development.

    
I addressed the squirrel through a hedge:

    
"Are you in the Game?"

    
It scurried to the man's nearer shoulder and peered.

    
"Who asks?" it chattered.

    
"Call me Snuff," I answered.

    
"Call me Cheeter," it replied.
 
"Yes, I suppose we are.
 
Last minute thing, rush, rush."

    
"Opener or closer?"

    
"Impolite!
 
Impolite to ask!
 
You know that!"

    
"Just thought I'd try.
 
You could be novices."

    
"Not new enough to be giving anything away.
 
Leave it at that."

    
"I will."

    
"Stay.
 
Is there a black snake in it?"

    
"You ask me to give something away.
 
But yes, there is: Quicklime.
 
Beware.
 
His master is mad."

    
"Aren't they all?"

    
We chuckled and I faded away.

    
That evening we went out again.
 
We crossed the bridge and walked for a long, long while.
 
The dour detective and his rotund companion were about, the latter limping from his adventure of the other night.
 
We passed them twice in the fog.
 
But it was the wand Jack bore this night, to stand at the city's center with it and trap a certain beam of starlight in a crystal vial while the clocks chimed twelve.
 
Immediately, the liquid in the container began to glow with a reddish light; and somewhere in the distance a howling rose up.
 
No one I knew.
 
I wasn't even sure it was a dog.
 
It said a single word in the language of my kind, a long, drawn-out "Lost!"
 
My hackles rose at the sound of it.

    
"Why are you growling, friend?" Jack asked.

    
I shook my head.
 
I was not sure.

    
I breakfasted in the dark and made my rounds of the house.
 
Everything was in good order.
 
The master was asleep so I let myself out and prowled the vicinity.
 
The day would not begin for some time yet.

    
I walked beyond the hill, to Crazy Jill's place.
 
The house was dark and quiet.
 
Then I turned to head for Rastov's ramshackle abode.
 
I caught a scent as I did, and I sought its source.
 
A small form lay unmoving atop the garden wall.

    
"Graymalk," I said.
 
"Sleeping?"

    
"Never wholly," came the reply.
 
"Catnappery is useful.
 
What are you after, Snuff?"

    
"Checking an idea I had.
 
It doesn't really involve you or your lady, directly.
 
I'll be walking to Rastov's place now."

    
Suddenly, she was gone from the wall.
 
A moment later she was near.
 
I glimpsed a glint of yellow light from her eyes.

    
"I'll walk with you, if it's not secret work."

    
"Come, then."

    
We walked, and after a time I asked, "Everything quiet?"

    
"At our place, yes," she replied.
 
"But I heard there was a killing in town earlier.
 
Your work?"

    
"No.
 
We were in town, but it was a different sort of work we were about.
 
Where did you hear of it?"

    
"Nightwind was by.
 
We talked a little.
 
He'd been across the river into town.
 
A man was torn apart, as by a particularly vicious dog.
 
I thought of you."

    
"Not me, not me," I said.

    
"There must be more of these, of course, as the others seek their ingredients.
 
This will make the people wary, the streets better patrolled between now and the big event."

    
"I suppose so.
 
Pity."

    
We reached Rastov's place.
 
A small light burned within.

    
"He works late."

    
"Or very early."

    
"Yes."

    
In my mind, I traced a path back to my own home.
 
Then I turned and headed across fields to the old farmhouse where Morris and MacCab resided.
 
Graymalk continued with me.
 
A piece of the moon began to rise.
 
Clouds slid quickly across the sky, their bellies tickled by the light.
 
Graymalk's eyes flashed.

    
When we reached the place I stood among long grasses.
 
There were lights within.

    
"More work," she said.

    
"Who?" came Nightwind's voice from atop the barn.

    
"Shall we answer?"

    
"Why not?" I said.

    
She offered her name.
 
I growled my own.
 
Nightwind departed his perch to circle us, finally alighting nearby.

    
"You know each other," he remarked.

    
"We are acquainted."

    
"What do you want here?"

    
"I wanted to ask you about that killing in town," I said.
 
"You saw it?"

    
"Only after it had occurred and been discovered."

    
"So you did not see which of us was about it?"

    
"No.
 
If indeed it were one of us."

    
"How many of us are there, Nightwind? Can you tell me that?"

    
"I don't know that such knowledge should be dispensed.
 
It may come under my prohibitions."

    
"A trade then?
 
We list the ones we know.
 
If there is one among them you do not know, you furnish us with another we do not know, if you can."

    
He swiveled his head around backwards to think, then said, "That sounds fair.
 
It would save us all time.
 
Very well.
 
You know of my masters, and I know both of yours.
 
That's four."

    
"Then there is Rastov, with Quicklime," Graymalk offered.
 
"Five."

    
"I know of them," he responded.

    
"The old man who lives up the road from me seems of druidical persuasion," I said.
 
"I saw him harvesting mistletoe the old way, and he has a friend, a squirrel called Cheeter."

    
"Oh?" Nightwind remarked.
 
"I was unaware of this."

    
"The man's name is Owen," Graymalk stated.
 
"I've been watching them.
 
And that's six."

    
Nightwind said, "For three nights now a small, hunched man has been raiding graveyards.
 
I saw him on my patrols.
 
Two nights back I followed him by the full of the moon.
 
He bore his gleanings to a large farmhouse to the south of here, a place with many lightning rods, above which a perpetual storm rages.
 
Then he delivered them to a tall, straight man he addressed as the 'Good Doctor.'
 
It may be they are seven, or perhaps eight."

    
"Would you show us this place?" I asked.

    
"Follow me."

    
We did, and after a long trek we came to the farmhouse.
 
There were lights in its basement but the windows were curtained and we could not see what the Good Doctor was about.
 
There were many odors of death in the air, however.

    
"Thank you, Nightwind," I said.
 
"Have you any others?"

    
"No.
 
Have you?"

    
"No."

    
"Then I would say that we are even."

    
He took wing and hurried off through the night.

    
As I crouched sniffing near a window I traced trails from Morris and MacCab's place to this one, from this one to Crazy Jill's, to my own, to Owen's, from Owen's to the others'. . . .
 
It was hard keeping all of the trails in mind at once.

    
I leaped at the bright flash and the crackling sound from behind the window.
 
The smell of ozone reached me moments later, and the sound of wild laughter.

    
"Yes, this place will bear watching," Graymalk observed, from her sudden perch high in a nearby tree.
 
"Shall we go now?"

    
"Yes."

    
We headed back and I left her at Jill's, dropping the adjective out of politeness in her presence, and I left her to catnappery on her wall.
 
When I returned home I found another paw-print.

    
Excitement.
 
I heard the mirror crack this morning, and I ran and raised holy hell before it, keeping the slitherers inside.
 
Jack heard the fuss and fetched his mundane wand and transferred them all to another mirror, just like the Yellow Emperor.
 
This one was much smaller, which may teach them a lesson, but probably not.
 
We're not sure how they did it.
 
Continued pressure on some flaw, most likely.
 
Good thing they're afraid of me.

    
Jack retired and I went outside.
 
The sun was shining through gray and white clouds and only the crisp scents of autumn rode the breezes.
 
I had been drawing lines in my head during the night.
 
What I'd tried to do would have been much easier for Nightwind, Needle, or even Cheeter.
 
It is hard for an earthbound creature to visualize the terrain in the manner I'd attempted.
 
But I'd drawn lines from each of our houses to each of the others.
 
The result was an elaborate diagram with an outer boundary and intersecting rays within.
 
And once I have such a figure I can do things with it that the others cannot.
 
It was necessarily incomplete because I did not know the whereabouts of the Count, or of any other players who might not yet have come to my attention.