Roger Zelazny - A Night in the Lonesome October

«You are the only one I've told, Jack,» Larry replied.

«Why?»

«I've met most of the others, of course. But there was something about you, perhaps it had to do with the dog, that assured me I was safe in revealing my persuasion. I've told you that anticipation is my forte .»

«But your role in things, sir! What is it?»

«I never tell anybody everything. It might influence their actions and affect those things I've anticipated. Then I'd have to start over again, and it might be too late.»

«I confess you've almost lost me, but I can feel some rationale behind your words. Tell me what you would then, when you would.»

«Assuredly.»

I heard their palms strike together as they clasped hands, then Larry's retreating footsteps.

Later, I went back to drag things along a little farther. I'd come to a place where the ground was mushy, and it was awful. He kept catching on brambles and getting knotted up in fallen branches and stuck between hillocks. He may have lost a few pieces in that area but I was too tired to look. Finally, I just gave up and went home. It was near noon, and chances were we'd be going out again that night, it being the Eve and all. I needed my rest.

On the way back, I looked for Quicklime on his stone, but he was nowhere in sight. There was a very twisty trail leading away, though.

Graymalk was waiting on the tree's most popular branch, on my return. I noted that the pierced bat was missing, though the quarrel was still in place.

«Snuff,» she asked, climbing down, «have you done it yet?»

«Don't ask me,» I said. «This is proving a major undertaking.»

«I'm sorry,» she said, «but I was at the constable's this morning with the mistress, and I heard all the talk…»

«What did they say?»

«That they knew he came here and they know he didn't come back, and they won't leave a horse pie unturned till they find him or know what happened to him. Things like that.»

«Oh. Nothing new. How did the questioning go?»

«Fine, with us. The mistress did her crazy act and talked about him being carried off by fairies for a changeling. They had to ask her to be still. Rastov suddenly understood a lot less English than he used to. Morris and MacCab were very polite and said they knew nothing. Jack was quite urbane and seemed very sympathetic but also had nothing to add. The Good Doctor was indignant that the quiet hamlet he'd sought to do his research should suddenly be violated by things he'd wanted to get away from. Larry Talbot said he'd never seen the man. Owen said that they'd talked but he hadn't seen him again after that, and didn't know where he'd gone after he'd left him. He may have been the last to see him, though, according to a rough schedule the officer'd mentioned to the constable.»

«What of the vicar?»

«He just said that someone was lying, to cover the Devil's work, and he'd find out who.»

I rolled in a dry patch of grass and removed a thorn with my teeth.

«So how far along are you?» she asked.

«Perhaps two-thirds of the way. I've come to a bad area.»

«They'll likely search around here first, then work their way outwards. So you should still have some time.»

«That's a comfort. You going out tonight?»

«Probably.»

«Tomorrow it dies. No hard feelings, however things go.»

«No.»

«I found a big patch of catnip on my way to the river. If we both get through this, I'll buy you a drink.»

«Thanks.»

She stretched. I stretched and yawned. We nodded to each other and went our ways.

Soon it begins. Today is the day of the New Moon. The power will rise till the night of its fullness, on the thirty-first, the combination which brings us together. And with the rising we begin our work, that which draws us apart. The days ahead will be interesting, as the openers and closers reveal themselves by their actions. Last night may have represented a final act of cooperation.

Jack wanted to visit a cemetery for a few final ingredients. He decided upon a distant, isolated one we had been to once before. He went on horseback, bearing a spade and bull's-eye lantern, and I trotted along beside.

He tethered his horse amid some trees outside the graveyard, and we went in on foot. It was, of course, a very dark night. But with the aid of the lantern we quickly located an appropriately secluded plot of recent turning. Jack set to work immediately, and I went about my watching.

It was a pleasantly mild evening for October, with a few bats flitting by, bright stars overhead. I heard footsteps in the distance, but they were not headed in our direction and I saw no cause for alarm. I patrolled our small area in an almost leisurely fashion. After a time, something very large passed overhead, descending. It did not land nearby, however, nor make any movement to approach us. A bit later, something equally large passed, again, descending, though in a different area than the first, and, again, making no overtures toward us, and I remained alert but voiced no warning. I heard horses on the trail a little after that, sounds of dismounting, more footsteps. Later, a wagon creaked to a halt, and I heard its brake being set. The sounds of a few whispered voices reached me then, from various distant areas. I began to feel uncomfortable at all this activity. I patrolled farther afield; and, listening closely, I began hearing the sounds of spades from many directions.

«I remember you,» came a faintly familiar voice. «You're a watchdog, like me, with big teeth.»

It was the graveyard dog, making his rounds.

«'Evening,» I said. «Yes, I recall. Seems to be a lot of activity all of a sudden.»

«Too much,» he replied. «I'm not sure I care to give the alarm. Might get mobbed. After all, everybody here is dead, so who cares? They won't complain. The older I get the more conservative I feel. I'm just not much into heavy action these days. I do wish everybody'd fill up their holes neatly, though, afterwards. Maybe you could pass the word along?»

«I don't know,» I said. «I don't know who all's out there. It's not like a trade union, you know, with operating rules and policies. We usually just get the work done as efficiently as possible and get the hell out.»

«Well, it would be nice if you cleaned up after yourselves. Less trouble for me.»

«I'm afraid I can only speak for the master, but he's usually quite neat in these matters. Maybe you'd better approach a few of the others yourself.»

«I'm inclined to let it go by,» he said. «Too bad.»

We strolled around a bit together then. Later, a voice very like MacCab's called out from down the hill, «Damn! I need a left femur and this one ain't got one!»

«Left femur, you say?» came an ancient croaking voice from nearby, which could have been Owen's. «I've one right here I ain't usin'. Have you a liver, though? That's my need.»

«Easily done!» came the reply. «Bide a moment. There! Trade?»

«You have it! Catch!»

Something flashed through the air to rattle farther down the hill, followed by scurrying sounds.

«Fair enough! Here's yer liver!»

There came a splap from higher up and a muttered «Got it!»

«Hey!» came a lady's voice then, from off to the left. «While you're about it, have you a skull?»

«Indeed I do!» said the second man. «What'll you give?»

«What do you need?»

«Fingerbones!»

«Done! I'll tie 'em together with a piece of twine!»

«Here's your skull!»

«Got it! Yours'll be along shortly!»

«Has anyone the broken vertebrae of a hanged man?» came a deep masculine voice with a Hungarian accent, from somewhere far to the right.

There followed a minute's silence. Then, «I've some mashed ones here! Dunno how they got that way, though!»