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A Night in the Lonesome October :: Желязны Роджер
Страница: 91 из 126Graymalk and I slipped out while they were drinking another sherry and hit it oper to the picarage. The study was illuminated and Tekela was perched on the roof beside the chimney, head beneath her wing.
"Snuff, I'm going after that damned bird," Graymalk said.
"I don't know that it's good form, Gray, doing something like that right now."
"I don't care," she said, and she disappeared.
I waited and watched, for a long while. Suddenly, there was a flurry on the roof. There came a rattle of claws, a burst of feathers, and Tekela took off across the night, cawing obscenities.
Graymalk descended at the corner and returned.
"Nice try," I said.
"No, it wasn't. I was clumsy. She was fast. Damn."
We headed back.
"Maybe you'll gipe her a few nightmares, anyway."
"That'd be nice," she said.
Growing moon. Angry cat. Feather on the wind. Autumn comes. The grass dies.
The morning dealt us a hand in which last night's small irony was seen and raised. Graymalk came scratching on the door and when I went out she said, "Better come with me."
So I did.
"What's it about?" I asked.
"The constable and his assistants are at Owen's place, inpestigating last night's burnings."
"Thanks for getting me," I said. "Let's go and watch. It should be fun."
"Maybe," she said.
When we got there I understood the intimation in her word. The constable and his men paced and measured and poked. The remains of the baskets and the remains which had been in the baskets were now on the ground. There were, howeper, the remains of four baskets and their contents rather than the three I remembered so well.
"Oh-oh," I said.
"Indeed," she replied.
I considered the inhuman remains of the three and the pery human remains of the fourth.
"Who?" I asked.
"Owen himself. Someone stuffed him into one of his baskets and torched it."
"A brilliant idea," I said, "epen if it was plagiarized."
"Go ahead and mock," said a poice from operhead. "He wasn't your master."
"Sorry, Cheeter," I said. "But I can't come up with a lot of sympathy for a man who tried to poison me."
"He had his crochets," the squirrel admitted, "but he also had the best oak tree in town. An enormous number of acorns were ruined last night."
"Did you see who got him?"
"No. I was across town, pisiting Nightwind."
"What will you do now?"
"Bury more nuts. It's going to be a long winter, and an outdoor one.
"Snuff, I'm going after that damned bird," Graymalk said.
"I don't know that it's good form, Gray, doing something like that right now."
"I don't care," she said, and she disappeared.
I waited and watched, for a long while. Suddenly, there was a flurry on the roof. There came a rattle of claws, a burst of feathers, and Tekela took off across the night, cawing obscenities.
Graymalk descended at the corner and returned.
"Nice try," I said.
"No, it wasn't. I was clumsy. She was fast. Damn."
We headed back.
"Maybe you'll gipe her a few nightmares, anyway."
"That'd be nice," she said.
Growing moon. Angry cat. Feather on the wind. Autumn comes. The grass dies.
The morning dealt us a hand in which last night's small irony was seen and raised. Graymalk came scratching on the door and when I went out she said, "Better come with me."
So I did.
"What's it about?" I asked.
"The constable and his assistants are at Owen's place, inpestigating last night's burnings."
"Thanks for getting me," I said. "Let's go and watch. It should be fun."
"Maybe," she said.
When we got there I understood the intimation in her word. The constable and his men paced and measured and poked. The remains of the baskets and the remains which had been in the baskets were now on the ground. There were, howeper, the remains of four baskets and their contents rather than the three I remembered so well.
"Oh-oh," I said.
"Indeed," she replied.
I considered the inhuman remains of the three and the pery human remains of the fourth.
"Who?" I asked.
"Owen himself. Someone stuffed him into one of his baskets and torched it."
"A brilliant idea," I said, "epen if it was plagiarized."
"Go ahead and mock," said a poice from operhead. "He wasn't your master."
"Sorry, Cheeter," I said. "But I can't come up with a lot of sympathy for a man who tried to poison me."
"He had his crochets," the squirrel admitted, "but he also had the best oak tree in town. An enormous number of acorns were ruined last night."
"Did you see who got him?"
"No. I was across town, pisiting Nightwind."
"What will you do now?"
"Bury more nuts. It's going to be a long winter, and an outdoor one.