A Night in the Lonesome October (30 page)

    
But one thing remained undone.
 
I headed up the road.
 
I had to find Larry.
 
I had delayed too long in telling him the truth about Linda Enderby.
 
Now I also had to tell him what the vicar had divined, and about the silver bullet that awaited him.
 
This could call for a radical revision of his plan.

    
I barked and scratched at his door several times.
 
There was no answer.
 
I circled the place, peering in windows, scratching, barking repeatedly.
 
No response.
 
It seemed deserted.

    
Rather than depart, however, I circled again, sniffing, analyzing every scent.
 
His was strongest to the rear of the house, indication of his most recent departure.
 
Nose low then, I followed the trail he had left.
 
It led back to a small grove of trees at the rear of his property.
 
I could hear a faint sound of running water from within the grove.

    
Making my way through it, I discovered that the small stream which traversed his property had here been diverted to the extent of filling a little pool before it departed.
 
Small, humped bridges crossed the stream, both the entering flow and the departing one.
 
The ground had been cleared for some distance on both sides of it and covered with a layer of sand.
 
A number of fairly large, mossy rocks were artfully disposed, yet in an almost casual-seeming fashion.
 
The sand was raked in swirling patterns.
 
A few low plants grew here and there about the area.

    
Beside the largest of the rocks, facing east, Larry sat in a meditative posture, his eyes more than half-closed, his breathing barely discernible.

    
I was loath to disturb his meditation or the peace of the place, and had I known how long he might be about it, I would have been willing to wait, or even to go away and return later.
 
But there was no way for me to tell, and since the news I brought him involved the safety of his life, I approached him.

    
"Larry," I said.
 
"It's me, Snuff.
 
Hate to bother you. . . ."

    
But I hadn't.
 
He gave no sign of having heard me.

    
I repeated what I had said, studying his face, his breathing.
 
There were no changes in either.

    
I reached out and touched him with my paw.
 
No reaction.

    
I barked loudly, several times.
 
It was as if I hadn't.
 
He had gone pretty far, wherever it was that he had gone.

    
So I threw back my head and howled.
 
He didn't notice, and it didn't matter that he didn't notice.
 
It's a good thing to do when you're frustrated.

    
And so the day arrived, cloudy, and with a small wind out of the north.
 
I told myself that I was not nervous, that as an old hand at this there were no jitters of anticipation, rushes of anxiety, waves of pure fear.
 
But I had gone down to the basement to begin my rounds when I realized that there were no rounds to make, and I found myself returning to check our assembly of ingredients and tools over and over again.

    
Finally, I went out and visited Larry's place.
 
He was gone from his grove and the house seemed empty.

    
I went looking for Graymalk, and when we met we took a walk together.

    
We hiked for a long time in silence before she said, "You and Jack will be the only closers there."

    
"It looks that way," I said.

    
"I'm sorry."

    
"That's okay."

    
"Jill and I will be going to a meeting at the vicarage this afternoon.
 
Morris and MacCab will be there, too."

    
"Oh?
 
Strategy session?"

    
"I guess so."

    
We climbed to Dog's Nest and looked around.
 
An altarlike raised area of boulders had been built up before the big stone.
 
Heavy boards lay across it.
 
Some kindling for the banefire was already stacked, farther off.

    
"Right there," she said.

    
"Yes."

    
"We're going to protest the sacrifice part."

    
"Good."

    
"You think Larry will be able to do what he plans?"

    
"I don't know."

    
We climbed down a different way than we'd gone up, discovering some fresh misshapen footprints.

    
"I wonder what'll become of the big fellow now," she said.
 
"I feel sorry for him.
 
That night he picked me up he didn't mean to hurt me, I could tell."

    
"Another lost one," I said.
 
"Yes, sad."

    
We walked again in silence, then, "I want to stand near you in the arc," she said.
 
"I believe the vicar will be at the left end, with Morris and MacCab next to him, Tekela and Nightwind with them, then Jill.
 
I will stand to her right.
 
I will assume a position three paces forward.
 
That would put you and Jack beside us."

    
"Oh?"

    
"Yes, I've been working for this arrangement.
 
You must be to my right and slightly back, that is, to Jack's left."

    
"Why?"

    
"Because something bad may happen if you stand to his right."

    
"How do you know this?"

    
"My small wisdom."

    
I thought about it.
 
The old cat in the Dreamworld was obviously on her side, and she was an opener.
 
Therefore, he could be setting me up for something.
 
However, his remarks concerning the Elders had almost seemed disparaging, and he had seemed kindly disposed toward me.
 
Reason stopped here.
 
I knew that I had to trust my feelings.

    
"I'll do it."

    
When we neared our area, I said, "I'm going to walk over again to see whether Larry's back.
 
Want to come with?"

    
"No.
 
That meeting. . . ."

    
"All right.
 
Well, It's, been good."

    
"Yes.
 
I never knew a dog this well before."

    
"Same with cats and me.
 
I'll see you later, then."

    
"Yes."

    
She headed home.

    
I searched all around Larry's place again, but there was no sign of his return.

    
On my way home, I heard my name hissed from a clump of weeds.

    
"Snuff, old boy.
 
Good to see you.
 
I was on my way over.
 
Saved me a trip. . . ."

    
"Quicklime! What have you been up to?"

    
"Hanging out in that orchard, eating the hard stuff," he said.
 
"Just stopped by for a quick one, on the way over."

    
"Why were you coming to see me?"

    
"Learned something.
 
Wanted you to know."

    
"What?" I asked.

    
"I picked up a bad habit from Rastov, I guess.
 
Look at me.
 
I feel like I'm shedding my skin."

    
"You're not."

    
"I know.
 
But I really liked him.
 
When I left you, I headed for the orchard and just started eating the old, fermented ones.
 
It was, snug, with him.
 
I felt like somebody needed me.
 
The fruit's almost gone now.
 
I'll come around.
 
I'll be all right.
 
But I'll miss him.
 
He was a good man.
 
The vicar got him, that's what Nightwind told me.
 
Wanted to narrow the field.
 
That's why the Count disposed of Owen, to send the vicar a message.
 
You'll get the vicar, won't you?"

    
"Quick, I think you've had too much.
 
Owen was killed after the Count was staked."

    
"Clever, isn't he?
 
That's what I was coming to tell you about.
 
He fooled us.
 
He's still around."

    
"What?
 
How?"

    
"When I reached the peak of my indulgence the other night," he replied, "I suddenly felt terribly lonely.
 
I didn't want to be alone, so I went looking for someone, something, lights, movement, sounds.
 
I went over to the Gipsy camp, which was perfect.
 
I curled up beneath a wagon, planning to spend the night there and sleep it off.
 
But I overheard parts of a conversation from the wagon which led me to make my way up between its floorboards.
 
I had chosen _the_ wagon, and a pair of guards were in it.
 
Sometimes they'd speak in their own tongue, sometimes in English, the younger one wanted the practice.
 
I spent the night in there instead of below.
 
But I learned the story.
 
I even found an opening that gave me a view of the casket.

    
"He's with the Gipsies?"

    
"Yes.
 
They guard him by day as he sleeps, guard the casket at night when he's away."

    
"So he'd faked it," I said.
 
"Dressed the skeleton we'd found in his garments, put the stake into it himself."

    
"Yes, the crumbly skeleton that was already there."

    
". . . And that's why the ring wasn't on it."

    
"Yes, and he was safe in that, too.
 
Anybody finding the remains would assume that the staker had taken it."

    
I felt a chill.

    
"Quick, he did make this arrangement after the death of the moon, didn't he?"

    
"Yes.
 
Your calculations would be unaffected."

    
"Good.
 
But this I don't understand, the Count killed Owen because the vicar killed Rastov.
 
Owen was an opener.
 
Does that reflect a particular sympathy on the part of the Count?
 
Or was he simply out to check the vicar and keep the violence from spreading?"

    
"I don't know.
 
Nothing was said on the matter."

   
 
I growled softly.

    
"This is a complicated one," I said.

    
"Agreed.
 
Now you know everything I do."

    
"Thanks.
 
Want to come with me?"

    
"No.
 
I'm really out of the Game.
 
Good luck."

    
"'Luck, Quick."

    
I heard him slither off.

    
It rained a little that afternoon, and stopped shortly after sunset.
 
I went outside to look for the moon, and Bubo came with me.
 
The clouds still veiled her, however, and all we could see was the big area of brightness she shed in the east.
 
The wind blew chill.

    
"So this is it," Bubo said.
 
"By morning it will all be decided."

    
"Yes."

    
"I wish I could have been playing all along."

    
"A wish on the moon," I said.
 
"It may be true.
 
You have been playing, in a way.
 
You've traded information, you've watched things develop, same as the rest of us."