“Would you show us this place?” I asked.
“Follow me.”
We did, and after a long trek we came to the farmhouse. There were lights in its basement but the windows were curtained and we could not see what the Good Doctor was about. There were many odors of death in the air, however.
“Thank you, Nightwind,” I said. “Have you any others?”
“No. Have you?”
“No.”
“Then I would say that we are even.”
He took wing and hurried off through the night.
As I crouched sniffing near a window I traced trails from Morris and MacCab’s place to this one, from this one to Crazy Jill’s, to my own, to Owen’s, from Owen’s to the others’. . . . It was hard keeping all of the trails in mind at once.
I leaped at the bright flash and the crackling sound from behind the window. The smell of ozone reached me moments later, and the sound of wild laughter.
“Yes, this place will bear watching,” Graymalk observed, from her sudden perch high in a nearby tree. “Shall we go now?”
“Yes.”
We headed back and I left her at Jill’s, dropping the adjective out of politeness in her presence, and I left her to catnappery on her wall. When I returned home I found another paw-print.
October 6
Excitement. I heard the mirror crack this morning, and I ran and raised holy hell before it, keeping the slitherers inside. Jack heard the fuss and fetched his mundane wand and transferred them all to another mirror, just like the Yellow Emperor. This one was much smaller, which may teach them a lesson, but probably not. We’re not sure how they did it. Continued pressure on some flaw, most likely. Good thing they’re afraid of me.
Jack retired and I went outside. The sun was shining through gray and white clouds and only the crisp scents of autumn rode the breezes. I had been drawing lines in my head during the night. What I’d tried to do would have been much easier for Nightwind, Needle, or even Cheeter. It is hard for an earthbound creature to visualize the terrain in the manner I’d attempted. But I’d drawn lines from each of our houses to each of the others. The result was an elaborate diagram with an outer boundary and intersecting rays within. And once I have such a figure I can do things with it that the others cannot. It was necessarily incomplete because I did not know the whereabouts of the Count, or of any other players who might not yet have come to my attention.
Nevertheless, it was enough to play around with, was sufficient for seeking some approximation.
I began walking.
My way took me through yard and field to a lane which I followed for a time. When I reached what I deemed to be the proper spot I halted. There were several large old trees off to my left, another across the way to the right. The spot which I had so carefully derived by means of my mental mapmaking was situated, unfortunately, in the middle of the road. And it hadn’t even the good grace to be a crossroad.
The nearest house was to my right and back several hundred yards along the way I had come. It was inhabited, I knew, by an elderly couple who fed birds, worked in their garden, and argued every Saturday night when the old man staggered in from the pub. In my earlier investigations of the area I had seen no signs that they might be involved in the Game.
I decided to sniff about, anyway. As I sought along the roadsides I heard a familiar voice:
“Snuff!”
“Nightwind! Where are you?”
“Overhead. There’s a hollow place in this tree. Stayed out too long. Came in here to get away from the light. We think a bit alike, don’t we?”
“Looks like we draw the same lines.”
“This can’t be the place, though.”
“No. It’s the center of the pattern we have, but it’s not a likely spot.”
“Therefore the pattern is incomplete. But we knew that. We don’t know where the Count is.”
“If he’s the only other. It must take place at the center of the pattern we form.”