Sphinx is barely able to sit down before Tabaqui already sidles up to him along the edge of the table.
“The love potion for Mermaid came out great,” he announces above the din. “One hundred percent guaranteed results.”
“What would she want with it?”
“What do you mean?” Tabaqui says incredulously. “For the parrot!”
Sphinx recalls that someone in the girls’ wing keeps an aggressive bird, a female, that’s learned to open its cage from inside. A big chunk of their hallway is now out of bounds as a result, and the inhabitants of the rooms near the parrot’s den do not venture out except with opened umbrellas at the ready. Sphinx lately hasn’t heard anything about the exploits of the old macaw and assumed that the problem had been dealt with one way or another.
“You’ll see,” Tabaqui assures him. “One whiff of the potion, and the birdie is going to trail Mermaid everywhere, moaning passionately.”
“I do not approve of anyone or anything trailing my girl with passionate moans!”
“Your approval is immaterial. Too late, the machinery has been put in motion. The only thing left to do now is wait for the results.”
“Are you trying to lure her away from me?” Sphinx says. “Massaging brush for the cats, that light-up umbrella, the alarm bracelet, now this. To say nothing about your joint hunting trips.”
The music suddenly cuts out, and feisty Rats stop punching each other.
R One has stopped at the door and is looking over the canteen sullenly. A counselor at lunchtime is always bad news, and the room goes almost completely quiet, with only the Insensible continuing to munch happily.
“Please stay where you are.”
Ralph slams the door closed behind him and leans against it, arms crossed.
“The dorms and classrooms are being searched as we speak. Once the search is over you will be allowed to leave the canteen.”
Rats explode with noise. Bespectacled Pheasant Leader is forced to shout to be heard.
“Excuse me! On behalf of the First I would like clarification, please. The search being conducted, does it encompass all of the dorms?”
“Yes, it does,” Ralph says coldly.
The look of deep affront on the faces of Pheasants somewhat raises the spirits of everyone else. Almost everyone. Except for those who clearly have something to worry about. Lary, for example. Looking at his rapidly graying face it’s easy to imagine that the search of his bunk would yield a bloody scalp at the very least.
“Lary, what’s wrong?” Sphinx says. “What have you been hiding?”
Lary is silent, apart from heavy sighs. Then he plugs his mouth with the good-luck bolt he has hanging on a cord around his neck and screws up his eyes tightly. Sphinx and Tabaqui exchange glances. Tabaqui shrugs.
“Hey!” he shouts out to Ralph. “How about some extra food, then? To help while away the hours pleasantly?”
Ralph does not acknowledge the suggestion. He has turned his back to those in the canteen and is holding a muted conversation with someone through a crack in the door. Then he steps aside, allowing Humpback in. Humpback enters, looking around suspiciously, and startles when he hears jubilant shouts directed his way.
“And the hermit home from the hill!”
“The Druid has left the hedge! Yay!”
Tabaqui valiantly crashes down on the floor and crawls to Humpback through the muck. Humpback snatches him up, and they come to the table together, Jackal wrapped around his neck, cooing tenderly.
“What’s going on here?” Humpback says.
“Search,” Sphinx says. “Rain. You?”
Humpback displays the freshly bandaged fingers.
“Everything’s fine. The thumb was starting to ooze a bit, but only a bit. Nothing serious. No reason to go nuts over it.”
“Yes. There. Was. Reason,” Sphinx enunciates.
“All right, there was.” Humpback unloads Tabaqui on the table and pulls a plate toward himself. “I did everything like you said. Calm down, all right?”
Smoker collects whatever’s left of the food on Humpback’s plate. Lary, still plugged up with the bolt, waves his hand in a feeble salute.
Sitting idly in front of empty plates soon loses its attraction. Rats drift off into the corners with their Walkmans. Birds clear the table and start a round of poker. Tabaqui tosses a white cloth on the floor, sits on top of it, and declares that he’s ready to tell fortunes by casting glass beads for anyone who asks. A modest queue forms in front of him.
Ralph steps away from the door, and in come two Cases, each lugging a sleepy Hound. Red dashes over and tries to pump them for news. Hounds yawn and shrug.
Sphinx leans back in his chair.
The dorm searches are nothing new. They’ve also never yielded anything. This time the counselors are most probably after the knives. Or the drugs pilfered from the Sepulcher. It doesn’t matter, really. They are going to find nothing, apart from maybe Solomon, the erstwhile runaway now hiding in the House, if he really is hiding and if they happen to stumble upon him. The only thing that makes Sphinx slightly uneasy is Lary sitting there petrified with the magic bolt in his mouth. He looks like an idiot.
“I have this feeling,” Tabaqui says, shaking the cup with the beads, “that they are not looking for what we think they’re looking for.”
“Meaning?”
Tabaqui purses his lips importantly.
“The details are better left unsaid. That would be more appropriate, in my opinion.”
Lary moans softly.
“Damn it, Lary!” Sphinx erupts. “Are you going to tell us what’s wrong or are you going to sit here with that thing between your teeth?”
Lary shakes his head and looks at Sphinx accusingly.
Cases reappear. This time they bring Noble and Alexander. Red reprises his dash in hopes of acquiring important information and has to retreat again, defeated.
“So what do I do now?” Hybrid asks Tabaqui glumly.
He’s crouching in front of the divination cloth, waiting for some words that would make sense, because he couldn’t find any in what Jackal has just told him.
“It would be best to do absolutely nothing,” Tabaqui says. “The way it came out, I’d hold my breath if I were you, old man.”
Upon hearing this pronouncement, three of those waiting in line for their fortunes quickly disperse. Hybrid remains seated in front of the menacingly glittering pattern, dutifully holding his breath.
The next to be brought to the canteen is Blind. Who appears to have been sleeping and taking a shower at the same time.
“Left . . . Straight . . . There,” Sphinx says as Blind approaches the table. “What’s going on? Are they going to let us out anytime soon?”
Blind carefully positions the chair at some very specific angle, the importance of which is known only to him, sits down, and says that unfortunately the counselors are not in a habit of sharing their plans with him.
“I do not constitute an authority for them.”
“Any prisoners marched down before you? Anyone who smelled like Solomon?”
Blind takes a sniff at the empty plates and shakes his head sadly.
“You have an elevated opinion of me, Sphinx, if you think I can distinguish Solomon by smell from any other Rat. Why don’t you ask Noble?”
Noble, pointedly shielding himself from the world behind a book, doesn’t look like a person in the mood to share information. When suddenly woken up, he is better left alone. Especially if it’s Cases doing the waking up.
“Why would anyone smell like Solomon?” Tabaqui asks. “What is this about, Sphinx? What are you hiding from us?”
Sphinx relates Vulture’s message. Tabaqui reddens threateningly. Lary silently upraises his hands. Blind, in the meantime, homes in on the food that Humpback secreted away for Nanette, relieves him of one of the packets, and contentedly devours it.
“Yep,” he says indistinctly. “Sol has been living in the basement and Red brings
him food down there. I didn’t know he ventured out, though. Must have gotten bolder.”
Sphinx is surprised and heartened at Blind’s awareness. Tabaqui is aghast at Red’s behavior.
“The damn murderer!” he fumes. “And there’s Red feeding him! You guys are completely mental! This, after everything that happened between them! It’s a miracle Solomon hasn’t finished the job yet. On the other hand, who’d feed him then? On the other other hand, depends on what the feed is. If it’s the scraps like what Blind’s been gobbling, might as well cut him. Nothing to lose either way.”
Blind puts the empty packet aside, unbuttons his frock coat, extracts the bedraggled crow from its recesses, and places her on the table.
“Almost forgot that I brought her along,” he says. “I thought I’d better. Those Cases don’t exactly inspire confidence.”
Humpback snatches his pet and straightens out her feathers.
“What were you thinking, Blind? Keeping the bird under your clothes all this time! She can barely stand, poor thing!”
“I’m sorry. I told you, I forgot.”
The pack solemnly regards the Leader who is capable of forgetting about a crow hidden on his person.
“He’s not a completely lost cause yet, tempting though to think he is,” Tabaqui says to Sphinx soothingly. “Believe me, he’s still full of surprises.”
“Of that I have no doubt.” Sphinx stands up. “I’ll go ask Red why he’s so jumpy all of a sudden. I hope he isn’t holding a horseshoe in his mouth that would interfere with his ability to speak.”
Sphinx starts in the direction of the windowsill occupied by Red, but is intercepted by Black, rising up from the Sixth’s table; his desire to have a private conversation is so obvious that every Hound in the vicinity immediately makes himself scarce to allow him the opportunity. To the extent it’s possible in a room crammed with people.
“Sphinx, can I have a minute?”
Sphinx waits resignedly for Hound Leader—decked to the gills in the regalia of his position, including the collar that for him is not a required accessory—to approach.
“I need to tell you something . . .” Black’s chin thrusts forward, his pale eyebrows bunch together over the bridge of the nose. “I have finally done it!”
This sounds so ominous that Sphinx is reluctant to clarify what he’s talking about. He’s overwhelmed by the desire to cry out “Why, oh why have you done it, Black”—so strong that he’s barely able to stop himself.
“You are probably going to laugh . . .”
“No,” Sphinx says firmly. “I’m not. Whatever else, this I can promise.”
Black’s eyes glaze over.
“I found a bus. A small one.”
Sphinx nods, says “I see,” and uses his shoulder to wipe the sweat off his face. Then he says “Why?” in exactly the plaintive voice that he successfully fought off not a minute ago.
Black looks around and begins to whisper confidentially.
“I had to distract them with something, don’t you see? Buck them up a little. I couldn’t just sit on my hands looking at how they were all running scared half to death. And then there was all this talk about a bus. So I figured I’ll get them their bus. I’m their Leader, after all, right? Remember how I told you that I knew where to find one? Well, I didn’t get it from there exactly, there was this other place. Doesn’t matter, anyway. The important thing is, it exists.”
Sphinx nods.
“Right. That’s the important thing. I get it, Black. It’s great, it’s wonderful. But what are you going to do if they take it into their heads to actually use it?”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” Black says pensively. “Because, you see, I can’t just go and tell them that it was all for show, so that they wouldn’t go stir crazy on me. I parked the bus near the dump and tossed some trash over it. You wouldn’t believe it, but they used to visit it three times a day, every day, until those guys with the tents showed up. So now they don’t anymore, of course, but the fact of it being there is what’s keeping them together, you see?”
Sphinx looks at Black like it’s the first time he sees him. The blue icicles of the eyes framed by the pale eyelashes. The dancing skeletons on the black pirate bandana.
“What I see is that you’re screwed,” Sphinx says. “That’s what I see.”
Black sighs.
“I know that. So, what do you think I should do?”
Sphinx itches to give him Jackal-like advice. To live holding his breath. To sing noiseless songs. To wash his face with softer water. But Black is a Leader, and this is not the kind of tone to assume with Leaders.
“Tell them that the bus is useless without a driver, and a driver is useless without a license. This they have to understand. It’s common knowledge.”
Black shakes his head and sighs again. Takes off the bandana, scratches his head. His unhurried movements make Sphinx break out in an itch between his shoulder blades.
“Remember how I said I learned to drive? I mean, not that I’m an expert, but I’m pretty decent. And now I have the license too. Fake, of course. Rat got it for me. But the point is, I have it.”
“Black?” Sphinx says, looking into his eyes. “You’ve already decided, haven’t you? What else do you need? Everything’s in place, all that remains is to load whoever takes you up on the offer in that bus and drive into the sunset. What is it you want from me?”
Black shuffles his feet. Wipes the face with the scrunched-up bandana and says without lifting his eyes, “Nothing. I just had to tell you. That there’s another way, you know. In case any of you guys would like to use it. I’ve already talked to Lary, he and Needle are definitely going. But maybe someone else?”
Sphinx looks at Black and thinks that this man in front of him is undoubtedly the same old Black that he’s known for years, and at the same time someone completely different. That his Leadership has pushed him to the edge of inspired madness, beyond which even familiar people turn into strangers. He considers whether that’s good or bad, and cannot decide definitively. It’s probably bad for Black himself, but Sphinx likes this new unpredictable stranger much more.
“Thanks, Black,” he says.
Black shrugs.
“Not at all. I just wanted you to know. OK . . . I’ll see you.”
Black walks away in his swaying, bearlike gait. Clutching the bandana with the skeletons in his hand, wearing a quietly heroic expression. As Sphinx looks at Black’s receding back, Noble drives up to him.
“What was it he wanted?”
“You know what,” Sphinx says, ignoring the question, “I seem to be acquiring a philosophical attitude.”
The search is apparently over. Counselors and Shark mill around the entrance to the canteen, arguing hotly. They come to some sort of agreement, haul Pheasants’ table to the door, barring it, and Shark announces that since many of the things known missing haven’t been discovered, the backpacks of everyone currently in the canteen will have to be searched as well. No one can hear anything after that. Shark’s speech is drowned out by indignant howls and whistles. Even Pheasants join in, discipline be damned. Shark makes a couple of futile attempts to finish his thought, then shrugs and goes back to the counselors. They are huddled together at the table, waiting for the outrage to subside, but if anything, it keeps growing. Rats start throwing crockery. Plates and cups explode on the floor a couple of feet from the counselors, so it can be argued that Rats aren’t aiming directly at them, but it still looks threatening, and Sheriff’s nerves are the first to snap. He snatches the starter pistol from his pocket and empties the clip at the ceiling. He fires until everyone’s ears start ringing.
Rats pipe down a little, especially since they ran out of things to throw. Pheasants, tableless, decide they’ve had enough and line up for the inspection, backpacks open and ready.
Smoker whips out the notebook again and feverishly scribbles in it like an obsessed reporter who suddenly stumbled upon a s
ensational scoop. Nanette, shaken by the gunshots, flutters away, but not before decorating the tablecloth with greenish squiggles of guano.
“They are especially vicious today, aren’t they,” Noble says. “I wonder what it is they’re missing, apart from all the things we know about?”
Sphinx looks at Tabaqui, who has been saying the same thing, but he is half-stunned with his own screams and neither hears Noble nor notices Sphinx’s look.
One after the other, Pheasants’ backpacks spill their frighteningly uniform contents on the table before the counselors. Packs of tissues, first-aid kits, daily organizers. Every backpack is then turned inside out and shaken repeatedly. The pockets are turned out separately, yielding only handkerchiefs and combs, neatly numbered.
“The way this is going, might as well settle in for the night,” Noble says. “Not that I relish the opportunity. How about letting Tabaqui go first? He’s got that evil backpack.”
“Don’t do that. That’ll just make them mad,” Humpback says.
Sphinx looks around the canteen. It brings to mind the aftermath of an explosion in a pigpen even more than usual. The shards are still glinting by the door. The oilcloth snatched off Rats’ table lies crumpled on the dirty floor. Curtains have been stripped off the windows, and several people pretend to be sleeping now wrapped in them. One corner is occupied by anxious Logs holding an emergency war council, in the other Birds are constructing a screen for a makeshift latrine, harried by Elephant squeaking miserably, “Want pee-pee! Want pee-pee!” at regular intervals. When Sphinx imagines the stench of urine added to the overall conditions in the room, he flinches disgustedly. And all the while the Leader of this entire joint is dozing off contentedly under the serving window, with his frock coat for a bed. As Sphinx observes the peaceful scene he imagines himself screaming, shaking Blind, kicking and trampling him. He starts walking, overflowing with these emotions.
He walks past Tabaqui, busily forcing something into his backpack that would make it even more deadly. Past the flowerpot containing an acid-green plant, made of plastic but still visibly gnawed on. Past the conspiratorial Logs watching the door warily. He’s almost there when Blind speaks without opening his eyes.
The Gray House Page 87
