“Oh?”
“Just a feeling.”
“I trust your instincts. We must be ready for anything. Too bad about Jill and Graymalk.”
“I’ve decided I will stay friends with them to the end,” I said.
He squeezed my shoulder.
“As you would.”
“It’s _not_ like Dijon, is it?” I asked.
“No. Many odd things have happened this time around,” he said. “Stiff upper lip, friend.”
“That’s how I smile,” I said.
October 29
Following lunch at Jill’s place, to which Bubo was also invited, having finally acknowledged Graymalk to be a cat of a different category, I took a walk back to the ruin of the Good Doctor’s place. The meal had had an almost elegiac quality to it, Jack having asked outright whether she’d consider switching, Jill having admitted to a conflict in her sympathies now, but being determined to play the Game through as she’d started. It felt odd to be dining with the enemy and to care that much about them. So I took a walk afterwards, more for something to do while being alone than for any pressing purpose. I took my time in going. The charred ruin still smelled strongly; and though I circled it many times, I could see no bones or other signs of dead humans within. I wandered over to the barn then, wondering whether the experiment man might have returned to it to hide.
The door was opened sufficiently for me to enter, and I did. While his disconcerting odor was present, it did not seem a recent thing, as smells went. Still, I sought in each stall, even stirring through the hay. I checked in every corner, cubby, and bin. I even mounted the ladder to the loft and looked about there.
Then I noticed a peculiar shape to the rear, that of a bat hanging from a beam. While all bats look pretty much alike to me, especially when you turn them upside-down, it reminded me a lot of Needle. I approached and said loudly, “Hey, Needle! What the hell are you doing here?”
It stirred slightly, but did not seem inclined to wake up. So I reached out and prodded it with my paw.
“Come on, Needle. I want to talk to you,” I said.
It unfurled its wings and stared at me. It yawned, then, “Snuff, what are you doing here?” it said.
“Checking out the aftermath of the fire. What about you?”
“Same thing, but daylight caught me and I decided to sleep here.”
“Does the experiment man still come here?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t today. And I don’t know whether the Good Doctor got away either. How’s the Game progressing?”
“Now I’ve learned that the Good Doctor was never in it, I’ve found the point of manifestation, the big hill with the fallen stones.”
“Really. Now that’s interesting. What else is new?”
“Rastov and Owen are dead. Quicklime and Cheeter went back to the woods.”
“Yes, I’d heard that.”
“So it seems someone’s killing openers.”
“Rastov was a closer.”
“I think Owen talked him into switching.”
“No, he tried but he didn’t succeed.”
“How do you know that?”
“I used to get into Owen’s place through Cheeter’s attic hole and listen to them talk. I was there the night before Rastov was killed. They were drinking and quoting everybody from Thomas Paine to Nietzsche at each other, but Rastov didn’t switch.”
“Interesting. You sound as if you’re still in the Game.”
There came a faint sound from below, just as he said, “Oh, I am, Get down! Flat!”
I threw myself onto my right side. A crossbow bolt passed very near and embedded itself into the wall right above me. I turned my head and saw Vicar Roberts below, near to the door, just lowering the weapon. His face held a nasty smile.
If I ran and jumped I’d be downstairs in a trice. I might also break a leg in the process, though, and then he could finish me easily. The alternative was to climb down the way I’d come up, backing down the ladder. For anatomical reasons, my descent is always slower than my ascent. If I did not do this, however, he could crank the weapon back, seat a bolt, and come up after me. In that case, the odds would be in his favor. At least, he didn’t have any armed assistants with him. . . .