“What about Sphinx?”
“He’s with Tubby, grazing in the bathroom. To save the kid the aggravation.”
Humpback and Lary conferred and started tossing empty bottles under the bed. Black, shiny with sweat and looking unhealthy, inquired from his bunk whether he might be allowed to die in peace.
“They barge in from the yard,” Tabaqui chirped. “As soon as it turns to winter, they just swarm the House. While the cats, they come later. They like to roam while the roaming’s good. So you see, in the meantime there’s this disconnect.”
The poor rat, having had enough of the bottle barrage, darted to the center of the room and crouched in front of the open door. It definitely wasn’t thinking straight, because it didn’t even try to escape.
Lary tossed the floor-cleaning rag on top of it. Humpback stormed the resulting bump with a hoarse wail, grabbed it, and pitched it out into the corridor. Then he kicked the door closed. The books that were keeping it open went flying.
“Cool!” Lary screamed and hugged Humpback.
“There,” Tabaqui said, satisfied. “See, that didn’t take long at all.”
I was just grateful that picking up the empty bottles off the floor wasn’t going to be my responsibility. And also that the rat survived.
“Do you think it suffered much when I threw it like that?” Humpback asked.
“Come on, it was fine. It was inside a rag,” Lary said, obviously unconcerned for the rat’s well-being.
Tabaqui assured Humpback that the rat was completely content, both in flight and upon landing. Black again asked if he could now get his final rest.
That’s when Blind came in, holding the rag that formerly held the rat.
“Are you guys mental?” he asked.
“You mean it hit you?” Tabaqui said, trembling with anticipation.
“It hit me.”
“And were you surprised?”
“We both were.”
Blind threw the rag away and flopped on the bed. He was barefoot and frazzled, his sweater was tied around the neck, debris was clinging to his wet legs, soot covered his fingers, and he smelled funny. Of damp, and what seemed like fresh grass. There was also a thin ring of dirt around his mouth. I thought that the place he’d come from wasn’t a normal place. That it maybe had something to do with the basilisk eggshells. I also tried to figure out which type in the Jackal’s classification he fit into—maniacs or those with split personalities. I wasn’t too sure at the moment.
Then Sphinx returned, with Tubby clinging to his back. He sat next to Blind and stared at him. Then he spoke.
“Wipe your mug. Were you eating dirt again?”
“It wasn’t dirt,” Blind said blissfully, using his sleeve.
More of a maniac, I decided.
Tubby slid off Sphinx, rolled to my side, and started tugging at my pajama buttons, trying to tear them off. Alexander was busy making tea.
“It’s going to be light soon,” Humpback said. “How about we get some sleep?”
That wasn’t to be. Half an hour later Noble came back. The dawn-welcoming elf clad in elastic bandages. Also in someone’s beret, with some trinket around his neck and even more drunk than several hours prior. He unloaded crumpled wads of cash out of his pockets and picked a quarrel with me over my foot accidentally slipping under his pillow. He said many hurtful things about my legs, made a show of changing the pillowcase, and scrambled off again.
Once he wheeled out, I suddenly realized what his new adornment was. It was Black’s tooth on a silver chain.
And the next night I spent in quarantine. In this small room all covered in foam rubber. And in cheery chintz, yellow with blue flowers, over it. There was a commode, half recessed in the wall, masquerading as a trash bin with a hinged top. Also upholstered in foam rubber and chintz. And finally, a frosted white lamp on the ceiling. Nothing else. A perfect place for sleeping and contemplation. I wish I could have sought refuge there during my first year in the House. Like once a week. But I didn’t know it was this good. The House dwellers had long appropriated this resort for their needs, and there were only two ways to get in. Either as a punishment for some transgression, or by cajoling permission from the Sepulcher. I didn’t know about the second option. And of course I had no idea that a visit to the Cage could be regifted, which was exactly what Tabaqui had done.
Physicals were a weekly occurrence for about half of all House denizens and a monthly one for everyone else. When I was still with the Pheasants, we also had the so-called A-list, comprising those who went in every day. Six Pheasants qualified for it, and the rest all dreamed of joining them. A-list meant a less strict daily routine, the right to a nap in the afternoon, and a separate meal schedule complete with low-calorie salads and vitamin drinks. Every physical was a solemn event, so it was important to enter all your health concerns on a special notepad. I had used mine, dutifully divided into days and hours, for doodles, so they had taken it off me.
Today was the first time I’d been for a physical with the Fourth. While we were waiting for our turn, Lary created an installation from used gum, crowned by a fresh cigarette butt in the middle, on the wall of the hospital wing. Tabaqui spent the time drawing horrific black and white stripes and polygons on his face.
“It’s our duty to entertain the Spiders,” he explained. “Their lives are pointless, they have lousy jobs, so inventive KISS-style makeup is sure to raise their spirits.”
The KISS-style makeup did not raise anyone’s spirits. It did arouse suspicions, though. Tabaqui was thoroughly scrubbed in the treatment room to make sure he wasn’t trying to conceal some skin ailment. Finally, all pink, squeaky clean, and literally wet behind the ears, he wheeled out of the treatment room waving a white scrap of paper resembling a store receipt.
“How about this?” he boasted, parading the scrap in front of us. “That’s respect, that is! Here, in the Sepulcher, I’m a VIP!”
“Whatever do you want with it?” Noble asked. “It hasn’t even been a week since the last time.”
“It’s a present for Smoker,” Jackal explained. “I happen to enjoy giving out presents every once in a while.”
“Are you sure he’s going to like it?” Noble said doubtfully.
“Just let him try not to!”
I listened to them without any clue as to what they were talking about. One thing was clear: I was supposed to be overjoyed about something that Tabaqui was planning to give me. So as he wheeled to me and shoved his scrap in my hands, I endeavored to look happy. I must have succeeded. At least Tabaqui was pleased.
“Smoker is ecstatic,” he said to Noble. “And you thought he wouldn’t be able to appreciate it. You’re just a poor judge of character, that’s all.”
And he took off toward the exit in his Mustang. I folded the gift and followed. At the landing, the one they called “Antesepulchral,” I put on the brakes and tried to decipher the scribbles on the paper. All the rest had wheeled or walked ahead. The writing, which I failed to understand, looked like a sloppily made out prescription. I was ready to give up and go back to the Sepulcher to ask Spiders what it said. Could it be some sort of confirmation of my former Pheasant privileges, put down on paper for some reason? Then Black mounted nearby. He didn’t even ask if I was happy or not. I must have looked like I still wasn’t able to make heads or tails of my present.
He just took the paper and said, “It’s a quarantine referral.”
He’s joking was my first thought. My second was that Tabaqui had played a dirty trick on me.
“Just as I thought. You’re clueless,” Black sighed. “Listen, I understand it’s none of my business and all, but are you always grabbing whatever people shove at you?”
“No, I’m not usually,” I said. “But Tabaqui said it was a present.”
“Tabaqui’s presents especially must be X-rayed before you even think of touching them,” Black explained. “Right, just be more careful next time.”