A Night in the Lonesome October (7 page)

    
"It is understandable in someone of an hysterical personality type," I said.

    
"I suppose so.
 
At any rate, he recently took to running about the parish by night, armed with a crossbow and a quiver of bolts, 'flying stakes,' he calls them.
 
I hear your door!
 
I'll bet that's him!
 
Hide me!"

    
"No need," I said.
 
"The master would not let an obvious madman armed with a dangerous weapon come in and search the house.
 
This is a place of peace and refinement."

    
The door was opened and I heard them speak quietly.
 
Then the vicar's voice was raised.
 
Jack, being a gentleman, responded in his usual soft, courteous tone.
 
The vicar began to shout about Creatures of the Night and Unholy Practices and Living Blasphemies and Things Like That.

    
"You gave it sanctuary!" I heard him cry.
 
"I'm coming after it!"

    
"You are not," Jack responded.

    
"I've a moral warrant, and I bloody well am!" said the vicar.

    
Then I heard the sounds of a scuffle.

    
"Excuse me, Needle," I said.

    
"Of course, Snuff."

    
I ran on into the front hallway, but Jack had already closed and bolted the door.
 
He smiled when he saw me.
 
There came a pounding from behind him.

    
"It's all right, Snuff," he said.
 
"I'm not about to set the dogs on the poor fellow.
 
Uh, Where _is_ your friend, anyway?"

    
I glanced toward the kitchen.

    
He walked that way, preceding me by several paces.
 
When I entered he was already feeding a grape to Needle.

    
"'Creature of the Night,'" he said.
 
"'Living Blasphemy.'
 
You're safe here.
 
You can even have a peach if you'd like."

    
He strolled off, whistling.
 
The pounding on the front door continued for another minute or so, then stopped.

    
"What's to be done about that man, d'you think?" Needle asked.

    
"Stay out of his way, I guess."

    
"Easy to say.
 
He took a shot at Nightwind yesterday, and a couple at Cheeter recently."

    
"Why?
 
They're not into sanguinary stuff."

    
"No, but he also claims to have had a vision concerning a society of wretched individuals and their familiars preparing for some big psychic event which will place them at odds with each other and threaten the safety of humanity.
 
The vampire business was the first 'sign,' as he put it, that this was true."

    
"I wonder what busybody sent him that vision?"

    
"Hard to guess," Needle said.
 
"But he could be shooting at you, or Jack, tomorrow."

    
"Perhaps the parishioners will send him to the Continent," I said, "to take the waters at some salubrious spa.
 
We only need about two and a half weeks more."

    
"I doubt they will.
 
In fact, I think he's enlisted some of them in the cause of his vision.
 
He wasn't the only one out there with a crossbow tonight."

    
"Then I think we're going to have to identify those people, find out where they live, and keep an eye open in their direction."

    
"I use echolocation myself, but I get the idea."

    
"Nightwind and Cheeter obviously already know.
 
I'll tell Graymalk if you'll tell Quicklime and Bubo."

    
"What about that Talbot fellow?"

    
"So far as I can tell, Larry Talbot doesn't have a nonvegetable companion.
 
He can take care of himself, I think."

    
"All right."

    
". . . And we should all agree to spread the word on who they are and where they live.
 
It won't matter to someone like that what your persuasion is."

    
"I agree with you on this."

    
Later, I checked around outside and there were no crossbow-persons in the vicinity.
 
So I opened the window again and let Needle out, the vicar's quarrels stuck in the siding over our heads.

    
Graymalk had just finished digging something up and was dragging it to the house when I entered her yard.
 
I brought her up to date on last night's events, and while she cautioned me never to trust a bat she acknowledged the seriousness of the threat presented by the vicar and his crew.
 
Someone had apparently taken a shot at them from the top of a hill as she and Jill passed overhead last night, causing them to veer and experience an exciting moment or two near a chimney.

    
When she had completed her task, Graymalk said, "There were a couple of things I wanted to talk to you about."

    
"Go ahead."

    
"First things first, then.
 
I'd better show you this one."

    
I followed her out of the yard.

    
"A London police officer visited Constable Terence yesterday," she said.
 
"Quicklime and I saw him go by on a chestnut mare."

    
"Yes?"

    
"Later, Cheeter saw the mare browsing in a field and mentioned it as something odd.
 
We sought about the area but the rider was nowhere near.
 
After a time, we went away."

    
"You should have gotten me.
 
I could have backtracked."

    
"I came by.
 
But you weren't around."

    
"I did have some chores. . . . Anyway, what happened?"

    
"I was in another field later, the place we're going to now, near you.
 
There was a pair of crows rising and falling there, and I was thinking of lunch.
 
So were they, as it turned out.
 
They were eating the officer's eyes, where he lay in a clump of weeds.
 
Just up ahead."

    
We approached.
 
The birds were gone.
 
So were the eyes.
 
The man was in uniform.
 
His throat had been cut.

    
I sat down and stared.

    
"I don't like this at all," I finally said.

    
"Didn't think you would."

    
"It's too near.
 
We live just over that way."

    
"And we live over there."

    
"Have you told anyone else yet?"

    
"No.
 
So it's not one of yours, unless you're a very good actor."

    
I shook my head.

    
"It doesn't make any sense."

   
 
"Jack _is_ supposed to have magical control over a certain ritual blade."

    
"And Owen has a sickle.
 
So what?
 
And Rastov has an amazing icon drawn by a mad Arab who'd given up on Islam.
 
But he could have used a kitchen knife.
 
And Jill has her broom.
 
She could still find something to cut a throat with."

    
"You know about the icon!"

    
"Sure.
 
It's my job, keeping track of the tools.
 
I'm a watcher, remember?
 
And the Count probably has the ring, and the Good Doctor the bowl.
 
I think it's just a regular killing.
 
But now we're stuck with a body in the neighborhood, and not just _any_ body.
 
It's a policeman.
 
There'll be an investigation, and, face it, we're all suspicious characters with things to hide.
 
We only planned to be here for a few weeks.
 
We do as much as we can of the active stuff outside the area, for now.
 
We try to stay relatively inconspicuous here.
 
But we're all transients with strange histories.
 
This is going to spoil a lot of planning."

    
"If the body is found."

    
"Yes."

    
"Couldn't you dig a hole, push it in, and cover it up? The way you do with bones, only bigger?"

    
"They'd spot a new grave, once they start looking.
 
No.
 
We have to get it out of here."

    
"You're big enough to drag it.
 
Could you get it to that ruined church, push it down the opening?"

    
"Still too near.
 
And it might scare the Count into moving, for fear people will be poking around there."

    
"So?"

    
"I like knowing where he is.
 
If he moves, we'll have to find him again. . . ."

    
"The body," she said, interrupting an intriguing chain of speculation.

    
"Yes, I'm thinking.
 
It's awfully far to the river, but I'm wondering whether I might be able to drag it there in stages and push it in.
 
There are a lot of places I could stow it along the way. . . ."

    
"What about the horse?"

    
"Could you check with Quicklime?
 
Tell him what happened, give him our reasoning.
 
Horses are often afraid of snakes.
 
Perhaps he could scare him into running back to town."

    
"It sounds worth a try.
 
Maybe you'd better check to be sure you can handle the body."

    
I moved around to the rear, seized hold of the collar, braced my legs, and pulled.
 
He came along nicely over the damp grass.
 
A little lighter than he looked, too.

    
"Yes, I can move him.
 
I know I can't take him all the way at once, but at least I can get him out of here."

    
"Good, I'll go and see whether Quicklime is out and about."

    
She dashed off, and I commenced pulling the officer along, his ruined face toward a clouded sky.
 
All afternoon, I dragged and rested, hiding him twice, once when people were about, another time to return home and make my rounds.
 
And the Thing in the Steamer Trunk was acting up again.
 
At one point, the horse did trot by, along the roadside.

  
  
I was bushed by evening and returned home to nap and eat, leaving the corpse in a copse.
 
I wasn't even halfway there yet.

    
Continuing gray and drizzling.
 
I made my rounds and got out early to check about the house.
 
I'd gotten out several times during the night to move things a little farther along.
 
I was bone-weary that morning, and Needle came by at dawn.

    
"He was out again with his crossbow crew," he reported.
 
"I'm still not sure how many there are, but I can show you where one lives."

    
"Later," I said.
 
"I'm very busy."

    
"All right," he replied.
 
"Show you this evening, if we're both free."

    
"Any word on the police?"

    
"Police? What about?"

    
"Never mind.
 
I'll tell you when I see you later.
 
Unless someone else does it first."

    
"Till then," he said, and he darted off.

    
I went and dragged the corpse till I couldn't manage another step.
 
Then I dragged myself home, jaws aching, paws sore, my old injury from the zombie affair acting up.