“Yes. What should we do?”
“Could you follow Needle back to the Count’s place?”
“Bats are damnably erratic.”
“I couldn’t do it. And I don’t think Graymalk could.”
“No. Never trust a cat, anyway. All they’re good for is stringing tennis racquets.”
“Will you try following Needle?”
“First I have to find the little bastard. But yes, I’ll watch for him tonight.”
“Let me know what you find?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“It might be to your advantage, if you ever need an errand run by day.”
“That’s true. All right. Why do the players always form themselves into a pattern around the center of things, anyway?”
“Beats me,” I said.
I returned home, growling at the Things in the Mirror, propped in the front hallway now, as I passed, just to let them know I was on the job. The Thing in the Steamer Trunk was still. I told the Thing in the Wardrobe to shut up. Its pounding was shaking the place. I had to bark several times to get it to be quiet.
Down in the cellar the Thing in the Circle had become a Pekingese.
“You like little ladies?” it asked. “Come and get it, big fella.”
It still smelled of Thing rather than dog.
“You’re not really very bright,” I said.
The Peke gave me the paw as I departed, and it’s hard to turn your leg that way.
October 7
We were out again last night in pursuit of more ingredients for the Great Work. It was very foggy, and there were many patrolmen about. This did not stop us, but it made things more difficult. The master’s blade flashed, the woman screamed, and there was a rending of garments. We passed the Great Detective in our flight, and I inadvertently tripped his companion, whose limp had lessened his ability to avoid onrushing canines.
As we crossed the bridge Jack unrolled the strip of cloth and regarded it.
“Very good. It _is_ green,” he remarked.
Why his list of materials required the edge of a green cloak worn by a red-haired lady on this date at midnight and removed while still upon her person, I am uncertain. Magical rotas sometimes strike me as instructions for lunatic scavenger hunts. Nonetheless, Jack was happy so I was, too.
Much later, after an unsuccessful search for Nightwind, I returned home and was drowsing in the parlor when I heard a small scratching sound from the rear of the house. It did not come again. So I went into my stalking mode and investigated.
The kitchen was empty, the pantry was bare. I circulated.
At the entrance to the front hall I caught the scent. I halted, watched, listened. I became aware of a slight movement, low, and to my right, ahead.
It sat before the mirror watching the slitherers. I suspended breathing and edged forward. When I was near enough to catch it with a short lunge I said, “I trust you are finding your last moments amusing.”
It leaped and I was upon it, catching it at the base of the neck, a large, black rat.
“Wait! I can explain!” it said. “Snuff! You’re Snuff! I came to see you!”
I waited, neither tightening nor loosening my hold. A toss of my head would snap its spine.
“Needle told me of you,” it went on. “Cheeter told me where to find you.”
I couldn’t say anything, my mouth being occupied. So I continued to wait.
“Cheeter said you seemed reasonable, and I wanted to talk. Nobody was around outside, so I let myself in through the little door in the back. Could you put me down, please?”
I carried the rat to a corner, deposited him there, seating myself directly before him.
“So you are in the Game,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Then you must know that entering another player’s home without invitation lays you open to immediate reprisal.”
“Yes, but it was the only way I knew to get in touch with you.”
“What is it you wanted to tell me?”
“I know Quicklime, and Quicklime knows Nightwind. . . .”
“Yes?”
“Quicklime says that Nightwind told him you know a lot about who the players are and what they’re about. And that you sometimes trade information. I’d like to trade some.”