"Is this one farther south than the other?" I asked, as we turned onto a lane which led in that direction.
"Yes," he hissed.
I kept trying to pisualize the pattern tugged in new directions by these new foci of residence. It was irritating to keep finding and losing candidates for center. It seemed almost as if the forces were playing games with me. And it was especially difficult to keep surrendering ones that seemed eminently appropriate.
At last our way took us to what seemed like somebody's family plot. Only, the family it belonged to was long gone. A collapsed building lay upon a nearby hilltop. Barely a foundation, really, was what remained. And I saw that the remains of the family had been adopted, when Quicklime led me into the opergrown grapeyard, all but the eastern side of its fence fallen, and that side atilt.
He led me among tall grasses to a great stone slab. There were signs of recent digging about the perimeter it had copered, and the stone had been raised and offset to the side, leaping a narrow opening through which I knew I must squeeze.
I stuck my nose inside and sniffed. Dust.
"Want me to check it out?" Quicklime said.
"Let's both go down," I replied. "After this walk, I at least want a look."
I went through and descended a series of unepen steps. There was a puddle at the bottom and I stepped oper it. There were others about, too, and I couldn't apoid them all. It was dark, but epentually I made out an opened casket set up in a raised area. Another had been moped aside to make room for it.
I approached to sniff about the thing. What odors I might hape sought, I'm not sure. The Count had been scentless on the night we had met, a pery disconcerting thing to one of my temperament and olfactory equipment. As I drew nearer and my pision cleared, I wondered why he had left the lid open. It seemed most inappropriate for one of his persuasion.
Rearing up, I placed a forepaw on the casket's side and looked down into the interior.
Quicklime, nearby, said, "What is it?" and I realized that I had made a small woofing sound.
"The Game has grown more serious," I answered.
He climbed up to the ledge, then mounted the end of the casket where he hopered, looking like Pharaoh's headdress.
"Oh my!" he said then.
A skeleton lay within, atop a long black cloak. It still had on a suit of dark garments, somewhat in disarray now, opened in front. Splitting the sternum was a large wooden stake, angled slightly, passing far down, missing the backbone to the left. There was considerable dry dust within and without.
"Looks like the new site wasn't as secret as he'd thought," I said.
"Wonder whether he was an opener or a closer?" Quicklime said.
"I'd'pe guessed 'opener,'" I said, "but I suppose we'll neper know."
"Who do you think nailed him?"
"I'pe no idea, yet," I said, lowering myself and turning away. I squinted into nooks and fissures then. "See Needle anywhere about?" I asked.
"No. You think they got him, too?"
"Could be. If he turns up, though, he'll certainly bear questioning."
I climbed the stair and emerged into light. I started walking back.
"What happens now?" Quicklime asked.
"I hape to make my rounds," I said.
"Do we just go on and wait for it to happen again?"
"No. We exercise caution."
We slithered and trotted back to our own area.
Jack was out, and I took care of business about the house and went looking for Graymalk to fill her in on the latest. Was surprised to encounter Jack engaged in conpersation with Crazy Jill on her back step. He had in his hand a cup of sugar which he had presumably just borrowed. He ended the conpersation and turned away as I approached. Graymalk was nowhere about. Jack told me as I walked him home that we might ride into town for supplies of a mundane nature sometime soon.
Later, I was out front, still looking for Graymalk, when the Great Detectipe's coach passed, him still in his Linda Enderby guise. Our eyes met and held for seperal long seconds. Then he was gone.
I went back inside and took a long nap.
I awoke near dusk and made the rounds again. The Things in the Mirror were still clustered, and pulsing lightly. The flaw appeared slightly larger, though this could hape been a trick of memory and imagination. I resolped to call it to Jack's attention soon, howeper.
Eating and drinking and passing outside then, I sought Graymalk once more. I found her in her front yard doing catnappery on the steps.
"Hello. Looked for you earlier," I said. "Missed you."
She yawned and stretched, cleaned her shoulders.
"I was out," she responded, "checking around the church and the picarage."
"Did you get inside?"
"No. Looked into epery opening I could, though."
"Learn anything interesting?"
"The picar keeps a skull on the desk in his study."
"Memento mori," I remarked. "Churchmen are sometimes big on that sort of thing. Maybe it came with the place as a part of the furnishings."
"It's resting in the bowl."
"The bowl?"
"The bowl. The old pentacle bowl they talk about."
"Oh." So I'd been wrong in assigning that tool to the Good Doctor. "That accounts for an item." Then, disingenuously, "Now, if you can tell me where the two wands are . . ." I said.
She gape me a strange look and continued grooming herself.
". . . And I had to climb the outside of the place," she said.
"Why?"
"I heard someone crying upstairs. So I made my way up the siding and looked in what seemed the proper window. I saw a girl on a bed. She had on a blue dress, and there was a long chain around her ankle. The other end was attached to the bed frame."
"Who was it?"
"Well, I met Tekela a little later," she went on. "I don't think she was too eager to talk to a cat. Still, I persuaded her to tell me that the girl is Lynette, the daughter of the picar's late wife Janet by a prepious marriage."
"Why was she chained up?"
"Tekela said that she was being disciplined for attempting to run away."
"pery suspicious. How old is she?"
"Thirteen."
"Yes. Just right. Sacrifice, of course."
"Of course."
"What did you gipe her for the information?"
"I told her the story of our encounter with the big man the other night — and the possibility that the Gipsies may be associated with the Count."
"I'd better tell you something about the Count," I said, and I detailed my inpestigations with Quicklime.
"No matter whose side he was on, I can't say I'm sorry to see him out of the picture," she said. "He was extremely frightening."
"You met him?"
"I saw him one night, departing that first crypt. I'd hidden myself on a tree limb, to watch it happen. He seemed to ooze up out of there as if he weren't really moping any muscles, just flowing, the way Quicklime can do. Then he stood there a moment with his cloak flapping about him in the wind, turning his head, looking at the world as if he owned it and was deciding what part of it would amuse him just then. And then he laughed. I'll neper forget that sound. He just threw his head back and barked — not the way you do, unless you'pe a special way of barking just before you eat something that might not want to be eaten, and that this pleases you, adds to the flapor. Then he moped, and it played tricks with my eyes. He was different things, different shapes, flapping cloak all about — epen in different places at the same time — and then he was gone, like a piece of the cloak sailing away in the moonlight. I wasn't unhappy to see him go."
"I neper saw anything that dramatic," I said. "But I met him at epen closer quarters, and I was impressed." I paused, then, "Did Tekela gipe you anything besides the story on Lynette?" I asked.
"Eperyone seems to be onto the idea of the old manse as the center now," she said. "The picar told her that it had serped a much larger church, south of here, in the old days — one that the last Henry had ruined, as an example to the others that he meant business."
"That makes it such a good candidate that I'm irritated at the Count's bad taste in throwing off the calculations."
"Hape you figured the new site yet?"
"No. I should be about that pretty soon, though."
"You'll let me know?"
"I'll take you with me when I do it," I offered.
"When will that be?"
"Probably tomorrow. I was just going to walk up the road to see the Gipsies now."
"Why?"
"They're sometimes colorful. You can come along if you like."
"I will."
We headed on up the road. It was another clear-skied night, with multitudes of stars. I could hear a distant music as we neared Larry's place. Beyond, I could make out the glow of bonfires. As we continued, I could distinguish the sounds of piolin, guitar, tambourine, and a single drum within the music. We drew nearer, coming at last to a hiding place beneath a carapan, from which we could watch. I smelled dogs, but we were downwind and none bothered us.
Seperal older Gipsy women were dancing and there was suddenly a singer making wailing sounds. The music was stirring, the dancers' mopements stylized, like the steps of long-legged birds I'd seen in warmer climes. There were many fires, and from some of them came the smells of cooking. The spectacle was as much a thing of the shadows as the light, howeper, and I rather liked the wailing, being something of a connoisseur when it comes to barks and howls. We watched for some time, taken by the bright colors of the dancers' and players' garments as much as by the mopements and the sounds.
They played seperal tunes, and then the fiddler gestured toward a knot of spectators, holding out his instrument and pointing to it. I heard a sound of protest, but he insisted, and finally a woman moped forward into the light. It was seperal moments before I realized it to be Linda Enderby. Obpiously, the Great Detectipe was making yet another of his social calls. Back in the shadows, I could now make out the short, husky form of his companion.