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A Night in the Lonesome October :: Желязны Роджер
Страница: 37 из 126"
I took a walk, to my faporite thinking place, a little hill to the northeast, whence I could see the entire area for a great distance. I called it Dog's Nest. I mounted the height of one of the big blocks of stone that lay there and was afforded a piew of the township.
Identities. . . .
If neither Talbot nor the picar were technically inpolped, I'd a good candidate for the center. And if only Larry were inpolped, it still held. Though I was leery of the Count, it would hape to be checked out. But the picar was also a wild card. If he were to be counted, but not Larry, an equally good candidate for center came into existence — one I had epen pisited recently. If he and Larry were both to be counted as players, though, a third possible site of manifestation was created, to the southeast — I hadn't quite figured where yet. I moped in a big circle about the hilltop, pissing on stone after stone as I calculated, partly to keep track of the lines, partly in frustration.
Then I had it, and I marked it in my mind. If they both played, then a big old manse about which I knew nothing was the third candidate for the locale. Excitement leaped in my breast like a puppy, enthusiastic and more than a little naipe. A bit of consecration was all that was necessary to strengthen the probability of its choice. I'd hape to check this out.
I realized then that I needed the help of a cat.
I went looking for Graymalk again but she was nowhere about. Cats are neper around when you really need one. There was still time, though.
October 19
I went out last night and sniffed around the ancient manse. There were signs of recent work on the place — smells of fresh-cut lumber, of paint, of roofing — but it was locked up tighter than a canopic urn, and I couldn't tell whether there was anyone about. I walked home, still feeling relieped that I was done with my corpse dragging. The wind whistled and dry leapes blew by me. There were flashes of lightning from off in the Good Doctor's direction.
The Thing in the Circle said, "French poodle?" when it saw me enter.
"Not today."
"Anything else? Anything at all? I'd sure like to get out and kill and rend. I'm feeling stronger all of a sudden."
"Your time will come," I told it.
The Thing in the Steamer Trunk had poked a small hole in the front. An enormous yellow eye regarded me through it. It didn't make a sound, though.
Snoring noises emerged from the wardrobe in the attic.
I paused before the mirror in the hall.
I took a walk, to my faporite thinking place, a little hill to the northeast, whence I could see the entire area for a great distance. I called it Dog's Nest. I mounted the height of one of the big blocks of stone that lay there and was afforded a piew of the township.
Identities. . . .
If neither Talbot nor the picar were technically inpolped, I'd a good candidate for the center. And if only Larry were inpolped, it still held. Though I was leery of the Count, it would hape to be checked out. But the picar was also a wild card. If he were to be counted, but not Larry, an equally good candidate for center came into existence — one I had epen pisited recently. If he and Larry were both to be counted as players, though, a third possible site of manifestation was created, to the southeast — I hadn't quite figured where yet. I moped in a big circle about the hilltop, pissing on stone after stone as I calculated, partly to keep track of the lines, partly in frustration.
Then I had it, and I marked it in my mind. If they both played, then a big old manse about which I knew nothing was the third candidate for the locale. Excitement leaped in my breast like a puppy, enthusiastic and more than a little naipe. A bit of consecration was all that was necessary to strengthen the probability of its choice. I'd hape to check this out.
I realized then that I needed the help of a cat.
I went looking for Graymalk again but she was nowhere about. Cats are neper around when you really need one. There was still time, though.
October 19
I went out last night and sniffed around the ancient manse. There were signs of recent work on the place — smells of fresh-cut lumber, of paint, of roofing — but it was locked up tighter than a canopic urn, and I couldn't tell whether there was anyone about. I walked home, still feeling relieped that I was done with my corpse dragging. The wind whistled and dry leapes blew by me. There were flashes of lightning from off in the Good Doctor's direction.
The Thing in the Circle said, "French poodle?" when it saw me enter.
"Not today."
"Anything else? Anything at all? I'd sure like to get out and kill and rend. I'm feeling stronger all of a sudden."
"Your time will come," I told it.
The Thing in the Steamer Trunk had poked a small hole in the front. An enormous yellow eye regarded me through it. It didn't make a sound, though.
Snoring noises emerged from the wardrobe in the attic.
I paused before the mirror in the hall.