A Night in the Lonesome October Read online

  I did several more thereafter, confirming my results.

  October 12

  Slow day. The thing in the circle tried being a greyhound. I was never attracted to skinny ladies, though. Growled a few times at the Thing in the Attic. Watched the slitherers. Watched Jack as he puttered with his acquisitions. It was still too early for him actually to start using them.

  Heard from Graymalk later that Nightwind had seized Quicklime and borne him far out over the Thames and dropped him in. He was washed ashore later. Spent a long time slithering back. Not sure what they'd been arguing about.

  Also learned of several cases of sudden severe anemia among the neighbors. I'm glad the Count doesn't do dogs.

  I took Jack his slippers this evening and lay at his feet before a roaring fire while he smoked his pipe, sipped sherry, and read the newspaper. He read aloud everything involving killings, arsons, mutilations, grave robberies, church desecrations, and unusual thefts. It is very pleasant just being domestic sometimes.

  October 13

  The great detective was back today. I glimpsed him only briefly from a hedgerow where I was burying something. He did not see me.

  Later, Graymalk told me that he had visited Owen's place. Owen and Cheeter were out, and he had looked about some, discovering the wicker baskets. His assistant injured his wrist, she said, having been sent up the ladder into the oak to test the strength of some branches, whence he had fallen. Fortunately, he landed on a heap of mistletoe, or it might have been worse.

  That evening, I heard a scraping at an upstairs window while I was making my rounds. I went to it and peered out. At first I saw nothing, then I realized that a small form was darting back and forth.

  «Snuff! Let me in! Help!» it cried.

  It was Needle.

  «I know better than to invite you guys inside,» I said.

  «That's the boss! I'm just a bat! I don't even like tomato juice! Please!»

  «What's wrong?»

  I heard a loud thunk from the other side of the wall.

  «It's the vicar!» he cried. «He's wigged out! Let me in!»

  I undid the latch with my paw and pushed. It opened a few inches, and he was inside. He fell to the floor, panting. There followed another thunk from without.

  «I won't forget this, Snuff,» he said. «Give me a minute… .»

  I gave him two, then he stirred.

  «Got any bugs about?» he asked. «I've got this fast metabolism, and I've been getting a lot of exercise.»

  «It'd take a lot of effort catching them,» I said. «They're pretty fast. How about some fruit?»

  «Fruit is good, too… .»

  «There's a bowl in the kitchen.»

  He was too tired to fly it, though, and I was afraid he was too fragile to pick up in my mouth. So I let him cling to my fur.

  As I walked downstairs, he repeated, «Wigged out, wigged out… .»

  «Tell me about it,» I said, as he feasted on a plum and two grapes.

  «Vicar Roberts has become convinced there's something unnatural in the neighborhood,» he said.

  «How strange. What might have led him to that belief?»

  «The bodies with no blood left in them, and the people with anemia, who all seem to have had vivid dreams involving bats. Things like that.»

  I'd seen Vicar Roberts many times on my rambles, a fat little man, dundrearied, and wearing old-fashioned, square-lensed, gold-framed spectacles. I'd been told that he often grew very red of complexion at the high points of sermons, splattering little droplets of spittle about, and that he was sometimes given to fits of twitchings followed by unconsciousness and strange transports.

  «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.

  October 14

  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 fol
lowed 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.

  October 15

  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.

  While I was resting under the tree Graymalk came by.

  «How's it going?» she asked.

  «Pretty fair,» I answered. «I still have a long way to go, but he's stashed safe enough. I saw the horse go by. I gathered you took care of things.»

  «Yes, Quicklime was very cooperative. You should have seen his routine. The horse was quite impressed.»

  «Good. Has anyone been by?»

  «Yes. I watched the constable's place earlier. An inspector was by there from the city. So were the Great Detective and his companion, whose wrist was bandaged.»

  «Poor fellow. Did they stay long?»

  «Not the inspector. But the Detective stayed to visit the vicar, and several others.»

  «Oh my! I wonder what he told them?»

  «I wasn't in a position to hear. But the Detective did considerable strolling about the neighborhood afterwards. They even went somewhat afield toward the Good Doctor's place.»

  «Didn't go off in the Count's direction, did they?»

  «No. They stopped and asked Owen about beekeeping, though. A pretext, of course. And I was near when they noted the arrows stuck in the side of your house.»

  «Damn!» I said. «Forgot. Have to do something about them.»

  «I have to go bury some things now,» she said. «I'll try to talk to you again later.»

  «Yes. I have some work, too.»

  I made my rounds again, then went off to drag the inspector a little farther along. Having done it both ways, they're easier when they're stiff than when they're limp, and he was limp again.

  Evening. Jack wanted to go out again. When it gets to this point in the game there are always a few last-minute items on the shopping list. This time the place was swarming with patrolmen, some of them walking in pairs. Crazy Jill swooshed by at one point, turning a few heads; through the opened door of a gin mill I saw Rastov seated at a table, alone, save for a bottle of vodka and a glass (I wondered what happened to Quicklime on these occasions, if he's gone internal); a rat resembling Bubo scurried by, a finger in his mouth; Owen went staggering past with a pair of fellows, faces streaked with coal dust, singing something incomprehensible in Welsh; I saw Morris, bewigged, dressed like a woman, heavily rouged, hanging onto MacCab's arm.

  «Party time,» Jack observed, «before things start to get serious.»

  An eyepatched man with shaggy hair, a terrible limp, and a withered hand staggered by, selling pencils from a tin cup. I went on point even before he emerged from the fog, recognizing from the scent that it was the Great Detective in disguise. Jack bought a pencil from him and paid him handsomely for it.

  He muttered a «Bless you, guv'nor» and limped off.

  Our quest was extremely difficult this time, and I must say the master took unusual chances. As we were fleeing, a number of patrolmen in pursuit, whistles abla
re, a door opened to our left and a familiar voice said, «In here!»

  We ducked inside, the door was closed softly behind us, and moments later I heard the police rush past.

  «Thanks,» I heard Jack whisper.

  «Glad to be able to help,» Larry replied. «Everybody seems to be out tonight.»

  «It's getting to be that time,» Jack said, and his parcel began to drip softly.

  «I've a towel here that you can have,» Larry said.

  «Thank you. How'd you know it might be needed?»

  «I've a way of anticipating things,» Larry replied.

  He did not accompany us back this time, and I excused myself shortly after the bridge to return to the corpse and drag it farther. Something had gotten to it and stolen a few nibbles, but it was still largely intact.

  As I was struggling along I thought I heard Graymalk voice a greeting from somewhere overhead, but my mouth was full and I did not want to stop work to look up.

  October 16

  I slept awfully well last night, awoke aching, and made the rounds.

  «How's about an Afghan?» the Thing in the Circle asked, having assumed that lovely, aristocratic form.

  «Sorry. Too tired today,» I responded.

  It cursed and I departed.

  The slitherers were all clustered, bluely, at one point, and I could not figure why. One of life's small mysteries… .

  Outside, I found a dead bat nailed to the tree by a crossbow bolt. It wasn't Needle, just some civilian. Something would have to be done… .

  I made my way back to the body, which had a few more parts missing and didn't smell too good, and dragged it to the next place of concealment. But my heart just wasn't in it. I could go no farther. I turned and walked home, jaws sore, neck aching, paws tender.

  «I want to die. I want to die,» came a small voice almost from underfoot.

  «Quicklime, what's the matter?» I asked.

  «The master was sick right here,» he said. «I took advantage and got out. I want to die.»