Part 2 (1/2)
I tore off Terrin's blanket, slipped my hands under his arms, and hauled him backwards from the room.
The hall was little more than shoulder wide, making it hard to maneuver, but I got us both clear, then kicked the door closed. The whispering faded slightly; the shutter racket remained strong. My heart banging a good counterpoint, I dragged Terrin downstairs, his rump catching on the steps, thudding all the way. Eventhat didn't wake him.
Clem heard the ruckus though, emerging from some back area of the inn, candle in hand. ”What's going on?”
”There'sstuff ,” I said, none too coherently as I pulled Terrin toward the common room, in too much of a hurry to pick him up. ”Street, black mist, creeping, talking, wants inside real bad.”
He stared down his long nose like I'd gone simple. ”Uh-huh.”
”Just look out and see-no! Don't look out and see! I mean, my friend won't wake up.”
”Is he sick? I don't hold with sick boarders.”
”It's some kind of nervous fit, nothing catching.”I hoped . ”Help me get him on a table, bring that candle over. You got some smelling salts? What's that stuff crawling along the streets?”
”What stuff?”
”The black stuff trying to get inside.” I glanced at the windows, but they were closed for the night.
”Nothing out on the streets this hour,” Clem a.s.sured. ”Just city watch.” ”Is the city watch a bunch of black mist?”
Clem shot me a sideways ”are you nuts” kind of look. I gave up to focus on Terrin. Clem's wife came out next and, having had several kids, was used to dealing with late emergencies. Greta had to admit this was a new one for her, but was willing to help. Clem and I got Terrin on one of the long serving tables and had to unfold him. He was still locked in his cross-legged position.
”Sure he ain't died?” asked Clem. He wasn't too alarmed at the prospect.
”Hush,” said his wife, waving an open bottle of something under Terrin's nose. It smelled like cleaning fluid, heavy on the ammonia. I pinched my muzzle in reaction and fell away a few steps, ending up by a window. It had cracks around the edges like the one upstairs, but no signs of any black mist seeping through. Good, so far as it went.
Terrin suddenly mumbled, tried to move his head away from the bottle, then his face screwed up as though for a huge sneeze. It never happened, but his lids did finally peel apart. His eyes had gone from dark gray to ghost-pale silver.
”Argh! Agh! Foo!” he said, trying to wriggle away.
Clem held him down. ”Easy there, son. Greta, I think he's had enough fumes.”
Greta stoppered the bottle with a triumphant smirk. ”Works every time.”
I quit the window, along with its temptation to peek out, and came over. ”What theh.e.l.l was that about?”
I was scared, which translated as severe annoyance.
Terrin blinked at me, at all of us standing around the table gawking down at him. ”You're not Auntie Em,” he said to me with great certainty.
”I'm not Bert Lahr, either. 'Fess up. You weren't just asleep, were you?”
”Huh? What am I doing down here?” He shrugged off Clem's restraining hands and sat up, violently rubbing his nose. ”Phew!”
”Were you dreaming?” Sometimes Terrin's dreams were more real to him than being awake. It took time for him to shake off the cobwebs.
”Dreaming? I was-why'd you interrupt my meditation?”
”Because there's this black misty stuff outside and it was coming in the window like the Marines landing.”
”How much beer did you have?” asked Clem, conversationally.
”Notthat much! Go see it for yourself.” Now that Terrin was up and almost running I had more confidence about dealing with the heebie-jeebie fog river.
Clem shrugged and went to the door, the rest of us following. He unlocked and opened up.
The black mist still flowed strongly, but was retreating fast, beginning to shred into sooty wisps. ”There!
Just like I said.” ”Where?” asked Clem. There was no way he could miss it, even with his normal eyesight.
I pointed. ”There!”
Clem began to squint. ”Sorry, friend, but I don't see nothing. You see anything, Greta?”
”Just a lot of dark street,” she said. Neither of them struck me as faking; no one could be that oblivious.
Terrin tugged at my s.h.i.+rt sleeve. I looked. He shook his head once, lips pursed. I got the message and backed down, though it griped me. ”Okay, maybe it was the beer. Maybe I'm having an allergic reaction and hallucinating.” That was a total lie. I have a weird body chemistry. Alcohol doesn't affect me as much as it does other people. It takes alot to get me drunk. I'd not had nearly enough tonight for that.
”Sometimes the brewings don't set right with some people,” Clem said generously. ”Now what about you, Mr. Terrin? You were doing poorly for a bit there. Mr. Myhr here was in a state about it, and I don't blame him. What's your ailment?”
Terrin shrugged. ”I'm just a really heavy sleeper. Sorry if this dude got hyper about it. Sometimes he's jumpy as a cat.”
”Hey!” I said, miffed at the wholesale cliche.
The dig and my reaction to it did the job, distracting Clem and Greta, letting them know that the situation wasn't serious. I tendered apologies for the disruption, then we all went back to our rooms; I hung behind so Terrin walked in first.
”Is it clear?”
”Yeah, come on,” he said.
”You saw that stuff outside. Tell me you saw that stuff.”
”I saw that stuff.”
”What was it? I didn't smell anything off it so it couldn't have been river mist.”
”You didn't smell anything because it's not wholly on this plane of reality. That's why those two didn't see it. You did, probably because of the cat in you, and I saw because that's what I do.”
”I was freaking out because it came up to our window and tried to get in. What is it?”
”Could be a lot of things.” He opened the window. ”Street's clear now.”
”Think that's why they have a curfew? To keep people from running into that junk?”
”Maybe.”
”So what are the lot of things it could be? A short list is fine.”