which I had so carefully derived by means of my mental mapmaking was situated, unfortunately, in the middle of the road. And it hadn't even the good grace to be a crossroad.
The nearest house was to my right and back several hundred yards along the way I had come. It was inhabited, I knew, by an elderly couple who fed birds, worked in their garden, and argued every Saturday night when the old man staggered in from the pub. In my earlier investigations of the area I had seen no signs that they might be involved in the Game.
I decided to sniff about, anyway. As I sought along the roadsides I heard a familiar voice:
"Snuff!"
"Nightwind! Where are you?"
"Overhead. There's a hollow place in this tree. Stayed out too long. Came in here to get away from the light. We think a bit alike, don't we?"
"Looks like we draw the same lines."
"This can't be the place, though."
"No. It's the center of the pattern we have, but it's not a likely spot."
"Therefore the pattern is incomplete. But we knew that. We don't know where the Count is."
"If he's the only other. It must take place at the center of the pattern we form."
"Yes. What should we do?"
"Could you follow Needle back to the Count's place?"
"Bats are damnably erratic."
"I couldn't do it. And I don't think Graymalk could."
"No. Never trust a cat, anyway. All they're good for is stringing tennis racquets."
"Will you try following Needle?"
"First I have to find the little bastard. But yes, I'll watch for him tonight."
"Let me know what you find?"
"I'll think about it."
"It might be to your advantage, if you ever need an errand run by day."
"That's true. All right. Why do the players always form themselves into a pattern around the center of things, anyway?"
"Beats me," I said.
I returned home, growling at the Things in the Mirror, propped in the front hallway now, as I passed, just to let them know I was on the job. The Thing in the Steamer Trunk was still. I told the Thing in the Wardrobe to shut up. Its pounding was shaking the place. I had to bark several times to get it to be quiet.
Down in the cellar the Thing in the Circle had become a Pekingese.
"You like little ladies?" it asked. "Come and get it, big fella."
It still smelled of Thing rather than dog.
"You're not really very bright," I said.
The Peke gave me the paw as I departed, and it's hard to turn your leg that way.
October 7
We were out again last night in pursuit of more ingredients for the Great Work. It was very foggy, and there were many patrolmen about. This did not stop us, but it made things more difficult. The master's blade flashed, the woman screamed, and there was a rending of garments. We passed the Great Detective in our flight, and I inadvertently tripped his companion, whose limp had lessened his ability to avoid onrushing canines.
As we crossed the bridge Jack unrolled the strip of cloth and regarded it.
"Very good. It _is_ green," he remarked.
Why his list of materials required the edge of a green cloak worn by a red-haired lady on this date at midnight and removed while still upon her person, I am uncertain. Magical rotas sometimes strike me as instructions for lunatic scavenger hunts. Nonetheless, Jack was happy so I was, too.
Much later, after an unsuccessful search for Nightwind, I returned home and was drowsing in the parlor when I heard a small scratching sound from the rear of the house. It did not come again. So I went into my stalking mode and investigated.
The kitchen was empty, the pantry was bare. I circulated.
At the entrance to the front
The nearest house was to my right and back several hundred yards along the way I had come. It was inhabited, I knew, by an elderly couple who fed birds, worked in their garden, and argued every Saturday night when the old man staggered in from the pub. In my earlier investigations of the area I had seen no signs that they might be involved in the Game.
I decided to sniff about, anyway. As I sought along the roadsides I heard a familiar voice:
"Snuff!"
"Nightwind! Where are you?"
"Overhead. There's a hollow place in this tree. Stayed out too long. Came in here to get away from the light. We think a bit alike, don't we?"
"Looks like we draw the same lines."
"This can't be the place, though."
"No. It's the center of the pattern we have, but it's not a likely spot."
"Therefore the pattern is incomplete. But we knew that. We don't know where the Count is."
"If he's the only other. It must take place at the center of the pattern we form."
"Yes. What should we do?"
"Could you follow Needle back to the Count's place?"
"Bats are damnably erratic."
"I couldn't do it. And I don't think Graymalk could."
"No. Never trust a cat, anyway. All they're good for is stringing tennis racquets."
"Will you try following Needle?"
"First I have to find the little bastard. But yes, I'll watch for him tonight."
"Let me know what you find?"
"I'll think about it."
"It might be to your advantage, if you ever need an errand run by day."
"That's true. All right. Why do the players always form themselves into a pattern around the center of things, anyway?"
"Beats me," I said.
I returned home, growling at the Things in the Mirror, propped in the front hallway now, as I passed, just to let them know I was on the job. The Thing in the Steamer Trunk was still. I told the Thing in the Wardrobe to shut up. Its pounding was shaking the place. I had to bark several times to get it to be quiet.
Down in the cellar the Thing in the Circle had become a Pekingese.
"You like little ladies?" it asked. "Come and get it, big fella."
It still smelled of Thing rather than dog.
"You're not really very bright," I said.
The Peke gave me the paw as I departed, and it's hard to turn your leg that way.
October 7
We were out again last night in pursuit of more ingredients for the Great Work. It was very foggy, and there were many patrolmen about. This did not stop us, but it made things more difficult. The master's blade flashed, the woman screamed, and there was a rending of garments. We passed the Great Detective in our flight, and I inadvertently tripped his companion, whose limp had lessened his ability to avoid onrushing canines.
As we crossed the bridge Jack unrolled the strip of cloth and regarded it.
"Very good. It _is_ green," he remarked.
Why his list of materials required the edge of a green cloak worn by a red-haired lady on this date at midnight and removed while still upon her person, I am uncertain. Magical rotas sometimes strike me as instructions for lunatic scavenger hunts. Nonetheless, Jack was happy so I was, too.
Much later, after an unsuccessful search for Nightwind, I returned home and was drowsing in the parlor when I heard a small scratching sound from the rear of the house. It did not come again. So I went into my stalking mode and investigated.
The kitchen was empty, the pantry was bare. I circulated.
At the entrance to the front
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