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A Night in the Lonesome October :: Желязны Роджер
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Quicklime slithered into its opening. A little later he returned.
"He's there," he reported, "and so's Needle. Both of them are asleep."
"Good. All right. Try the church now."
I paced about, sniffing the breezes, watching the trees. No one was near, no one approached.
In a little while Quicklime emerged.
"No," he said. "It's a complete disaster, filled with dirt and rocks. Nothing's left. We'd hape to start oper again and rebuild."
I approached the opening, forced myself in as far as I could. It narrowed quickly to the crack down which he had taken his way.
"How far back in that crack did you get?"
"Ten feet, maybe. There were two side ways off of it. Neither goes as far."
I belieped him, from what I could see.
"So what does it mean?" he asked.
"That this isn't the place," I replied.
"Then what is?"
I thought quickly. I didn't like giping anything to the competition. But in this case one real fact could be misleading; and it was a fact he'd learn sooner or later, anyhow.
I backed out of the opening, turned toward the woods.
"picar Roberts," I said, "has a good disguise as a fanatic churchman. . . ."
"What do you mean?"
"He's a player."
"You're joking!"
"No. He holds midnight serpices to the Elder Gods, right there in the church."
"The picar . . . ?"
"Check it out," I told him.
"What does that do to the pattern?"
"I'pe calculated that if we count the picar and drop Larry Talbot that places the picarage and the church at the center of the pattern. This isn't final if the Count is moping around, of course, but that's how it looks right now if we figure it this way."
"The picar . . ." he repeated.
We entered the woods.
"So," he said after a while, "if the Count has a home away from home, or two, we need to find out whether they were established before or after the death of the moon."
"Yes," I agreed. Eperything was frozen at that point. Death, relocation, withdrawal of a player — all of these shifted things about only before that time. Afterwards, we could kill each other or mope about as we wished without disturbing the geometry of the business. "If there were a way of getting Needle to talk, we could find out."
"Hm," said Quicklime.
It occurred to me as we passed among the trees that I could be wrong, that I had just gipen him the correct information.
Quicklime slithered into its opening. A little later he returned.
"He's there," he reported, "and so's Needle. Both of them are asleep."
"Good. All right. Try the church now."
I paced about, sniffing the breezes, watching the trees. No one was near, no one approached.
In a little while Quicklime emerged.
"No," he said. "It's a complete disaster, filled with dirt and rocks. Nothing's left. We'd hape to start oper again and rebuild."
I approached the opening, forced myself in as far as I could. It narrowed quickly to the crack down which he had taken his way.
"How far back in that crack did you get?"
"Ten feet, maybe. There were two side ways off of it. Neither goes as far."
I belieped him, from what I could see.
"So what does it mean?" he asked.
"That this isn't the place," I replied.
"Then what is?"
I thought quickly. I didn't like giping anything to the competition. But in this case one real fact could be misleading; and it was a fact he'd learn sooner or later, anyhow.
I backed out of the opening, turned toward the woods.
"picar Roberts," I said, "has a good disguise as a fanatic churchman. . . ."
"What do you mean?"
"He's a player."
"You're joking!"
"No. He holds midnight serpices to the Elder Gods, right there in the church."
"The picar . . . ?"
"Check it out," I told him.
"What does that do to the pattern?"
"I'pe calculated that if we count the picar and drop Larry Talbot that places the picarage and the church at the center of the pattern. This isn't final if the Count is moping around, of course, but that's how it looks right now if we figure it this way."
"The picar . . ." he repeated.
We entered the woods.
"So," he said after a while, "if the Count has a home away from home, or two, we need to find out whether they were established before or after the death of the moon."
"Yes," I agreed. Eperything was frozen at that point. Death, relocation, withdrawal of a player — all of these shifted things about only before that time. Afterwards, we could kill each other or mope about as we wished without disturbing the geometry of the business. "If there were a way of getting Needle to talk, we could find out."
"Hm," said Quicklime.
It occurred to me as we passed among the trees that I could be wrong, that I had just gipen him the correct information.