A Night in the Lonesome October (24 page)

    
I tried for the Thing's other ankle and missed.
 
Turning, I slashed at the arm which swung at me.
 
I missed that, too, but it missed me, also.

    
I darted away, growling, roared and feinted to its right.
 
It put weight on the injured ankle to reach after me and went off balance, struggled to recover.
 
I was behind it immediately, passing on that side, and worrying the ankle again, from the rear.

    
It bellowed then as it tried to reach me, but I hung on until, finally, it cast itself over backwards in an attempt to fall upon and crush me.
 
I relaxed my hold and tried to move away as it did so, but a flailing arm struck me on the head, knocking me to the floor, doubling my vision.

    
Therefore, it was two Jacks that I saw, wielding two blades, piercing two monsters' throats.

    
Even as I crawled out from beneath the Attic Thing's outflung arm, the basement door crashed open, and in several quick bounds the Thing from the Circle was upon me.

    
"Now, hound, I eat you!" it said.

    
I shook my head, trying to clear it.

    
"Snuff! Get back!" Jack told me, turning toward it.

    
_Dzzp!_

    
The starlight danced upon the blade in his hand, and I needed no further persuasion.
 
I crawled toward the farther end of the now slitherless hall, passing a corked bottle of port and spirits as I went.
 
Pieces of mirror gave back green dogs with jagged edges.

    
I watched as Jack finished his business, ready in case he required assistance, grateful that he did not.

    
Plaster continued to rain down.
 
Everything loose was on the floor.
 
The thunder and the light and the house's shuddering had almost become a part of the environment.
 
I suppose that if you lived with it long enough, there might come a time when you stopped noticing.
 
I didn't really want to wait and see.

    
_Dzzp!_

    
As I watched the Thing from the Circle finally fall, following a masterful upstroke, I turned my stronger emotions toward the perpetrator of the onslaught which had caused their release.
 
It was more than merely annoying, having had to put up with them all these weeks and then to lose them this way before they could fulfill their function.
 
Under the proper constraints, they had been intended as the bodyguard for our retreat, should one be necessary, following the events of the final night, after which they would have had their freedom in some isolated locale, obtaining the opportunity to add to the world's folklore of a darker nature.
 
Now, ruined, the buffer plan.
 
They weren't essential, but they might have proved useful should we have to exit pursued by Furies.

    
When the business was done, Jack traced pentagrams with his blade, calling upon the powers that would cleanse the place.
 
With the first one, the green glow faded; with the second, the house stopped its shuddering; with the third, the thunder and lightning went away; with the fourth, the rain ceased.

    
"Good show, Snuff," he said then.

    
There came a knocking on the back door.
 
We both headed in that direction, the blade vanishing and Jack's hair and clothing getting rearranged along the way.

    
He opened the door.
 
Jill and Graymalk stood before us.

    
"Are you all right?" Jill asked.

    
Jack smiled, nodded, and stepped aside.

    
"Won't you come in?" he said.

    
They did, though not before I'd noted that it seemed perfectly dry outside.

    
"I'll invite you into the parlor," Jack said, "if you don't mind stepping over a few dismembered ogres."

    
"Never did before," the lady answered, and he led her in that direction.

    
The parlor floor was full of what had been on the shelves, the tables, the mantelpiece, and everything was powdered with plaster.
 
Jack raised the sofa cushions one by one, punching each and turning it upside-down before replacing it.
 
She took the seat he offered her, which afforded a view of the broken mirror and slashed demonic carcasses sprawled in the hall.

    
The clock chimed 11:45.

    
"I'll have to offer you sherry," Jack said.
 
"The port's gone bad."

    
"Sherry will be fine."

    
He repaired to the cabinet, fetching back two glasses and a bottle.
 
After he had poured a pair and given her one he raised the other and looked at her over it.

    
"What prompts your visit?" he asked.

    
"I hadn't seen you in over an hour," she replied, taking a small sip of sherry.

    
"That is true," he answered, sipping his own.
 
"But it is often that way with us.
 
Every day, in fact.
 
Still. . . ."

    
"I refer to your house as well as your person.
 
I heard a small sound earlier, as of the tinkling of a crystal bell, from this direction.
 
When I looked this way I saw nothing but a well of impenetrable darkness."

    
"Ah, the old crystal bell effect," he mused.
 
"Haven't seen that one since Alexandria.
 
So you didn't hear any thunder, see any lightning?"

    
"Not at all."

    
"Not badly done then, though I hate to admit it," he said, taking another sip.

    
"Was it the vicar?"

    
"I'd guess.
 
Most likely still irritated with Snuff here."

    
"Perhaps you should have a few words with him."

    
"I don't believe in giving warnings.
 
But I give anybody two attempts on us, to discover their folly.
 
If they do not, and they try a third time, I kill them.
 
That's all."

    
"He sent those creatures after you?"
 
She gestured toward the hall.

    
"No," he replied.
 
"They were my own.
 
They got loose during the attack.
 
It must have involved a general manumission spell.
 
Pity.
 
I had better use for the fellows than this."

    
She set down her glass, rose, visited the hall, and inspected them.
 
She returned a little later.

    
"Impressive," she said.
 
"What they are, and what got done to them."
 
She seated herself again.
 
"What I'm wondering most, though, is what you're going to do with them now."

    
"Hm," he said, toying with his glass.
 
"It's rather far to the river."

    
I nodded vigorously.

    
"I suppose I could just stow them in the basement, throw a piece of canvas over them, or something like that."

    
"They might start to smell pretty bad."

    
"They already smell pretty bad."

    
"True.
 
But it would be awkward if they were discovered on the premises, and when they start to decompose it might lead someone official this way."

    
"Conceded.
 
I suppose I could just dig a big hole somewhere and bury them."

    
"You wouldn't want to do it around here, and they look too husky to lug far."

    
"You've a point there.
 
Have _you_ any ideas?"

    
"No," she said, sipping her sherry.

    
I barked once and they looked at me.
 
I glanced at the clock.
 
It was approaching midnight.

    
"I think Snuff has a suggestion," she said.

    
I nodded.

    
"He'll have to wait a few minutes."

    
"I can't," Graymalk said to me suddenly.

    
"Cats are that way," I replied.

    
"What do you want to do with them?"

    
"I say we take them over to Owen's place and stuff them into some of his wicker baskets.
 
Then we haul them up into the big oak tree, set fire to them, and run like hell."

    
"Snuff, that's grotesque."

    
"Glad you like it, too," I said.
 
"And it makes for a great Halloween gag, even if it is a little early."

    
The clock struck twelve.

    
The humans bought my idea; and we went out to do it.
 
And ah, my foes, and oh, my friends, they gave a lovely light.

    
Hickory-dickory-dock.

    
Jill came back to our place afterwards, last night, and helped to straighten things.
 
Graymalk and I slipped out while they were drinking another sherry and hit it over to the vicarage.
 
The study was illuminated and Tekela was perched on the roof beside the chimney, head beneath her wing.

    
"Snuff, I'm going after that damned bird," Graymalk said.

    
"I don't know that it's good form, Gray, doing something like that right now."

    
"I don't care," she said, and she disappeared.

    
I waited and watched, for a long while.
 
Suddenly, there was a flurry on the roof.
 
There came a rattle of claws, a burst of feathers, and Tekela took off across the night, cawing obscenities.

    
Graymalk descended at the corner and returned.

   
 
"Nice try," I said.

    
"No, it wasn't.
 
I was clumsy.
 
She was fast.
 
Damn."

    
We headed back.

    
"Maybe you'll give her a few nightmares, anyway."

    
"That'd be nice," she said.

    
Growing moon.
 
Angry cat.
 
Feather on the wind.
 
Autumn comes.
 
The grass dies.

    
The morning dealt us a hand in which last night's small irony was seen and raised.
 
Graymalk came scratching on the door and when I went out she said, "Better come with me."

    
So I did.

    
"What's it about?" I asked.

    
"The constable and his assistants are at Owen's place, investigating last night's burnings."

    
"Thanks for getting me," I said.
 
"Let's go and watch.
 
It should be fun."

    
"Maybe," she said.

    
When we got there I understood the intimation in her word.
 
The constable and his men paced and measured and poked.
 
The remains of the baskets and the remains which had been in the baskets were now on the ground.
 
There were, however, the remains of four baskets and their contents rather than the three I remembered so well.

    
"Oh-oh," I said.

    
"Indeed," she replied.

    
I considered the inhuman remains of the three and the very human remains of the fourth.

    
"Who?" I asked.

    
"Owen himself.
 
Someone stuffed him into one of his baskets and torched it."

    
"A brilliant idea," I said, "even if it was plagiarized."

    
"Go ahead and mock," said a voice from overhead.
 
"He wasn't your master."