Raven had his fiddle.
And Owl a tambourine,
And I'd love to hear them play again
And tell them all I've seen.
"RAVEN, OWL, AND I"
"I think I know you, my friend."
"Know me? Well, yes and no, Daniel. We've met in another time and place, but your youngest brother knows me better."
"Yes, You're the Coachman, aren't you?"
"I am. Do you know where your older brother is?"
"No, where?"
"Hmm. I don't know either. I was hoping you did. Well, never mind. You must come with me."
"I know. I've been expecting you since yesterday."
"Of course."
"Where are we going?"
"Lakota, Ohio. Does it matter? Your youngest brother needs your help."
"I am ready to help him. I've been trying to find him since-"
"I know. We've all been waiting. The time of waiting is ended. You have your fiddle?"
"I have it."
"Then come. The coach awaits. It's a Greyhound."
SEVEN
The Wolf and the Spider,the Owl and the Chipmunks
Little Jimmy feeling blue
Doesn't know what he should do.
Little Timmy feeling bad
Doesn't know what makes him mad.
Little Timmy pushed around.
Doesn't know who makes the sound.
Little Timmy hears the voice
Knows he doesn't have a choice.
Little Timmy on the run
Goes to buy a little gun.
Little Timmy waits for dark
Goes to sneak around the park.
Little Timmy feeling mean
Goes to where he can't be seen.
Little Timmy off his head
Gonna shoot somebody dead.
I was dressed in yellow,
My brothers in green and red.
I don't know what we heard,
I only know we fled.
"RAVEN, OWL, AND I"
There was an itch in the back of the Gypsy's neck when he got to the park. He didn't know why, but he wanted his knife in his hand. He did not take it out; there was still some daylight left, and he knew the knife would make him conspicuous. For reasons he didn't understand, he kept to the edge of the park,then moved over to the fountain, keeping it between himself and the grove of oaks.
There were a pair of coaches on the street across from him, but something kept him from moving toward them. In the growing darkness and the snow, he couldn't see what either of the coachmen looked like.He strained his eyes, and the scene shifted and blurred,and there was suddenly a Wolf loping toward the coaches. He took a step backward as one of the coaches drove off, while the Wolf approached the other.
The Gypsy shuddered and hurried away.
This ain't the job I thought I signed up for,
But show me a way back out the door.
"STEPDOWN"
It was already getting dark in the park when he climbed out of the car. Chances were that the horse-drawn carriages were all turned in for the night. The evening was turning cool and grey and snow was falling, not at all the atmosphere for a carriage ride through the park. But no, there were two of them drawn up side by side beneath a street lamp that blossomed into light even as he looked at it. It had the eerie feel of a stage set, coming to life for his benefit.The horses were blanketed against the chill, and their drivers wore greatcoats buttoned to their chins and scarves swathed around their necks and faces. It could have been an engraving, a scene from a hundred years ago. Stepovich's stride faltered. If he climbed aboard one of those carriages and the driver whipped up the horses, would he be carried back to an older, simpler time? Then one of the drivers took out a pack of cigarettes and tamped one out and lit it with a disposable lighter. The illusion burned in that brief flaming,and Stepovich lifted his voice and called out, "Spider."
One of the men lifted an uncertain hand in greeting.Even gloved, the hand was thin and long-fingered, and the arm that stuck out of the coat sleeve was skinny.Like a spider he was, sitting in a dark blob up on the seat of his carriage, his long legs and arms dangling.Stepovich walked up to him slowly, giving him full time to assess his uniform. The other cabby tipped his hat,lifted his reins and clucked his team into motion. Good. The spoked wheels of his carriage grated on the pavement as his team drew him away, leaving Stepovich alone with Spider.
"Whatsamatter?" Spider demanded suspiciously as Stepovich drew near.
"Nothing. Nothing yet, anyway. I just want to ask you a few questions about the man who drove for you last Sunday."
"Oh, shit," Spider breathed fervently. "Not again,man. I tole you guys, none of it was my fault. Man's good with horses, I wanted to take a day off, have a little free time with my old lady. So I let the guy drive sometimes, we split the fares. How was I to know he'd get weird?"
"We just want to get clear what happened." Stepovich drew out his notebook and pen, tried to look as if he already knew it all. "So, one more time, if you don't mind. When did it start?"
Spider looked pissed. "How do I know? I wasn't here, remember, I took a day off. Ask the guy whose car got kicked. Ask the joggers who say he almost ran them over. Ask those guys that was riding in the carriage when it happened. Hell, it was half their fault,anyway, offering him extra money to go off the carriage trails, and then daring him to make the team gallop. They were all drunk; they probably gave Coachman the booze,"
"Okay. I see your point. Maybe the thing for me to do is to talk to the relief driver himself. Give me his name and number again."
"Hunh? I tole you I don't know it. This some kind of cop trick, or what? Coachman don't have no name.Coachman don't have no address. All he's got is booze. How come you're-?"
"I just-"
"What is this, anyway? Who are you?"
Stepovich thought quickly. "Sorry. No, the idiots at precinct screwed up again and I got the wrong info." He stopped and gave Spider a sizing-up. "All right, I'll be straight with you. Can you keep something under your hat?"
"Hunh? Yeah, sure. What is it?"
"There may be more involved in this."
"Like what?"
Stepovich shook his head. "Did you ever see Coachman with a knife?"
Spider stared at him, and Stepovich recognized the look of the witness who wants to be part of something interesting. "A knife? Well, he had a hoof pick. That's how we met. Bunny was throwing her leg a little funny, not limping, really, and this guy walks right in front of the team and reaches up and grabs their heads and stops them. Before I can say more than Shit, he picks up her foot and pops a nasty little piece of gravel out of the frog."
"Frog?"
"Her foot. That was what was making her walk funny. So, a hoof pick, yeah."
"No, I mean a sheath knife with a bone handle."
Spider looked disappointed. "Naw. Once, maybe,I saw him cutting his nails with an old clasp knife that might've had a bone handle. I don't know. Maybe.Hell, maybe it was someone else. You want me to,uh, keep my eye out or anything?"
"The department would appreciate it," said Stepovich. "And if you should happen to find his address, let us know."