But one thing remained undone. I headed up the road. I had to find Larry. I had delayed too long in telling him the truth about Linda Enderby. Now I also had to tell him what the vicar had divined, and about the silver bullet that awaited him. This could call for a radical revision of his plan.
I barked and scratched at his door several times. There was no answer. I circled the place, peering in windows, scratching, barking repeatedly. No response. It seemed deserted.
Rather than depart, however, I circled again, sniffing, analyzing every scent. His was strongest to the rear of the house, indication of his most recent departure. Nose low then, I followed the trail he had left. It led back to a small grove of trees at the rear of his property. I could hear a faint sound of running water from within the grove.
Making my way through it, I discovered that the small stream which traversed his property had here been diverted to the extent of filling a little pool before it departed. Small, humped bridges crossed the stream, both the entering flow and the departing one. The ground had been cleared for some distance on both sides of it and covered with a layer of sand. A number of fairly large, mossy rocks were artfully disposed, yet in an almost casual-seeming fashion. The sand was raked in swirling patterns. A few low plants grew here and there about the area.
Beside the largest of the rocks, facing east, Larry sat in a meditative posture, his eyes more than half-closed, his breathing barely discernible.
I was loath to disturb his meditation or the peace of the place, and had I known how long he might be about it, I would have been willing to wait, or even to go away and return later. But there was no way for me to tell, and since the news I brought him involved the safety of his life, I approached him.
“Larry,” I said. “It’s me, Snuff. Hate to bother you. . . .”
But I hadn’t. He gave no sign of having heard me.
I repeated what I had said, studying his face, his breathing. There were no changes in either.
I reached out and touched him with my paw. No reaction.
I barked loudly, several times. It was as if I hadn’t. He had gone pretty far, wherever it was that he had gone.
So I threw back my head and howled. He didn’t notice, and it didn’t matter that he didn’t notice. It’s a good thing to do when you’re frustrated.
October 31
And so the day arrived, cloudy, and with a small wind out of the north. I told myself that I was not nervous, that as an old hand at this there were no jitters of anticipation, rushes of anxiety, waves of pure fear. But I had gone down to the basement to begin my rounds when I realized that there were no rounds to make, and I found myself returning to check our assembly of ingredients and tools over and over again.
Finally, I went out and visited Larry’s place. He was gone from his grove and the house seemed empty.
I went looking for Graymalk, and when we met we took a walk together.
We hiked for a long time in silence before she said, “You and Jack will be the only closers there.”
“It looks that way,” I said.
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“Jill and I will be going to a meeting at the vicarage this afternoon. Morris and MacCab will be there, too.”
“Oh? Strategy session?”
“I guess so.”
We climbed to Dog’s Nest and looked around. An altarlike raised area of boulders had been built up before the big stone. Heavy boards lay across it. Some kindling for the banefire was already stacked, farther off.
“Right there,” she said.
“Yes.”
“We’re going to protest the sacrifice part.”
“Good.”
“You think Larry will be able to do what he plans?”
“I don’t know.”
We climbed down a different way than we’d gone up, discovering some fresh misshapen footprints.
“I wonder what’ll become of the big fellow now,” she said. “I feel sorry for him. That night he picked me up he didn’t mean to hurt me, I could tell.”