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been learned there had been learned, and I doubted it could have been much in such a bizarre case as
his, with him so guarded concerning it, and letting him live a little longer with his fond memory of the visit
did not seem much in the way of risk taking. I resolved to wait a few days before revealing the deception.
"Hear anything more about the police and their search?" I asked.
"They're still investigating, but they seem to have questioned everyone and now they've started
searching fields along the way. I think the latest theory is that the officer might have been thrown from his
horse, which did make it back to their stables."
"I guess he didn't wash up. Maybe he made it out to sea."
"Possibly. I'm sure they'd be looking at any washups pretty closely."
"I wonder what this beating of the bushes might mean to the Count, if they go very far afield?"
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"I'll bet if you check today you'll find he's moved."
"So you think he has another place, too?"
"Of course. That's his style. And he has the right idea. Everyone should have a place to run to. You
can never be too careful."
"Do you?"
He smiled.
"I hope you do, too," he said.
When I smile no one can tell.
I went looking for Graymalk then, to see whether I could persuade her to climb down into the crypt
for me again. But she wasn't anywhere about. Finally, I gave up and wandered over to Rastov's place.
Quicklime wasn't readily available either, and I began rearing up and peering in windows. I spotted
Rastov himself, slouched in a chair, vodka bottle in one hand, what might be his icon clutched to his
breast with the other. Something stirred on the windowsill and I realized it to be my erstwhile partner.
Quicklime raised his head, stared at me, then gestured with his head toward the adjacent room. At that,
he slid from the sill and was gone.
I made my way back to the near window of that room, which was opened slightly. Moments later, he
emerged.
"Hi, Quick," I said. "How's it going?"
"Sometimes I wish I were back in the fields again," he replied. "I'd be getting ready for a long winter's
sleep."
"Bad night?"
"I got out just in time. He's at it again. Drinking and singing sad songs. He could get us into a lot of
trouble when he's had too much. He'd better be sober for the big night."
"I should hope so."
We went off toward the rear of the place.
"Busy?" he asked me.
"Believe it."
"Listen, Snuff, the boss doesn't tell me everything, and Nightwind said, just a day or two back, that
there are divinatory ways for discovering whether someone's an opener or a closer. Is that true?"
"He's right," I said. "But they're unreliable before the death of the moon. You really have to have some
juice to make them work."
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"How soon after?"
"Several days."
"So people could be finding out everyone's status pretty soon?"
"Yes, they will. They always do. That's why it's important to finish any mutual business before then.
Once the lines are drawn, your former partners may be your new enemies."
"I don't like the idea of having you or Nightwind for an enemy."
"It doesn't follow that we have to kill each other before the big event. In fact, I've always looked on
such undertakings as a sign of weakness."
"But there's always _some_ killing."
"So I've heard. Seems a waste of energy, though, when such things will be taken care of at the end,
anyhow."
". . . And half of us will die in the backlash from the other half's winning."
"It's seldom a fifty-fifty split of openers and closers. You never know what the disposition will be, or
who will finally show up. I heard there was once an attempt where everyone withdrew on the last day.
Nobody showed. Which was wrong, too. Think of it. Any one of them with guts enough could have had
it his own way."
"How soon till the word gets out, Snuff?"
"Pretty soon. I suppose someone could be working on it right now."
"Do _you_ know?"
"No. I'll know soon enough. I don't like knowing till I have to."
He crawled up onto an old tree stump. I sat down on the ground beside him.
"For one thing," I said, "it would interfere in my asking you to do something just now."
"What," he said, "is it?"
"I want you to come back with me to the crypt and check it out. I want to know whether the Count's
still there."
He was silent, turning in the sunlight, scales shimmering.
"No," he said then. "We don't have to go."
"Why not?"
"I already know that he's not there."
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"How do you know this?"
"I was out last night," he said, "and I hung myself in a plum tree I'd learned Needle frequents when he
feeds. When he came by I said, 'Good evening, Needle.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
