A Night in the Lonesome October Read online

  «Good dog,» croaked an ancient voice. It was the Druid. There followed a plop on the ground nearby, as something he'd tossed over the garden wall landed. «Good dog.»

  I rose and inspected it as he passed on along his way. It was a piece of meat. Only the most wretched of alley hounds might not have been wary. The thing reeked of exotic additives.

  I picked it up carefully, bore it to a soft spot beneath a tree, dug a hole there, dropped it in, covered it.

  «Bravo!» came a sibilant voice from above. «I didn't think you'd fall for that one.»

  I glanced up. Quicklime was coiled about a branch overhead.

  «How long have you been there?» I asked.

  «Since your first visitor came by, the big one. I'd been watching him. Is he in the Game?»

  «I don't know. I think he may be, but it's hard to tell. He's a strange one. Doesn't seem to have a companion.»

  «Maybe he's his own best friend. Speaking of which…»

  «Yes?»

  «The crazy witch's companion may be running out of steam about now.»

  «What do you mean?»

  «'Ding, dong, dell.'»

  «I don't follow you.»

  «Literally. Pussy's in the well.»

  «Who threw her in?»

  «MacCab, full of sin.»

  «Where is it?»

  «By the outhouse, full of shit. Back of Crazy Jill's place. Keeps it from going dry, I guess.»

  «Why tell me? You're the antisocial one.»

  «I've played before,» he hissed. «I know it's too early in the Game to begin eliminating players. One should wait till after the death of the moon. MacCab and Morris are new at it, though.»

  I was on my feet and moving.

  «Pussyfoot, pussyfoot. Wet, wet, wet,» I heard him chanting as I ran off toward the hill.

  I mounted the hill and raced down it toward Crazy Jill's, the landscape flowing to a blur about me. I pushed my way through a hedge when I reached her place, sought quickly, located the roofed and rock-girt structure, bucket on its rim. I ran to its side, rested my forepaws upon the ledge, and peered down into it. There was a faint splashing sound below.

  «Gray!» I called.

  A very faint «Here!» came to me.

  «Get off to the side! I'm going to drop the bucket!» I called.

  The splashing grew louder and faster.

  I pushed the bucket off the ledge and listened to it wind down, heard it splash.

  «Get in!» I called.

  If you've ever tried turning a crank with your paws you know that it is rough work. It was a long, long while before I'd raised the bucket high enough for Graymalk to remove herself to the ledge. She stood there drenched and panting.

  «How did you know?» she asked me.

  «Quicklime saw it happen, felt the timing was bad, told me.»

  She shook herself, began licking her fur.

  «Jill snatched a collection of Morris and MacCab's herbs,» she said between licks. «Didn't go inside their place, though. They'd left them on their porch. Nightwind must have spotted us. Anything new?»

  I told her about Bubo's visit last night, and Talbot's this morning.

  «I'll go with you,» she said. «Later. When I'm rested and dry. We'll check out the Count's crypt.»

  She shook herself again, licked again.

  «In the meantime,» she went on, «I need a warm place, and some catnappery.»

  «I'll see you later then. I have to check some things around the house.»

  «I'll come by.»

  I left her there near the outhouse. As I was making my way through the hedge, she called out, «By the way, thanks.»

  «De nada» I said, and I moved on up the hill.

  October 9

  Last night we obtained more ingredients for the master's spell. As we paused on a corner in Soho the Great Detective and his companion came out of the fog and approached us.

  «Good evening,» he said.

  «Good evening,» Jack replied.

  «Would you happen to have a light?»

  Jack produced a package of wax vestas and passed it to him. Both men maintained eye contact as he lit his pipe.

  «Lots of patrolmen about.»

  «Yes.»

  «Something's afoot, I daresay.»

  «I suppose so.»

  «It involves those killings, most likely.»

  «Yes, I'd say you're right.»

  He returned the matches.

  The man had a strange way of regarding one's face, one's clothing, one's boots; and of listening.

  As a watchdog, I could appreciate the mode of total attentiveness he assumed. It was not a normal human attitude. It was as if his entire being were concentrated in the moment, sensitive to every scrap of intelligence our encounter furnished.

  «I've seen you about here other evenings.»

  «And I've seen you.»

  «Likely we'll meet again.»

  «You may be right.»

  «In the meantime, take care. It's become dangerous.»

  «Watch out for yourself, also.»

  «Oh, I will. Good night.»

  «Good night.»

  I had refrained from growling lightly for effect, though the thought had passed through my mind. I listened to their footsteps long after they had gone from sight.

  «Snuff,» Jack said, «remember that man.»

  Somewhere on the long, long walk home an owl passed us, riding the chill breezes on motionless wings. I could not tell whether it was Nightwind. There were rats about the bridge, and I did not know whether Bubo was one of them. Stars swam in the Thames, and the air was full of dirty smells.

  I kept pace with Jack's long strides while investigating every sleeping street person huddled in every shelter along our way. I felt at times as if we were being followed, but could discover no reason for my apprehension. It could well be that our mere progress through October was in itself sufficient to produce anxiety. Things, of course, would continue to worsen before they got better, if they were ever to get better again.

  «Ah, Jack,» came a voice from our left. «Good evening.»

  Jack halted and turned, his hand near to the place where his knife was concealed.

  Larry Talbot stepped out of the shadows, touching the brim of his hat.

  «Mr. Talbot …» Jack began.

  «'Larry,' please.»

  «That's right, you're American. Larry, good evening. What are you doing out so late?»

  «Walking. It seemed a good night for it. I tend to insomnia. You were in town perhaps?»

  «Yes.»

  «So was I. I met the Great Detective himself, and his friend. He stopped to ask me for a light.»

  «Oh?»

  Larry glanced at his palm, seemed reassured of something, went on: «I got the impression he's involved in the investigation of the recent slayings … of which I understand there was another tonight. You hear anything about it?»

  «No.»

  «Cautioned me to watch my step. I guess that's good advice for all of us, though.»

  «Did he give the impression he had any real clues?»

  Larry shook his head.

  «He's a hard man to read. His partner muttered something about dogs, though.»

  «Interesting.»

  «I'll walk you partway back, if I may.»

  «Surely.»

  «Eight days more till the death of the moon,» Jack said after a time. «Are you a moon-watcher, Larry?»

  «Very much so,» came the reply.

  «I'd guessed that.»

  We walked for a long while in silence, Larry's stride matching Jack's own.

  «Are you acquainted with the one called the Count?» Larry asked suddenly.

  Jack was silent for several paces, then said slowly, «I've heard of him, but I've never had the pleasure.»

  «Well, he's come to town,» Larry said. «He and I go back a long way. I can always tell when he's about. Opener, I'd guess.»

  Jack was silen
t again. In my mind, I revisited yesterday afternoon, when Graymalk and I had made our way along the route Bubo had shown me. She ventured into the crypt while I waited above. She was down there a long while, silent as a cat, before she repaired topside.

  «Yes,» she told me then, «the rat was right. There's a rather handsome coffin down there, up on a pair of trestles. And an opened trunk containing changes of clothes and some personal items.»

  «No mirror?»

  «No mirror. And Needle's hung himself amid the roots overhead.»

  «I guess Bubo traded fair,» I said.

  «Never trust a rat,» she told me. «You said he'd sneaked into your place and was snooping around. Supposing that was his real reason for being there, and he only offered to trade information to cover it over when you caught him?»

  «I'd thought of that,» I said. «But I heard him come in, and I know just where he was. All he got to see was the Things in the Mirror.»

  «Things in the Mirror?»

  «Yes. Don't you have any?»

  «Afraid not. What do they do?»

  «Slither.»

  «Oh.»

  «Come on. I'll show you.»

  «You sure it's all right?»

  «Yes.»

  Later, she placed a paw against its reflection as she stared.

  «You're right,» she said. «They, slither.»

  «Change colors, too, when they get excited.»

  «Where did you get them?»

  «Deserted village in India. Everybody'd died of plague or run away from it.»

  «They must have a use… .»

  «Yes, they're sticky.»

  «Oh.»

  I walked her back to Jill's, where she said, «I can't invite you in, or show you any of our stuff, I'm afraid.»

  «That's okay.»

  «Will you be prowling tonight?»

  «Have to go into town.»

  «Good luck.»

  «Thanks.»

  Jack and I parted from Larry at the crossroads near his place and headed west toward our own. When we came into the yard, I smelled owl and saw Nightwind perched in the same tree Quicklime had visited. I growled a «good evening» but he did not return it. I rushed inside first in the event he was a lookout, but there was no one there and there were no odor of intruders. And everything was as it should be. Just simple spying, then. When there's nothing else to do, we watch each other.

  Jack went off to deal with his acquisition. I did dognappery in the parlor.

  October 10

  It rained steadily all day, so I didn't go out much. And not far when I did. No one came by.

  I made the rounds many more times than usual, partly out of boredom. Good thing that I did.

  The Thing was strangely quiet as I entered the basement. In a moment, I saw why. We had developed a leak. The water entered at the wall, ran along a sagging beam, and dripped down several feet farther in. It had formed a puddle, and the puddle was slowly spreading. One moist pseudopod was extended in the direction of the Circle, having perhaps another ten inches to run before it breached it.

  I howled, a long, loud, mournful thing I saved for occasions such as this. Then I threw myself onto the streamer and rolled in it, absorbing it into my coat.

  «Hey!» cried the Thing. «Cut that out! This was meant to be!»

  «So was this!» I snapped, and I turned over and rolled in the puddle itself, soaking myself as I tossed and wriggled, absorbing a great deal.

  I moved off to a far, dry corner then and turned over several times on the floor there, spreading the moisture about in a place where it would evaporate harmlessly.

  «Damn dog!» it snarled. «Another few minutes and I'd've made it!»

  «I guess it's just not your lucky day,» I replied.

  There were footsteps on the stair.

  When Jack entered and saw what had happened, he went and fetched a mop. Shortly, he was cleaning up the rest of the puddle and wringing it out into a basin, while the Thing fumed and turned pink, blue, and sickly green. He set a pail beneath the drip then and told me to call him again if we developed any other leaks.

  We didn't, though. I checked regularly all afternoon. The rain finally stopped after dark, and I waited several hours after that, just to be sure, before going out.

  Moving around to the front of the house, I unearthed the now slimy piece of drugged meat from where I had buried it. I carried it up the road with me and deposited it in plain sight at Owen's front door. The place was dark and Cheeter was nowhere in sight, so I prowled around a bit.

  Under the huge old oak in the back I discovered eight large wicker baskets in various stages of construction, and seven smaller ones. There were also lots of heavy ropes about.

  I sniffed around. There was also a ladder nearby. Such industry, for a frail-looking old guy … .

  I walked a straight line then, passing through yard and field. Partway to my goal it began raining again, lightly. A huge mass of clouds occluded a small area of sky, darker shapes within darkness, and there came a brief, pale glow from within followed by a low rumble of thunder.

  Continuing, I came at last into the precincts of the Good Doctor's abode. It was as if I were directly beneath the low cloud-cluster now; and even as I watched, a triple-pronged piece of brightness fell from overhead to dance among the rods on the old building's roof. The crash came almost immediately and the basement windows blazed more brightly.

  I remained in the grasses, listening, and I heard a man's voice from within shouting something about seeing to the Leydens. There followed another flash-crash, another devil's tap dance of fire on the roof, more shouts, more flares from the windows. I crept nearer.

  Peeking in, I could see a tall man in a white coat, his back to me, leaning over something on a long table, his own form blocking my view of his subject. A small, misshapen individual crouched in a far corner, eyes darting, making nervous movements with his hands. There came another flash, another crash. Electrical discharges played about a bank of equipment off to the tall man's right. They stained my eyes with afterimages for a time. The tall man shouted something and moved to one side, the small man rose and began to dance about. Something on the table, covered, I could now see, by a sheet, twitched. It might have been a large leg that did it, beneath the cloth. There came another blinding burst and a deafening roar. The scene within was momentarily an inferno. Through it all, it seemed to me that something large and manlike tried for a moment to sit up on the table, its exact outline masked by the flowing cloth.

  I backed away. I turned and ran as more fire fell from the heavens. I had done my duty. This seemed ample investigation here for one night.

  I walked my next line from the Good Doctor's to Larry Talbot's place. I came out of the rain partway there and shook myself at some point. When I reached Larry's house I saw it to be well lighted. Perhaps he really did suffer from insomnia.

  Circling the place many times, I spiraled inward, pausing to inspect a small gazebo to the rear. Within, outlined in dried mud, I discovered a large paw-print which appeared identical to the one I had found near my home.

  Drawing nearer, I rose onto my hind legs, forepaws against the side of the house, and peered in through a window. Empty room. The third one I inspected let upon a skylighted room filled with plants. Larry was there, staring into the depths of an enormous flower and smiling. His lips were moving, and though I could hear low sounds, I could not distinguish the words he uttered. The huge blossom moved before him, whether because of air currents or by its own volition I could not tell. He continued to murmur, and finally I turned away. Lots of people talk to their plants.

  Next, I oriented myself as best I could and attempted to follow a straight line from Larry's place to the Count's crypt. I came to the ruined church first, and I paused there, trying to visualize the rest of the pattern. By then, a faint lightening had begun in the east.

  As I lay puzzling, a large bat, much bigger than Needle, swooped in from the north, passing behind a big
tree. It did not emerge on the tree's other side, however. Instead, I heard the softest of footfalls, and a dark-suited man in a black cloak stepped out from behind the tree.

  I stared. His head snapped in my direction, and he spoke: «Who is there?»

  Suddenly, I felt very exposed. There was only one role I could think to play.

  Uttering an idiot series of yips, I rushed forward, wagging my tail furiously, and threw myself on the ground before him, rolling about like some attention-starved stray.

  His bright lips twitched into a brief, small smile. Then he leaned forward and scratched me behind the ears.

  «Good dog,» he said, in slow, guttural tones.

  Then he patted my head, straightened, and walked off toward the crypt. He halted when he reached it. One moment he was standing there, the next moment he was gone.

  I decided it was time to get gone myself. His touch had been very cold.

  October 11

  A brisk morning. After I made my rounds I went outside. I could discover nothing untoward, so I set off in the direction of the Good Doctor's place. As I was trotting along the road, however, I heard a familiar voice from a small grove to my right:

  «That, sir, is the same dog,» it said.

  «How can you be sure?» came the response.

  «I noted the markings, and his are identical. Also, he has the same limp in his left foreleg, the same shredded right ear… .»

  … Old war injuries, disagreement with a mindless guy in the West Indies, long ago… .

  It was the Great Detective and his companion who had spoken, of course.

  «Here's a good fellow,» he said. «Good dog. Good dog.»

  I remembered my act of the previous evening, wagged my tail, and tried to look friendly.

  «Good dog,» he repeated. «Show us where you live. Take us home.»

  He patted my head as he said it, his hands being much warmer than the last friendly fellow's I'd met.

  «Home. Go home now.»

  Thinking of Graymalk in the well, I led them to Morris and MacCab's place. I waited with them on the porch till I heard footsteps approaching inside in response to their knocking. Then I withdrew and cut a straight line from there to the Count's crypt. The results were interesting; and even more so when I ran in a line from there to the Good Doctor's.