Several older Gipsy women were dancing and there was suddenly a singer making wailing sounds. The music was stirring, the dancers' movements stylized, like the steps of long-legged birds I'd seen in warmer climes. There were many fires, and from some of them came the smells of cooking. The spectacle was as much a thing of the shadows as the light, however, and I rather liked the wailing, being something of a connoisseur when it comes to barks and howls. We watched for some time, taken by the bright colors of the dancers' and players' garments as much as by the movements and the sounds.
They played several tunes, and then the fiddler gestured toward a knot of spectators, holding out his instrument and pointing to it. I heard a sound of protest, but he insisted, and finally a woman moved forward into the light. It was several moments before I realized it to be Linda Enderby. Obviously, the Great Detective was making yet another of his social calls. Back in the shadows, I could now make out the short, husky form of his companion.
Over several protests, he accepted the violin and bow, touched the strings, then cradled the instrument as if he knew its kind well. He raised the bow, paused for a long moment, and then began to play.
He was good. It was not Gipsy music, but was some old folk tune I'd heard somewhere before. When it was done he moved immediately into another on which he worked several variations. He played and he played, and it grew wilder and wilder…
Abruptly, he halted and took a step, as if suddenly moving out of a dream. He bowed then and returned the instrument to its owner, his movements in that moment entirely masculine. I thought of all the controlled thinking, the masterfully developed deductions, which had served to bring him here, and then this, this momentary slipping into the wildness he must keep carefully restrained, and then seeing him come out of it, smiling, becoming the woman again. I saw in this the action of an enormous will, and suddenly I knew him much better than as the pursuing figure of many faces. Suddenly I knew that he had to be learning, as we were learning other aspects, of the scope of our enterprise, that he could well be right behind us at the end, that he was almost, in some way, a player, more a force, really, in the Game, and I respected him as I have few beings of the many I have known.
Later, as we walked back, Graymalk said, «It was good to get away for a time.»
«Yes,» I said, «it was,» and I regarded the sky, where the moon was growing.
October 22
«A chihuahua?» The thing in the circle suggested. «Just for laughs?»
«Nope,» I answered. «Language barrier.»
«Come on!» it said. «I'm almost strong enough to break out of here on my own now. It won't go well with you if you keep me till I do.»
«'Almost,'» I said, «isn't good enough.»
It growled. I growled back. It flinched. I was still in control.
The Thing in the Steamer Trunk had become a lot more active, too, glaring at me through its aperture. And we had to install a sliding bar on the wardrobe in the attic, as the Thing there succeeded in breaking the latch. But I drove it back again. I was still in control there, too.
I went outside then, checking for foci of interference. Finding nothing untoward, I walked over to Larry's place, intending to bring him up to date on everything and to see what news he might have. I halted as it came into sight, though. The Enderby coach was parked out front, the heavy man beside it. Had I let this go on too long? What might the Great Detective find so fascinating here that it warranted a return visit? Nothing I could do now, of course.
I turned and walked back.
When I reached the neighborhood I found Graymalk waiting in my yard.
«Snuff,» she said, «have you been calculating?»
«Only in my head,» I replied. «I think it might be easier to work this one out from a vantage.»
«What vantage?»
«Dog's Nest,» I said. «If you're interested, come on.»
She fell into step beside me. The air was damp, the sky gray. A wind gusted out of the northeast.
We passed Owen's place and Cheeter chattered at us from a branch:
«Odd couple! Odd couple!» he called. «Opener, closer! Opener, closer!»
We did not respond. Let the divinators have their day.
«It is an odd curse you are under,» Graymalk remarked after a long while.
«Say rather that we are the keepers of a curse. Perhaps more than one. If you live long enough, these things have a way of accumulating. How do you know of it?»
«Jack said something of it to the mistress.»
«How strange. It is not usually a thing we speak of.»
«There must be a reason.»
«Of course.»
«So you have been present at more than one. You have played the Game, many times?»
«Yes.»
«Do you think he might be trying to persuade her to change, orientation?»
«Yes.»
«I wonder what it would be like?»
We passed Rastov's place but did not stop. On the road, later, MacCab went by, a stick in his hand. He raised it as we neared, and I snarled at him. He lowered it and muttered a curse. I am used to curses, and no one can tell when I smile.
We continued into the countryside, coming at length to my hill. There we climbed to the place of fallen and standing stones. Southward of us, the black clouds rumbled and glared above the Good Doctor's house.
The winds were stronger at this height, and as I paced the circle a small rain began to descend. Graymalk crouched on the dry side of a block of stone, watching me as I took my sightings.
Out of the southwest, I took my line from the distant graveyard, extending it to all of the other points of residence in view or in mind. Then, from the place where lay the Count's remains, I did it again. In my mind, I beheld the new design. This pulled the center away from the manse, downward, southward, passing us, coming to rest ahead, slightly to the left. I stood stock-still, the rain forgotten, as I worked it out, repeating the process line by line, seeing that center shift, positing where it had to fall… .
Again, the same area. But there was nothing there, no outstanding feature. Just a hillside, a few trees and rocks upon it. No structures at all nearby.
«Something's wrong,» I muttered.
«What is it?» Graymalk said.
«I don't know. It's just not right. In the past, they've always at least been interesting, acceptable candidates. But this is, nothing. Just a dull stretch of field to the south and a little to the west.»
«All of the other candidates have also been wrong,» she said, coming over, «no matter how interesting.» She mounted a nearby stone. «Where is it?»
«Over there,» I said, pointing with my head. «To the right of those five or six trees clustered on that hillside.»
She stared.
«You're right,» she said. «It doesn't look particularly promising. You sure you calculated correctly?»
«Double-checked,» I answered.
She returned to her shelter again, as the rain suddenly grew more forceful. I followed her.
«I suppose we must visit it,» she said a little later. «After this lets up, of course.»
She began licking herself. She hesitated.
«I just thought of something,» she said. «The Count's skeleton. Was that big ring he wore still upon his finger?»
«No,» I said. «Whoever did him in doubtless collected it.»
«Then someone's probably doubly endowed.»
«Probably.»
«That would make him stronger, wouldn't it?»