The winds were stronger at this height, and as I paced the circle a small rain began to descend. Graymalk crouched on the dry side of a block of stone, watching me as I took my sightings.
Out of the southwest, I took my line from the distant graveyard, extending it to all of the other points of residence in view or in mind. Then, from the place where lay the Count’s remains, I did it again. In my mind, I beheld the new design. This pulled the center away from the manse, downward, southward, passing us, coming to rest ahead, slightly to the left. I stood stock-still, the rain forgotten, as I worked it out, repeating the process line by line, seeing that center shift, positing where it had to fall. . . .
Again, the same area. But there was nothing there, no outstanding feature. Just a hillside, a few trees and rocks upon it. No structures at all nearby.
“Something’s wrong,” I muttered.
“What is it?” Graymalk said.
“I don’t know. It’s just not right. In the past, they’ve always at least been interesting, acceptable candidates. But this is, nothing. Just a dull stretch of field to the south and a little to the west.”
“All of the other candidates have also been wrong,” she said, coming over, “no matter how interesting.” She mounted a nearby stone. “Where is it?”
“Over there,” I said, pointing with my head. “To the right of those five or six trees clustered on that hillside.”
She stared.
“You’re right,” she said. “It doesn’t look particularly promising. You sure you calculated correctly?”
“Double-checked,” I answered.
She returned to her shelter again, as the rain suddenly grew more forceful. I followed her.
“I suppose we must visit it,” she said a little later. “After this lets up, of course.”
She began licking herself. She hesitated.
“I just thought of something,” she said. “The Count’s skeleton. Was that big ring he wore still upon his finger?”
“No,” I said. “Whoever did him in doubtless collected it.”
“Then someone’s probably doubly endowed.”
“Probably.”
“That would make him stronger, wouldn’t it?”
“Only in technical prowess. It might make him more vulnerable, too.”
“Well, the technical end of things counts for something.”
“It does.”
“Do the Games always get confusing at some point? Do they mess up the players’ thinking, ideas, values?”
“Always. Especially as events begin to cascade and accelerate near the end. We create a kind of vortex about us just by being here and doing certain things. Your confusion may trip you up. Somebody else’s confusion may save you.”
“You’re saying that it gets weird, but it all cancels out?”
“Pretty much, I think. Till the end, of course.”
There came a flash of light from nearby, followed by an instant crack of thunder. The Good Doctor’s storm was spreading. Abruptly, the wind shifted, and we were drenched by the sudden pelting.
We bounded across the way immediately, into the shelter of a much larger stone.
Sitting there, miserable in the special way that wetness brings, my gaze was suddenly fixed upon the side of the stone. There, brought out perhaps by the moisture, a series of scratchings and irregularities now appeared to be somewhat more than that.
“Well, I hope the whole gang of them appreciates all this trouble,” she said, “Nyarlathotep, Chthulu, and all the rest of the unpronounceables. Makes me wish I had a nice simple job catching mice for some farmer’s wife…”
Yes, they were characters in some alphabet I did not know, incised there, worn faint, emphasized suddenly as the trickling water darkened the stone in some places, bringing out contrasts. Even as I watched, they seemed to be growing clearer.
Then I drew back, for they began to glow with a faint red light. They continued to brighten.
“Snuff,” she said then, “why’re you standing in the rain?” Then her gaze moved to follow my own, and she added, “Uh-oh! Think they heard me?”
Now they were ablaze, those letters, and they began to flow as if reading themselves. Excess light formed itself into a high rectangular perimeter about them.
“I was only joking, you know,” she said softly.