A Night in the Lonesome October by Roger Zelazny. Chapter 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

A Night in the Lonesome October. Chapter 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

October 11

A brisk morning. After I made my rounds I went outside. I could discover nothing untoward, so I set off in the direction of the Good Doctor’s place. As I was trotting along the road, however, I heard a familiar voice from a small grove to my right:

“That, sir, is the same dog,” it said.

“How can you be sure?” came the response.

“I noted the markings, and his are identical. Also, he has the same limp in his left foreleg, the same shredded right ear. . . .”

. . . Old war injuries, disagreement with a mindless guy in the West Indies, long ago. . . .

It was the Great Detective and his companion who had spoken, of course.

“Here’s a good fellow,” he said. “Good dog. Good dog.”

I remembered my act of the previous evening, wagged my tail, and tried to look friendly.

“Good dog,” he repeated. “Show us where you live. Take us home.”

He patted my head as he said it, his hands being much warmer than the last friendly fellow’s I’d met.

“Home. Go home now.”

Thinking of Graymalk in the well, I led them to Morris and MacCab’s place. I waited with them on the porch till I heard footsteps approaching inside in response to their knocking. Then I withdrew and cut a straight line from there to the Count’s crypt. The results were interesting; and even more so when I ran in a line from there to the Good Doctor’s.

I did several more thereafter, confirming my results.

October 12

Slow day. The thing in the circle tried being a greyhound. I was never attracted to skinny ladies, though. Growled a few times at the Thing in the Attic. Watched the slitherers. Watched Jack as he puttered with his acquisitions. It was still too early for him actually to start using them.

Heard from Graymalk later that Nightwind had seized Quicklime and borne him far out over the Thames and dropped him in. He was washed ashore later. Spent a long time slithering back. Not sure what they’d been arguing about.

Also learned of several cases of sudden severe anemia among the neighbors. I’m glad the Count doesn’t do dogs.

I took Jack his slippers this evening and lay at his feet before a roaring fire while he smoked his pipe, sipped sherry, and read the newspaper. He read aloud everything involving killings, arsons, mutilations, grave robberies, church desecrations, and unusual thefts. It is very pleasant just being domestic sometimes.

October 13

The great detective was back today. I glimpsed him only briefly from a hedgerow where I was burying something. He did not see me.

Later, Graymalk told me that he had visited Owen’s place. Owen and Cheeter were out, and he had looked about some, discovering the wicker baskets. His assistant injured his wrist, she said, having been sent up the ladder into the oak to test the strength of some branches, whence he had fallen. Fortunately, he landed on a heap of mistletoe, or it might have been worse.

That evening, I heard a scraping at an upstairs window while I was making my rounds. I went to it and peered out. At first I saw nothing, then I realized that a small form was darting back and forth.

“Snuff! Let me in! Help!” it cried.

It was Needle.

“I know better than to invite you guys inside,” I said.

“That’s the boss! I’m just a bat! I don’t even like tomato juice! Please!”

“What’s wrong?”

I heard a loud _thunk_ from the other side of the wall.

“It’s the vicar!” he cried. “He’s wigged out! Let me in!”

I undid the latch with my paw and pushed. It opened a few inches, and he was inside. He fell to the floor, panting. There followed another _thunk_ from without.

“I won’t forget this, Snuff,” he said. “Give me a minute. . . .”

I gave him two, then he stirred.

“Got any bugs about?” he asked. “I’ve got this fast metabolism, and I’ve been getting a lot of exercise.”

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