"Zelazny, Roger - A Night In The Lonesome October" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

October 8


I drew more lines in my head last night and this morning, but before I'd created a satisfactory picture we had a caller.
I barked twice when the door chimes sounded, because it was expected of me. The master went to the door and I followed.
A tall, solidly built man, dark-haired, was on the stoop, and he smiled.
"Hello," he said, "my name's Larry Talbot. I'm your new neighbor, and I thought I'd come by and pay my respects."
"Won't you come in and have a cup of tea with me?" Jack said.
"Thank you."
Jack led him into the parlor and seated him, excused himself, and went to the kitchen. I stayed in the parlor and watched. Talbot glanced several times at the palm of his hand. Then he studied me.
"Good boy," he said.
I opened my mouth, let my tongue hang out, and panted a few times. But I did not approach him. There was something about the way he smelled — an underlying suggestion of wildness — that puzzled me.
Jack returned with a tray of tea and biscuits and they chatted for a time, about the neighborhood, the weather, the recent rash of grave robbings, the killings. I watched them — two big men, the air of the predator about each — sipping their tea now and discussing the exotic flowers Talbot cultivated and how they might fare, even indoors, in this climate.
Then came a terrible crash from the attic.
I departed the room immediately, bounding up the stair, swinging around corners. Up another stair. . . .
The wardrobe doors were open. The Thing stood before it.
"Free!" it announced, flexing its limbs, furling and unfurling its dark, scaly wings. "Free!"
"Like hell!" I said, curling back my lips and leaping.
I caught it directly in the midsection, knocking it back into the wardrobe again. I slashed twice, left and right, as it sought to seize me. I dropped down and bit one of its legs. I roared and threw myself on it again, slashing faceward.
It drew back, retreating to the rear of its prison, leaving a heavy scent of musk in the air. I shouldered the doors shut, reared up, and tried to close the latch with my paw. Jack entered just then and did it for me. He held his knife loosely in his right hand.
"You are an exemplary watchdog, Snuff," he stated.
A moment later Larry Talbot came in.
"Problems?" he said. "Anything I can help with?"
The blade vanished before Jack turned.
"No, thank you," he said. "It was less serious than it sounded. Shall we return to our tea?"
They departed.
I followed them down the stairs, Talbot moving as silently as the master. I'd a feeling, somehow, that he was in the Game, and that this incident had persuaded him that we were, too. For as he was leaving he said, "I see some busy days ahead, before this month is out. If you ever need help — of any sort — you can count on me."
Jack studied him for several long moments, then replied, "Without even knowing my persuasion?"
"I think I know it," Talbot answered.
"How?"
"Good dog you've got there," Talbot said. "Knows how to close a door."
Then he was gone. I followed him home, of course, to see whether he really lived where he said he did. When I saw that he did I had even more lines to draw. Interesting ones now, though.
He never turned and looked back, yet I knew that he could tell I was behind him all the way.
Later, I lay in the yard, drawing my lines. It had become a much more complicated enterprise. Footsteps approached along the road, halted.
"Good dog," croaked an ancient voice. It was the Druid. There followed a _plop_ on the ground nearby, as something he'd tossed over the garden wall landed. "Good dog."
I rose and inspected it as he passed on along his way. It was a piece of meat. Only the most wretched of alley hounds might not have been wary. The thing reeked of exotic additives.
I picked it up carefully, bore it to a soft spot beneath a tree, dug a hole there, dropped it in, covered it.
"Bravo!" came a sibilant voice from above. "I didn't think you'd fall for that one."
I glanced up. Quicklime was coiled about a branch overhead.
"How long have you been there?" I asked.
"Since your first visitor came by — the big one. I'd been watching him. Is he in the Game?"
"I don't know. I think he may be, but it's hard to tell. He's a strange one. Doesn't seem to have a companion."
"Maybe he's his own best friend. Speaking of which — "
"Yes?"
"The crazy witch's companion may be running out of steam about now."
"What do you mean?"
"'Ding, dong, dell.'"