A Night in the Lonesome October Page 13
«Isn't your association with Jill a little, awkward, this far along in the Game?» I'd said, near to one o'clock.
«Strictly professional,» he had replied. «Besides, she's a good cook. And what about you and the cat?»
«We get along well,» I'd said. «Any chance of your getting Jill to change her mind about opening?»
«I don't think so,» he'd answered.
«She's not making you think about switching, I hope?»
«Of course not!»
«Well, if I may speak freely…»
The clock struck one and I couldn't.
I watched the darkened windows flood for a while, made my rounds, and slept some more.
When all hell breaks loose in our vicinity, it does it with style. I was awakened by an enormous thunderclap, sounding as if it had occurred just overhead; and the brightness of the lightning stroke had been visible through my closed eyelids. Suddenly, I was on my feet in the front hall, not certain how I had gotten there. Along with the echoes of the crash, however, my mind held memory of the sounds of breaking glass.
The mirror had shattered. The Things were slithering out.
I began barking immediately.
I heard an exclamation from the room where Jack worked, followed by the sound of some instrument or book being dropped. Then the door opened and he was hurrying toward me. When he saw the slitherers he called to me, «Snuff, find a container!» and he returned to the laboratory, where I heard a cabinet opened.
I looked about. I raced into the parlor, slitherers spreading like a slow tidal wave at my back. Upstairs, the Thing in the Steamer Trunk began beating upon its confines with frantic exertion. I heard wood splinter as it struck. And there were rattles from the attic. Another flash created a moment of yellow day beyond the windows, and the thunderclap that came with it shook the house.
There was nothing in the parlor in the way of a mirror, but on a side table near the door stood a partly full (partly empty?) bottle of port wine, of the ruby variety. Recalling that this species casts a spell within the bottle, I reared and pushed it off of the table with my paw, so that it fell upon a rug rather than the floor's wood. It did not shatter, and its cork remained in place. There came another flash and another crash. The Things Upstairs continued their noisy activity, with indication that at least the inhabitant of the steamer trunk had gotten free. A glance hallward showed me the steady, continuous exodus of the Things from the Mirror. I heard Jack's footfalls. An uncanny glow began to fill the room and the hall and it did not seem entirely attributable to the internal incandescence of the slitherers.
Rolling the bottle hallward, I saw Jack standing at the hall's far end, a wand in his hand. It was the no-nonsense wand he had used to transfer the slitherers from mirror to mirror earlier, and not the powerful Game artifact, the Closing Wand, which was also in his possession. While he is master of the Knife (or vice-versa), the Knife is not, technically, a Game tool, though it may be used as a part of the Game. The Knife is the embodiment of his curse as well as a special source of power. He saw me and he saw the bottle at the same time that I saw him.
Jack raised the wand and used it to part the flowing mass which separated us. Then he came forward and it slithered closed behind him as he advanced. Coming up beside me, he picked up the bottle then, held it in his left hand and uncorked it with his teeth. There came another thunder roll and the eerie lighting assumed a definite greenish cast, giving Jack a corpselike appearance.
There was a scrambling sound overhead, and the yellow-eyed Thing from the Steamer Trunk bounded down the stair, cracking the banister as it came.
«Deal with it, Snuff!» Jack cried. «I can't!» and he turned his attention and his wand upon the Things from the Mirror, compelling the nearest to enter the bottle.
I gathered myself and sprang across the flow of slitherers, moving to the foot of the stair, my lips curled back and hair bristling as the Thing came down. Too bad its neck was so short. I knew I was going to have to tear out its throat. The green light hung about it and the rain sounded like thrown gravel against the roof and windows. The Thing spread its arms, ending in very nasty talons, very wide, and I knew that I had to move immediately, in and out, and accomplish it in a matter of seconds if I were to emerge relatively unscathed, which I would need to be, to help deal with the sequel, which, even now, I could hear scrambling down the attic stair. The lightning flashed again. I roared to the accompaniment of thunder as I launched myself at an awkward angle.
I struck the wall on my way down, for the Thing's arm struck me after my jaws had closed like a trap and I'd applied torque with my entire body, crunching and tearing away at its gullet before I let go to drop back. It was the arm and not the talons that connected with me, though. I dropped, momentarily senseless, to the floor, a terrible taste in my mouth, as the Thing from the Attic came into sight at the head of the stair and commenced its descent.
Seeing the Thing from the Steamer Trunk reeling and clutching at its throat, dripping steaming juices, the Thing from the Attic slowed for a moment, regarding the carnage. Then it rushed downward.
I pulled myself to my feet, preparing to face it as it thrust the reeling one aside and came on. Instead, though, the dying one seemed to take its descent as another attack, swung toward it, and raked it with its talons. The Thing from the Attic seized it, snarling, and bit at its twisted face. At my back, I could hear Jack moving about, bottling slitherers. A moment later, the banister gave way, and the pair on the stair were in the air.
Lightning flashed again, and again, and again, thunder coming and staying, becoming its steady accompaniment; and yet more flashes walked through the sky, entered at the windows, fluoresced the ubiquitous green to an eye-piercing intensity. The sounds of the rain were submerged. The house began to shudder and creak. Copies of The Strand Magazine fluttered floorward from the mantel. Pictures fell from the walls, sets of Dickens and Surtees from their shelves; vases, candelabra, glasses, and trays slid from tables; plaster descended like snow from the ceiling. Prince Albert stared at the blizzard through cracked glass. Martin Farquhar Tupper lay atop Elizabeth Barrett Browning, their covers torn.
When the Thing from the Attic rose, shaking its head, rolling its eyes, casting wild glances about, the other lay still upon the floor, steam still rising from its scaly throat, head twisted to its left.
I seemed to hear Growler, prompting me to try for the throat again, and I slashed forward, attempting to repeat my earlier move.
I missed my target as it drew back, attempting, belatedly, to grapple me to it. My impact staggered it, however, and I slashed its left shoulder as I fell.
Immediately, as I secured my footing, I seized its right leg above the ankle and ground down for a bone-cruncher of a bite. It recovered quickly and kicked me with the other foot. I hung on for another second's damage before releasing it and scrambling away, able to ride with the second kick. One, I figured I could take in trade for something that would slow its movements. But I lack the bulldog sensibility as well as the physique.
The lightning and thunder had continued steadily the entire while, the thunder now having achieved the state of a continuous roaring, as of a tornado singing its deep-throated song about the house, and the intensity of the light had us moving through a tableau of green and black, where tiny sparks now danced upon the surfaces of everything metallic, and all of my hair was on end for reasons other than the stimulus of combat. It was obvious now that this was no normal storm but a manifestation of magical attack.
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.
October 25
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.
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br /> 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.»
«Sorry, Cheeter,» I said. «But I can't come up with a lot of sympathy for a man who tried to poison me.»
«He had his crochets,» the squirrel admitted, «but he also had the best oak tree in town. An enormous number of acorns were ruined last night.»
«Did you see who got him?»
«No. I was across town, visiting Nightwind.»
«What will you do now?»
«Bury more nuts. It's going to be a long winter, and an outdoor one.»
«You could join MacCab and Morris,» Graymalk observed.
«No. I think I'll follow Quicklime's example and call it quits. The Game is getting very dangerous.»
«Do you know whether whoever did it took Owen's golden sickle?» I asked.
«It's not around out here,» he said. «It could still be inside, though.»
«You have a way in and out, don't you?»