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 shifted 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 passed 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 anticipation 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-fashioned 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, passing among a few ancient trees, upwind of them, as the lady, with the assistance 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 glasses. 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.
At last, I located them in the skylighted room where he grew his plants, engaged in an animated discussion with frequent gestures toward the flora. This went on for the better part of an hour, before they returned to the parlor for another glass of sherry and another long talk.
Then the coachman was summoned, and Larry loaded him with greenhouse clippings, then accompanied them both out to the coach before he bade her a cordial good-bye.