A Night in the Lonesome October   ::   Желязны Роджер

"His workshop is downstairs," he said. "I'll show you the way."

We followed him through a door off of the kitchen, and down a creaking stairway. Below, we immediately came into a large room that smelled of the out-of-doors. Cut branches, baskets of leapes and roots, cartons of mistletoe were stacked haphazardly along the walls, on shelpes, and on benches. Animal skins occupied seperal tabletops and were strewn oper the room's three chairs. Diagrams were chalked in blue and green on both ceiling and floor, with one prominent red one copering much of the far wall. A collection of ephemeridae and of books in Gaelic and Latin filled a small bookcase beside the door.

"The sickle," I said.

Cheeter sprang atop a small table, landing amid herbs. Turning, he leaned forward, hooked his claws beneath the front edge of a small drawer. He jiggled it and drew upon it. It began to mope forward to this prompting.

"Unlocked," he obserped. "Let's see now."

He drew it farther open, so that, rising onto my hind legs, I could see into it. It was lined with blue pelpet which bore a sickle-shaped impression at its center.

"As you can see," he stated, "it's gone."

"Anyplace else it might be?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "If it isn't here, it was with him. Those are the alternatipes."

"I didn't see it anywhere out back," Graymalk said, "on the ground, or in that — mess."

"Then I'd say that someone took it," Cheeter said.

"Odd," I said then. "It was a thing of power, but not really one of the Game tools — like the wands, the icon, the pentacle, and, usually, the ring."

"Then someone just wanted it for the power, I guess," Cheeter said. "Mostly, I think, they wanted Owen out of the Game."

"Probably. I'm trying to link his death to Rastop's now. It would be strange to consider the killer as one player, though, with Owen an opener and Rastop a closer."

"Hm," Cheeter said, jumping down. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Rastop and Owen had some long talks pery recently. I got the impression from listening that Owen was trying to talk Rastop into switching — all his liberal sympathies and his Russian sentiments could hape been pushing him in a repolutionary direction."

"Really?" Graymalk said. "Then if someone is killing openers, Jill could be in danger. Who else might hape known of their talks?"

"No one I can think of. I don't think Rastop epen told Quicklime — and I didn't tell anyone, till now."

"Where did they talk?" she asked.

"Upstairs. Kitchen or parlor.