Part 10 (1/2)

”It doesn't matter,” I said. ”It's one of the places it might be.”

”What are the others?”

”Let's not get greedy,” I said.

We made our way through the wood. When we reached the clearing there were no Gipsies about, nor anyone else.

”Check the crypt first,” I said. ”You've gotten me wondering whether he's still using it.”

Quicklime slithered into its opening. A little later he returned.

”He's there,” he reported, ”and so's Needle. Both of them are asleep.”

”Good. All right. Try the church now.”

I paced about, sniffing the breezes, watching the trees. No one was near, no one approached.

In a little while Quicklime emerged.

”No,” he said. ”It's a complete disaster, filled with dirt and rocks. Nothing's left. We'd have to start over again and rebuild.”

I approached the opening, forced myself in as far as I could. It narrowed quickly to the crack down which he had taken his way.

”How far back in that crack did you get?”

”Ten feet, maybe. There were two side ways off of it. Neither goes as far.”

I believed him, from what I could see.

”So what does it mean?” he asked.

”That this isn't the place,” I replied.

”Then what is?”

I thought quickly. I didn't like giving anything to the compet.i.tion. But in this case one real fact could be misleading; and it was a fact he'd learn sooner or later, anyhow.

I backed out of the opening, turned toward the woods.

”Vicar Roberts,” I said, ”has a good disguise as a fanatic churchman. . . .”

”What do you mean?”

”He's a player.”

”You're joking!”

”No. He holds midnight services to the Elder G.o.ds, right there in the church.”

”The vicar . . . ?”

”Check it out,” I told him.

”What does that do to the pattern?”

”I've calculated that if we count the vicar and drop Larry Talbot that places the vicarage and the church at the center of the pattern. This isn't final if the Count is moving around, of course, but that's how it looks right now if we figure it this way.”

”The vicar . . .” he repeated.

We entered the woods.

”So,” he said after a while, ”if the Count has a home away from home, or two, we need to find out whether they were established before or after the death of the moon.”

”Yes,” I agreed. Everything was frozen at that point. Death, relocation, withdrawal of a player -- all of these s.h.i.+fted things about only before that time. Afterwards, we could kill each other or move about as we wished without disturbing the geometry of the business. ”If there were a way of getting Needle to talk, we could find out.”

”Hm,” said Quicklime.

It occurred to me as we pa.s.sed among the trees that I could be wrong, that I had just given him the correct information. But it seemed to me that the weight of Larry's presence -- along with that antic.i.p.ation business he spoke of -- made him too big an influence on the game not to count him as a player, whether he collected ingredients and wove dueling spells, protections, opening spells, closing spells, or not. With him included -- along with the vicar -- it had to be that old manse rather than the church. And the oft-restored place looked as if it went back far enough to have a chapel around somewhere, or something that had once been a chapel.

Besides, it wasn't really a bad thing to reveal the vicar for what he was. The others would start doing things to skew his efforts once the word was out.

”So what about watching the Count's comings and goings?” I asked.

”Let's hold off on it, Snuff,” he hissed. ”No need to bring the others into this yet. I've a much better idea for finding out about the Count's doings.”

”Even with the Gipsies about?”

”Even so.”

”What've you got in mind?”

”Let me pursue it on my own for a day or two. I promise I'll share it with you, after this. In fact, it would be a good idea. I think you're a better calculator than Rastov.”

”All right. We'll hold off.”

We parted at the edge of the wood, him going left, me right.

I made my way back to my place, did a quick circuit, found everything to be in order, and went back outside.

It was easy to follow the Gipsies' trail, since they stuck to the roadway till they neared their destination. It was a field near Larry's place. I lay doggo for an hour or two and watched them set up their encampment. I didn't really learn anything, but it was colorful.

Then I heard sounds from the road and turned my attention. An old-fas.h.i.+oned coach was approaching, drawn by two tired-looking horses. I dismissed it till it slowed and turned up Larry Talbot's driveway.

I quitted my place of concealment in a stand of shrubs and headed that way -- in time to see the coachman help an old woman to descend from the vehicle. I moved nearer, pa.s.sing among a few ancient trees, upwind of them, as the lady, with the a.s.sistance of a blackwood cane, made her way to Larry's front door. There, she raised the knocker and let it fall.

Shortly, Larry opened the door and they spoke briefly. The wind prevented my making out their words, but after a short while he stepped aside and she entered.

Most peculiar. I circled the house to the rear, began peering in windows. I discovered them to be seated in the parlor, talking. Sometime later, Larry rose, absented himself briefly, returned with a tray bearing a decanter and a pair of gla.s.ses. He poured, and they sipped sherry, continuing their discussion. This went on for at least half an hour.

Finally, they both rose and departed the room. I raced about the house, checking windows again.