«Indeed.»
«I think this will be a close one, Snuff.»
«So do I. And it's been a strange one from the start. This quality may carry through.»
«Oh?»
«Just a feeling.»
«I trust your instincts. We must be ready for anything. Too bad about Jill and Graymalk.»
«I've decided I will stay friends with them to the end,» I said.
He squeezed my shoulder.
«As you would.»
«It's not like Dijon, is it?» I asked.
«No. Many odd things have happened this time around,» he said. «Stiff upper lip, friend.»
«That's how I smile,» I said.
October 29
Following lunch at Jill's place, to which Bubo was also invited, having finally acknowledged Graymalk to be a cat of a different category, I took a walk back to the ruin of the Good Doctor's place. The meal had had an almost elegiac quality to it, Jack having asked outright whether she'd consider switching, Jill having admitted to a conflict in her sympathies now, but being determined to play the Game through as she'd started. It felt odd to be dining with the enemy and to care that much about them. So I took a walk afterwards, more for something to do while being alone than for any pressing purpose. I took my time in going. The charred ruin still smelled strongly; and though I circled it many times, I could see no bones or other signs of dead humans within. I wandered over to the barn then, wondering whether the experiment man might have returned to it to hide.
The door was opened sufficiently for me to enter, and I did. While his disconcerting odor was present, it did not seem a recent thing, as smells went. Still, I sought in each stall, even stirring through the hay. I checked in every corner, cubby, and bin. I even mounted the ladder to the loft and looked about there.
Then I noticed a peculiar shape to the rear, that of a bat hanging from a beam. While all bats look pretty much alike to me, especially when you turn them upside-down, it reminded me a lot of Needle. I approached and said loudly, «Hey, Needle! What the hell are you doing here?»
It stirred slightly, but did not seem inclined to wake up. So I reached out and prodded it with my paw.
«Come on, Needle. I want to talk to you,» I said.
It unfurled its wings and stared at me. It yawned, then, «Snuff, what are you doing here?» it said.
«Checking out the aftermath of the fire. What about you?»
«Same thing, but daylight caught me and I decided to sleep here.»
«Does the experiment man still come here?»
«I don't know. He hasn't today. And I don't know whether the Good Doctor got away either. How's the Game progressing?»
«Now I've learned that the Good Doctor was never in it, I've found the point of manifestation, the big hill with the fallen stones.»
«Really. Now that's interesting. What else is new?»
«Rastov and Owen are dead. Quicklime and Cheeter went back to the woods.»
«Yes, I'd heard that.»
«So it seems someone's killing openers.»
«Rastov was a closer.»
«I think Owen talked him into switching.»
«No, he tried but he didn't succeed.»
«How do you know that?»
«I used to get into Owen's place through Cheeter's attic hole and listen to them talk. I was there the night before Rastov was killed. They were drinking and quoting everybody from Thomas Paine to Nietzsche at each other, but Rastov didn't switch.»
«Interesting. You sound as if you're still in the Game.»
There came a faint sound from below, just as he said, «Oh, I am, Get down! Flat!»
I threw myself onto my right side. A crossbow bolt passed very near and embedded itself into the wall right above me. I turned my head and saw Vicar Roberts below, near to the door, just lowering the weapon. His face held a nasty smile.
If I ran and jumped I'd be downstairs in a trice. I might also break a leg in the process, though, and then he could finish me easily. The alternative was to climb down the way I'd come up, backing down the ladder. For anatomical reasons, my descent is always slower than my ascent. If I did not do this, however, he could crank the weapon back, seat a bolt, and come up after me. In that case, the odds would be in his favor. At least, he didn't have any armed assistants with him… .
I thought back quickly, recalling how long it usually took to get such a weapon cocked. There was no choice, and there was no time to wait if I were to have any chance at all.
I rushed to the head of the ladder, turned, and began my descent. The vicar had already lowered the bow by then and commenced rearming it. I moved as fast as I was able, but as I searched with a hind leg after each wooden crosspiece my back felt terribly exposed. Should I make it to the floor unpierced I knew that I would still be at high risk. I hurried. I saw something black flutter by.
I heard the final click. I heard the sounds of his fitting the quarrel into place. It was still a good distance down. I descended another step. I imagined him raising the weapon, taking a leisurely sighting at an easy target. I hoped that I was right about the fluttering, about Needle. Another step… .
I knew that I was right when I heard the vicar utter an oath. I descended one more step… . Then I decided I could risk no more. I pushed myself backward, letting myself fall the rest of the way, recalling things Graymalk had said about always landing on her feet, wishing I'd been born with that ability, trying to achieve it this one time, anyway… .
I tried to torque my body in the proper direction, along the long axis, relaxing my legs the while. The bolt passed well above me, from the sound I heard of it striking wood. But the man was already cranking the weapon again as I hit the ground. I did land on my feet, but they went out from under me immediately. As I struggled to rise, I saw him finish cocking the thing, now ignoring the black form which darted before him. My left hind leg hurt. I pushed myself upright, anyway, and turned. He had the quarrel in one hand and was moving to fit it into place. I had to rush him, to try knocking him over before he succeeded and got off another shot. I knew that it was going to be close… .
And then there was a shadow in the doorway at his back.
«Why, Vicar Roberts, whatever are you doing with that archaic weapon?» came the wonderfully controlled falsetto of the Great Detective in his Linda Enderby guise.
The vicar hesitated, then turned.
«Madam,» he said, «I was about to perform a community service by dispatching a vicious brute which even now is preparing to attack us.»
I began wagging my tail immediately and put on my idiot slobbering hound expression, tongue hanging out and all.
«That hardly seems a vicious beast to me,» the voice of the lady stated, as the Great Detective moved in quickly, passing between the vicar and myself to effectively block a shot. «That's just old Snuff. Everybody knows Snuff. Not a mean bone in his body. Good Snuff! Good dog!»
The old hand-on-head business followed, patting. I responded as if it were the greatest invention since free lunch.
«Whatever made you think him antisocial?»
«Madam, that was the creature that almost tore my ear off.»
«I am certain you must be mistaken, sir. I cannot conceive of this animal as behaving aggressively, except possibly in self-defense.»
The vicar's face was quite red and his shoulders looked very tense. For a moment I thought he might actually try angling in a shot at me, anyhow.
«I really feel,» the Linda voice went on, «that if you have any complaints concerning the animal you ought to take them up with his owner first before embarking on a drastic action that might well draw the attention of the Humane Society and not rest well with the parishioners.»