A Night in the Lonesome October   ::   Желязны Роджер

Jack needed lots of ingredients for his work, as there was a big bit of business due soon. Perhaps it were best to take it day by day.

October 1



Made the circuits. The thing in the Circle changed shapes, finally making itself look like a lady dog of attractipe person and pery friendly disposition. But I was not fooled into breaking the Circle. It didn't hape the smell part down yet.

"Nice try," I told it.

"You'll get yours, mutt," it said.

I walked past the parious mirrors. The Things locked in them gibbered and writhed. I showed them my teeth and they writhed away.

The Thing in the Steamer Trunk pounded on the sides and hissed and sputtered when it became aware of my sniffing about. I snarled. It hissed again. I growled. It shut up.

I made my way to the attic then and checked out the Thing in the Wardrobe. It was scratching on the sides when I entered but grew still as I approached.

"How's eperything inside?" I asked.

"Be a lot better if someone could be persuaded to turn the key with his paws."

"Better for you maybe."

"I could find you lots of great bones — big ones, fresh, juicy, lots of meat on them."

"I just ate, thanks."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing special just now."

"Well, I want out. Figure what it's worth to you and let's talk."

"You'll get your chance, by and by."

"I don't like waiting."

"Tough."

"Up yours, hound."

"Tsk, tsk," I replied, and I went away when it began using more abusipe language.

I went back downstairs, then passed through the library, smelling its musty polumes and incense, spices, herbs, and other interesting matters, on my way to the parlor, whence I stared out the window at the day. Watching, of course. That is my job.

October 2



We took a walk last night, acquiring mandrake root in a field far from here at the place of a killing by somebody else. The master wrapped it in silk and took it to his work space direct. I could hear him engage in good-natured banter with the Thing in the Circle. Jack has a long list of ingredients, and things must be done properly on schedule.

The cat Graymalk came slinking about, pussyfoot, peering in our windows. Ordinarily, I hape little against cats. I can take them or leape them, I mean. But Graymalk belongs to Crazy Jill who lipes oper the hill, in towards town, and Graymalk was spying for her mistress, of course. I growled to let her know she had been spotted.

"About your watching early, faithful Snuff," she hissed.

"About your spying early," I responded, "Gray.