A Night in the Lonesome October Part 8

"I'm inclined to let it go by," he said. "Too bad."

We strolled around a bit together then. Later, a voice very like MacCab's called out from down the hill, "d.a.m.n! I need a left femur and this one ain't got one!"

"Left femur, you say?" came an ancient croaking voice from nearby, which could have been Owen's. "I've one right here I ain't usin'. Have you a liver, though? That's my need."

"Easily done!" came the reply. "Bide a moment. There! Trade?"

"You have it! Catch!"

Something flashed through the air to rattle farther down the hill, followed by scurrying sounds.

"Fair enough! Here's yer liver!"

There came a splap from higher up and a muttered "Got it!"

"Hey!" came a lady's voice then, from off to the left. "While you're about it, have you a skull?"

"Indeed I do!" said the second man. "What'll you give?"

"What do you need?"

"Fingerbones!"

"Done! I'll tie 'em together with a piece of twine!"

"Here's your skull!"

"Got it! Yours'll be along shortly!"

"Has anyone the broken vertebrae of a hanged man?" came a deep masculine voice with a Hungarian accent, from somewhere far to the right.

There followed a minute's silence. Then, "I've some mashed ones here! Dunno how they got that way, though!"

"Perhaps they'll do. Send them along, please!"

Something white and rattling flashed through the starlit air.

"Yes. I can work with these. What'll you have for them?"

"They're on the house! I'm done! 'Night!"

There followed the sounds of rapidly retreating footfalls.

"See?" the old dog said. "He didn't fill it in."

"I'm sorry."

"I'll be up kicking dirt all night."

"Afraid I can't help you. I've got my own job to see to."

"Eyeb.a.l.l.s, anyone?" came a call.

"Over here," said someone with a Russian accent. "One of them, please."

"I'll have the other," came an aristocratic voice from the opposite direction.

"Either of you got a couple of floating ribs, or a pair of kidneys?"

"Down here, on the kidneys!" came a new voice. "And I'm in need of a patella!"

"What's that?"

"Knee bone!"

"Oh? No problem. . . ."

On the way out, we pa.s.sed a white-bearded, frail-looking man, half-adoze, leaning on a spade near the gate. Casual inspection would have had one believe him a s.e.xton, out for a bit of night air, but his scent was that of the Great Detective, hardly drowsing. Someone had obviously spoken too publicly.

Jack m.u.f.fled himself and we slunk by, shadows amid shadows.

Thus was all our work quickly concluded to everyone's satisfaction, save for the tired hound. Such times are rare, such times are fleeting, but always bright when caught, measured, hung, and later regarded in times of adversity, there in the kinder halls of memory, against the flapping of the flames.

Forgive me. The New Moon, as they say, gives rise to reflection. Time to make my rounds. Then some more dragging.

October 18.

First time out yesterday I got him farther through the muck, but he was still in it when I left him. I was tired. Jack was sequestered with his objects. The police were about, searching the area. The vicar was out, too, offering exhortations to the searchers. Night came on, and later I made my way back to the muck, chasing off a few vermin and beginning the long haul once again.

I'd worked on and off for over an hour, allowing myself several panting breaks, when I realized I was no longer alone. He was bigger than me even, and he moved with a silence I envied -- some piece of the night cut loose and drifting against lesser blacknesses. He seemed to know the moment I became aware of him, and he moved toward me with a long, effortless stride, one of the largest dogs I'd ever seen outside of Ireland.

Correction. As he came on I realized he wasn't really a dog. It was a great gray wolf that was bearing down on me. I quickly reviewed my knowledge of the submissive postures these guys are into as I backed away from the corpse.

"You can have it," I said. "It's all right with me. It's not in the best of shape, though."

He loomed nearer. Monstrous jaws, great feral eyes. . . . Then he sat down.

"So this is where it is," he said.

"What?"

"The missing body. Snuff, you are tampering with evidence."

"And you might say I'm tampering with something already tampered with. Who are you?"

"Larry. Talbot."

"Could've fooled me. I thought you were -- a great wolf. . . oh."

"That, too."

"_Were_, huh? And you're shifted. But this is the dark of the moon."

"So it is."

"Neat trick, that. How'd you manage it?"

"I can do it whenever I choose, with certain botanical aids, and retain full rationality -- save when the moon is full. It's only involuntary then, with certain unfortunate accompaniments."

"So I understand. Like, berserk."

"Wulfsark," he said. "Yes."

"So why are you here?"

"I tracked you. Ordinarily, this is my favorite time of month, without a trace of moon to disturb me. But I forsook this to do some investigating. Then it became necessary that I speak with you. So I came looking. What are you doing with the body, anyway?"

"I was trying to get it to the river, where I want to drop it in. Someone had left it near our place, and I was afraid Jack would be suspected."

"I'll give you a ha -- I'll help."

With that, he seized it by a shoulder and began walking backwards. No bracing himself and tugging, the way I'd had to manage it. He just kept walking, picking up speed, even. I didn't see any way I could help. I'd just slow him down if I grabbed hold anywhere. I trotted along beside and watched.

An hour or so later we stood on the riverbank and watched the current bear the corpse away.

"I can't tell you how happy this makes me," I said.

"You just did," he said. "Let's head back."

We returned, but when he reached my place he kept going.

"Where are we headed?" I finally asked, when he'd turned left at the second crossroad.

"I'd said I went looking for you because I wanted to speak with you. There is something I need to show you first. If my timing is right, it's about midnight now."

"I'd guess it's close."

We approached the local church. There was a very dim light from within.

"The front will probably be locked," he said. "We wouldn't want to go in that way, though."

"We're going in?"

"That's my intention."

"Have you been in it before?"

"Yes. I know my way around. We'll go in the rear entrance if no one's about, pa.s.s through a small vestibule, turn left for a few paces, then right up a little hallway. We can get into the vestry from there, if it's clear."

"And then?"

"If we position ourselves properly, we get a view."

"Of what?"

"I'm curious myself. Let's find out."

We made our way around to the back of the building and listened. Determining that there was no one near on the other side, Larry rose up onto his hind legs, seeming far more graceful in that position than I could be. But then, he'd had a lot more practice. He seized the doork.n.o.b between his forepaws, squeezed, twisted, and pulled slowly.

It opened and we entered. He closed the door just as quietly behind us. We followed the route he had described, and, coming into the vestry, we were able to position ourselves to obtain the view he had referred to.

There was a service in progress.

Only a few people -- one woman, the rest of them men -- were present, occupying the front pews. The vicar stood before the altar -- which I noted to be draped in black -- and was reading to his congregation. He squinted through his square spectacles, as the flickering light was not very good, all of it coming from only a few black candles. Larry pointed out that the cross was upside-down, but I'd already noticed this myself.

"Do you know what that means?" he asked softly.

"Religious distress signal?" I said.

"Listen to what he's saying."

So I did.

"'. . . Nyarlathotep,'" he read, "'cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills. He is like a many-legged goat, and he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice, horned in glory. Nyarlathotep spake, and he said, "Rise up, my dark one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is nigh and the cold rains fall. The flowers have died upon the earth, and the singing of birds is done. The turtle lies slain. The fig tree withers, as do the grapes. Arise, my dark one, and come away. . . ."'"

The woman had risen to her feet, swaying slightly, and had begun to disrobe.

"You've proved your point," I said to Larry, memorizing the faces of the parishioners, whom I suspected to be the crossbow crew as well.

"Then let us take a hint and come away," he said.

I followed him from the vestry, and we let ourselves out the way we had come in. We made our way slowly back to the crossroads.

"So he's involved," I said after a time.

"It's his status I wanted to discuss with you."

"Yes?"

"I know that a certain geometry prevails in these matters, but I've never learned it fully," he said. "I do know, though, that it involves the placement of each player's residence."

"True. Oh. I see what you're getting at."

"Yes. How does his presence affect the pattern? Do you know how to figure these things, Snuff?"