“Good,” I said, “in one way.”
“What’s the other way?”
“Nightwind knows about it. He came by while you were inside, and we talked. The white raven, by the way, is named Tekela.”
“Oh, he knows her?”
“. . . And you were right about the vicar. It was a ceremonial killing, dues for getting into the Game late.”
“Sounds as if you had a long talk.”
“We did. I’d better fill you in.”
“Any special reason we’re heading this way?”
“Yes. That’s part of it.”
We continued to the south and a bit to the west as I told her the things I’d learned. The air grew moist as we went and the sky dark as a blot in that particular area about which heaven’s artillery flickered and boomed.
“So you want to peer in the Good Doctor’s windows again?”
“In a word, yes.”
“Cats aren’t real fond of getting wet,” she observed, after the soft weather got harder.
“Dogs aren’t crazy about it either,” I said. Then, “Whoever wins, it’ll still rain.”
She made the closest sound I’d ever heard her manage to a laugh, a little rhythmic, musical thing.
“That’s true,” she said a little later, “I’m sure. How many times in a century does the Full Moon rise on Halloween, three, four?”
“It varies,” I responded. “It’s more interesting to ask, on how many of those occasions do the appropriate people assemble to try for an opening or hold for a closing?”
“I couldn’t guess. This is your first, of course.”
“No,” I said, and I did not elaborate, knowing what I had just given away.
We walked on through the drizzle toward the place of brightnesses, keeping to the road as there were fewer wet things to brush up against there.
As we drew nearer, I saw that the front door of the farmhouse stood open, light spilling out through its rectangle. And someone was moving upon the roadway, headed toward us. Another discharge from the storm clouds gave the building a thorny corona of light, and outlined briefly in its glare I saw that a very big man was moving toward us at an ungainly but extremely rapid pace. He was dressed in ill-fitting garments, and my single glimpse of his face showed it as somehow misshapen, lopsided. He halted before us, swaying, turning his head from side to side. Fascinated, I stared. The rain had washed all scents from the air, until we achieved this proximity. Now, though, I could smell him and he grew even stranger to me, for it was the sick, sweet scent of death that informed his person, reached outward from it. His movements were not aggressive, and he regarded us with something akin to a child’s simple curiosity.
A tall figure suddenly appeared at the farmhouse door, looking outward into the night, laboratory coat flapping in the wind.
The giant figure before me leaned forward, staring into my face. Slowly, unthreateningly, he extended his right hand toward me and touched me on the head.
“Good…dog,” he said in a harsh, cracked voice, “good…dog,” as he patted me.
Then he turned his attention to Graymalk, and moving with a speed that belied his earlier gesture, he snatched her up from the ground and held her to his breast.
“Kit-ty,” he said then. “Pret-ty kit-ty.”
Clumsily, he moved to stroke her with his other hand, rain streaming down his face now, dripping from his garments.
“Pret-ty…”
“Snuff!” Graymalk wailed. “He’s hurting me! Too tight! His grip’s too tight!”
I began barking immediately, hoping to distract him into relaxing his grip.
“Hello!” came a call from the man at the farmhouse. “Come back! You must come back now!”
I kept barking, and the man dashed outside, rushing in our direction.
“He’s let up a little, but I still can’t get free!” Graymalk told me.
Apparently confused, the huge man turned to the approaching figure, and back again. It appeared to be the Good Doctor headed our way. I kept up the barking, since it seemed to have worked.
When the Good Doctor came up beside the giant he placed a hand upon his arm.
“Raining cats and dogs, I see,” he said.