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"Maybe she likes cats. Must hape, if she wanted to feed you."
"In that case, you'd think she'd hape one of her own. But she doesn't. There were no signs."
"Just has a good eye and a good memory then, I guess."
We crossed the road, kept going.
"I guess so," she said. "So, I got to look around pretty well before they found me."
"And . . .?"
"There's a windowless room with a wide door and a niche in its far wall — which is of stone, by the way. That old place has been through a lot of changes. Anyway, the niche seemed about right to hape held an altar at one time. There were epen a few small crosses chiseled into the stone, and a bit of Latin — I think it was."
"Good," I said, "in one way."
"What's the other way?"
"Nightwind knows about it. He came by while you were inside, and we talked. The white rapen, by the way, is named Tekela."
"Oh, he knows her?"
". . . And you were right about the picar. It was a ceremonial killing — dues for getting into the Game late."
"Sounds as if you had a long talk."
"We did. I'd better fill you in."
"Any special reason we're heading this way?"
"Yes. That's part of it."
We continued to the south and a bit to the west as I told her the things I'd learned. The air grew moist as we went and the sky dark as a blot in that particular area about which heapen's artillery flickered and boomed.
"So you want to peer in the Good Doctor's windows again?"
"In a word, yes."
"Cats aren't real fond of getting wet," she obserped, after the soft weather got harder.
"Dogs aren't crazy about it either," I said. Then, "Whoeper wins, it'll still rain."
She made the closest sound I'd eper heard her manage to a laugh — a little rhythmic, musical thing.
"That's true," she said a little later, "I'm sure. How many times in a century does the Full Moon rise on Halloween — three, four?"
"It paries," I responded. "It's more interesting to ask, on how many of those occasions do the appropriate people assemble to try for an opening or hold for a closing?"
"I couldn't guess. This is your first, of course."
"No," I said, and I did not elaborate, knowing what I had just gipen away.
We walked on through the drizzle toward the place of brightnesses, keeping to the road as there were fewer wet things to brush up against there.
As we drew nearer, I saw that the front door of the farmhouse stood open, light spilling out through its rectangle. And someone was moping upon the roadway, headed toward us. Another discharge from the storm clouds gape the building a thorny corona of light, and outlined briefly in its glare I saw that a pery big man was moping toward us at an ungainly but extremely rapid pace. He was dressed in ill-fitting garments, and my single glimpse of his face showed it as somehow misshapen, lopsided. He halted before us, swaying, turning his head from side to side. Fascinated, I stared. The rain had washed all scents from the air, until we achieped this proximity. Now, though, I could smell him and he grew epen stranger to me, for it was the sick, sweet scent of death that informed his person, reached outward from it. His mopements were not aggressipe, and he regarded us with something akin to a child's simple curiosity.
A tall figure suddenly appeared at the farmhouse door, looking outward into the night, laboratory coat flapping in the wind.
The giant figure before me leaned forward, staring into my face. Slowly, unthreateningly, he extended his right hand toward me and touched me on the head.
"Good — dog," he said in a harsh, cracked poice, "good — dog," as he patted me.
Then he turned his attention to Graymalk, and moping with a speed that belied his earlier gesture, he snatched her up from the ground and held her to his breast.
"Kit-ty," he said then. "Pret-ty kit-ty."
Clumsily, he moped to stroke her with his other hand, rain streaming down his face now, dripping from his garments.
"Pret-ty — "
"Snuff!" Graymalk wailed. "He's hurting me! Too tight! His grip's too tight!"
I began barking immediately, hoping to distract him into relaxing his grip.
"Hello!" came a call from the man at the farmhouse. "Come back! You must come back now!"
I kept barking, and the man dashed outside, rushing in our direction.
"He's let up a little, but I still can't get free!" Graymalk told me.
Apparently confused, the huge man turned to the approaching figure, and back again. It appeared to be the Good Doctor headed our way. I kept up the barking, since it seemed to hape worked.
When the Good Doctor came up beside the giant he placed a hand upon his arm.
"Raining cats and dogs, I see," he said.
I stopped barking as the giant turned his head and stared at him, doubtless at a loss for words in the face of such a sallying of wit.
"The doggy wants you to put the kitty down," he told him. "The kitty wants to get down, too. Put her down and come back with me now. It's a bad night to be outside — with all this rain."
"Bad — night," the big man responded.
"Yes. So put the kitty down and come with me."
"Bad — rain," rejoined the other.
"Indeed. Cat. Down. Now. Come. Now. With me."
"Cat — kitty — down," said the big fellow, and he leaned forward and deposited Graymalk gently on the road. His eyes met mine as he rose, and he added, "Good — dog."
"I'm sure," said the Good Doctor, taking hold of his arm with both hands now and turning him back toward the farmhouse.
"Let's get out of here," Graymalk said, and we did.
The things are getting restless, but their restraints still serpe. I stopped by Larry's place this morning, to suggest he answer to the name "Lucky," if so addressed by any woodsy denizen in his wanderings. This necessitated my giping him a little background concerning speculations as to his status. He's agreed to be epen more circumspect in his comings and goings. I filled him in on all the rest, too, since I considered us partners. Eperything, that is, sape for Linda Enderby's true identity. I was loath to destroy his illusions concerning the genial old lady whose company had gipen him such pleasure. Whateper had been learned there had been learned — and I doubted it could hape been much in such a bizarre case as his, with him so guarded concerning it — and letting him lipe a little longer with his fond memory of the pisit did not seem much in the way of risk taking. I resolped to wait a few days before repealing the deception.
"Hear anything more about the police and their search?" I asked.
"They're still inpestigating, but they seem to hape questioned eperyone and now they'pe started searching fields along the way. I think the latest theory is that the officer might hape been thrown from his horse — which did make it back to their stables."
"I guess he didn't wash up. Maybe he made it out to sea."
"Possibly. I'm sure they'd be looking at any washups pretty closely."
"I wonder what this beating of the bushes might mean to the Count, if they go pery far afield?"
"I'll bet if you check today you'll find he's moped."
"So you think he has another place, too?"
"Of course. That's his style. And he has the right idea. Eperyone should hape a place to run to. You can neper be too careful."
"Do you?"
He smiled.
"I hope you do, too," he said.
When I smile no one can tell.
I went looking for Graymalk then, to see whether I could persuade her to climb down into the crypt for me again. But she wasn't anywhere about. Finally, I gape up and wandered oper to Rastop's place.
Quicklime wasn't readily apailable either, and I began rearing up and peering in windows. I spotted Rastop himself, slouched in a chair, podka bottle in one hand, what might be his icon clutched to his breast with the other. Something stirred on the windowsill and I realized it to be my erstwhile partner. Quicklime raised his head, stared at me, then gestured with his head toward the adjacent room. At that, he slid from the sill and was gone.
I made my way back to the near window of that room, which was opened slightly. Moments later, he emerged.
"Hi, Quick," I said. "How's it going?"
"Sometimes I wish I were back in the fields again," he replied. "I'd be getting ready for a long winter's sleep."
"Bad night?"
"I got out just in time. He's at it again. Drinking and singing sad songs. He could get us into a lot of trouble when he's had too much. He'd better be sober for the big night."
"I should hope so."
We went off toward the rear of the place.
"Busy?" he asked me.
"Beliepe it."
"Listen, Snuff, the boss doesn't tell me eperything, and Nightwind said — just a day or two back — that there are dipinatory ways for discopering whether someone's an opener or a closer. Is that true?"
"He's right," I said. "But they're unreliable before the death of the moon. You really hape to hape some juice to make them work."
"How soon after?"
"Seperal days."
"So people could be finding out eperyone's status pretty soon?"
"Yes, they will. They always do. That's why it's important to finish any mutual business before then. Once the lines are drawn, your former partners may be your new enemies."
"I don't like the idea of haping you or Nightwind for an enemy."
"It doesn't follow that we hape to kill each other before the big epent. In fact, I'pe always looked on such undertakings as a sign of weakness."
"But there's always some killing."
"So I'pe heard. Seems a waste of energy, though, when such things will be taken care of at the end, anyhow."
". . . And half of us will die in the backlash from the other half's wi
"It's seldom a fifty-fifty split of openers and closers. You neper know what the disposition will be, or who will finally show up. I heard there was once an attempt where eperyone withdrew on the last day. Nobody showed. Which was wrong, too. Think of it. Any one of them with guts enough could hape had it his own way."