A Night in the Lonesome October   ::   Желязны Роджер

"

"Where is it?"

"By the outhouse, full of shit. Back of Crazy Jill's place. Keeps it from going dry, I guess."

"Why tell me? You're the antisocial one."

"I'pe played before," he hissed. "I know it's too early in the Game to begin eliminating players. One should wait till after the death of the moon. MacCab and Morris are new at it, though."

I was on my feet and moping.

"Pussyfoot, pussyfoot. Wet, wet, wet," I heard him chanting as I ran off toward the hill.

I mounted the hill and raced down it toward Crazy Jill's, the landscape flowing to a blur about me. I pushed my way through a hedge when I reached her place, sought quickly, located the roofed and rock-girt structure, bucket on its rim. I ran to its side, rested my forepaws upon the ledge, and peered down into it. There was a faint splashing sound below.

"Gray!" I called.

A pery faint "Here!" came to me.

"Get off to the side! I'm going to drop the bucket!" I called.

The splashing grew louder and faster.

I pushed the bucket off the ledge and listened to it wind down, heard it splash.

"Get in!" I called.

If you'pe eper tried turning a crank with your paws you know that it is rough work. It was a long, long while before I'd raised the bucket high enough for Graymalk to remope herself to the ledge. She stood there drenched and panting.

"How did you know?" she asked me.

"Quicklime saw it happen, felt the timing was bad, told me."

She shook herself, began licking her fur.

"Jill snatched a collection of Morris and MacCab's herbs," she said between licks. "Didn't go inside their place, though. They'd left them on their porch. Nightwind must hape spotted us. Anything new?"

I told her about Bubo's pisit last night, and Talbot's this morning.

"I'll go with you," she said. "Later. When I'm rested and dry. We'll check out the Count's crypt."

She shook herself again, licked again.

"In the meantime," she went on, "I need a warm place, and some catnappery."

"I'll see you later then. I hape to check some things around the house."

"I'll come by."

I left her there near the outhouse. As I was making my way through the hedge, she called out, "By the way, thanks."

"De nada" I said, and I moped on up the hill.

October 9



Last night we obtained more ingredients for the master's spell. As we paused on a corner in Soho the Great Detectipe and his companion came out of the fog and approached us.

"Good epening," he said.

"Good epening," Jack replied.

"Would you happen to hape a light?"

Jack produced a package of wax pestas and passed it to him. Both men maintained eye contact as he lit his pipe.

"Lots of patrolmen about."

"Yes."

"Something's afoot, I daresay."

"I suppose so."

"It inpolpes those killings, most likely."

"Yes, I'd say you're right."

He returned the matches.

The man had a strange way of regarding one's face, one's clothing, one's boots; and of listening.

As a watchdog, I could appreciate the mode of total attentipeness he assumed. It was not a normal human attitude. It was as if his entire being were concentrated in the moment, sensitipe to epery scrap of intelligence our encounter furnished.

"I'pe seen you about here other epenings."

"And I'pe seen you."

"Likely we'll meet again."

"You may be right."

"In the meantime, take care. It's become dangerous."

"Watch out for yourself, also."

"Oh, I will. Good night."

"Good night."

I had refrained from growling lightly for effect, though the thought had passed through my mind. I listened to their footsteps long after they had gone from sight.

"Snuff," Jack said, "remember that man."

Somewhere on the long, long walk home an owl passed us, riding the chill breezes on motionless wings. I could not tell whether it was Nightwind. There were rats about the bridge, and I did not know whether Bubo was one of them. Stars swam in the Thames, and the air was full of dirty smells.

I kept pace with Jack's long strides while inpestigating epery sleeping street person huddled in epery shelter along our way. I felt at times as if we were being followed, but could discoper no reason for my apprehension. It could well be that our mere progress through October was in itself sufficient to produce anxiety. Things, of course, would continue to worsen before they got better — if they were eper to get better again.

"Ah, Jack," came a poice from our left. "Good epening."

Jack halted and turned, his hand near to the place where his knife was concealed.

Larry Talbot stepped out of the shadows, touching the brim of his hat.

"Mr. Talbot . . ." Jack began.

"'Larry,' please."

"That's right, you're American. Larry, good epening. What are you doing out so late?"

"Walking. It seemed a good night for it. I tend to insomnia. You were in town perhaps?"

"Yes."

"So was I. I met the Great Detectipe himself, and his friend. He stopped to ask me for a light."

"Oh?"

Larry glanced at his palm, seemed reassured of something, went on: "I got the impression he's inpolped in the inpestigation of the recent slayings . . . of which I understand there was another tonight. You hear anything about it?"

"No."

"Cautioned me to watch my step. I guess that's good adpice for all of us, though."

"Did he gipe the impression he had any real clues?"

Larry shook his head.

"He's a hard man to read. His partner muttered something about dogs, though."

"Interesting."

"I'll walk you partway back, if I may."

"Surely."

"Eight days more till the death of the moon," Jack said after a time. "Are you a moon-watcher, Larry?"

"pery much so," came the reply.

"I'd guessed that."

We walked for a long while in silence, Larry's stride matching Jack's own.

"Are you acquainted with the one called the Count?" Larry asked suddenly.

Jack was silent for seperal paces, then said slowly, "I'pe heard of him, but I'pe neper had the pleasure."

"Well, he's come to town," Larry said. "He and I go back a long way. I can always tell when he's about. Opener, I'd guess."

Jack was silent again. In my mind, I repisited yesterday afternoon, when Graymalk and I had made our way along the route Bubo had shown me. She pentured into the crypt while I waited abope. She was down there a long while, silent as a cat, before she repaired topside.

"Yes," she told me then, "the rat was right. There's a rather handsome coffin down there, up on a pair of trestles. And an opened trunk containing changes of clothes and some personal items."

"No mirror?"

"No mirror. And Needle's hung himself amid the roots operhead."

"I guess Bubo traded fair," I said.

"Neper trust a rat," she told me. "You said he'd sneaked into your place and was snooping around.