by Gene Wolfe
"Leave it alone, please. Let's open it by daylight."
"That's wise I'm sure, sir." From his voice, Toby might have been wagging his tail. "There's quite an odor, sir. I'm sensitive to odors."
"So you said. I understand."
"Little scratchy sounds, too, sir. It could be rats. I'm a fine ratter, sir. I hate them."
"I certainly approve of that, Toby. Tell Les to leave his bill, please, and you and I will open the trunk in the morning."
I hung up and switched off my telephone, apologizing to Doris and Jake. "I'm sorry about that. I've turned it off, so it won't interrupt our dinner again."
Doris said, "Do you have a footman, Bax? I thought I heard that."
"So it would appear. There are footmen who are fish, and there are footmen who are frogs. Mine happens to be a dog."
Shaking her head, Doris turned to Jake. "Ever had a client with two Ph.D.'s? This is what it's like."
He grinned. "Better you than me."
I said, "I'd like to return to the subject, if I may. You never met Zwart Black?"
Jake shook his head. "Just heard about him."
"You must have met Alexander Skotos, however. He died only three years ago, if I remember what I've been told correctly. Did he ever come to the Country Hill office?"
Jake nodded. "I took care of a few little things for him when Jim wasn't around. He wasn't a friendly kind of guy, but he knew what he wanted and why he wanted it, and he didn't waste my time. I'll say that for him."
"I'll try not to waste any more of ours. I'm going to try to describe him. Please tell me if anything that I say sounds wrong. He was shorter than I am?"
Jake nodded. "Three or four inches shorter, I'd say."
"Would you call him a brisk, energetic little man with a big, sharp nose, dark eyes, and yellow hair?"
Jake looked thoughtful "Sort of a yellowish brown, I'd say. About the same color as yours. Say it like that, and you've got him."
Doris muttered, "I'm beginning to think you must have known him under another name, Bax."
I shrugged. "I can't be held accountable for your thoughts."
Our dinners arrived, bringing with them enough appetizing odors to fill a lecture hall. You will have dined in Chinese restaurants I feel sure, George. Perhaps you have even dined in one nearly as good as the Garden of Happiness. I shall merely tell you that there were side dishes in plenty, including Country-Style Rice, Chicken Fried Rice (yes!), and my favorite, the delicious Mandarin Rice. I know all those names, you see, because we asked the waitress about them. Doris and I amused ourselves by trying to identify the eight precious ingredients. The easy ones were oysters and shrimp. A third was either octopus or squid, although neither of us could be quite sure which. The remaining five provided us with a good deal of amused conversation.
Before that, however, I had a final question for Jake. "This is a catchall, I admit. Tell me anything that pops into your mind. What was peculiar about Skotos? Did you notice any mannerisms? Was there something eccentric or unusual in the way he dressed? Anything of that kind?"
"Just one." Jake was looking thoughtful. "He had this stick. Sort of like a cane. It came about shoulder high and had a V on top. Jim said he had some big antique pistols, and when he shot them at the range he'd lay the barrel in the V to steady it. I never saw that."
Doris said, "But you saw this walking stick of his?"
Jake nodded. "There was something funny about it, but I can't put my finger on it. He told me once that it was an antique and it sure looked old, but why did he carry it around with him all the time? He didn't need it to walk with."
"I should have asked this before. I'm sure the lawyer would have known, and Mr. Hardaway probably would've known as well. What was Skotos's cause of death? Do you know?"
Jake shook his head. "He died out of town, I know that. Off on a trip somewhere. They flew the body back here."
Doris asked, "In Port Saint Jude? Something like that?"
"Huh uh. Out of the country. Haiti? I think it was down there in Central America somewhere."
I asked, "Is there anything else can you tell us?"
"Nothing much. I didn't go to the funeral. Jim did, though. Jim Hardaway. He said it was closed-casket, and there were only three people, counting him."
Doris touched my arm. "I don't suppose you were one of them, Bax?"
Wishing I had been, I shook my head.
"What about your brother George?"
"It's possible, but I don't know. Whether Jake does is the question. Do you, Jake? Who were the other two?"
"I've got no idea. Ask Jim."
"I'll do it," Doris told me. "I'll catch him first thing in the morning and phone you."
"I want to play a game," I told her. "It's cocky of me, and it may be stupid, too. But I think I can name one of them." I got out my little notebook.
"Name one, but not the other?"
"Correct." I wrote a name, tore out the page, and folded it twice. "Don't read this until you've talked to Mr. Hardaway."
"I won't. Girl Scout's honor."
I handed the paper to her. "Call me after you read it and you can tell me what a fool I was."
"I will, but speaking of calls . . ." Doris pointed. "Somebody seems to have called one of us."
Our waitress was approaching, cordless telephone in hand. I sipped my tea and waited.
"Mr. Dunn, he here?"
I raised my hand.
"You sec'tary on phone." The waitress smiled and bobbed her head. "She Chinese! Is velly nice lady!"
As I took the telephone, Doris muttered, "Now you've got a secretary?"
I shrugged and said hello.
"Is this Bax?"
"Yes, it is. Hello, Winker. What is it?"
"A lady came and asked for you. I let her in. She's gone, Bax. We can't find her!"
"Really?"
"Yes! Toby and I went looking for her. I didn't find her, and Toby's gone, too."
"Thank you for calling, Winker. Young? A plump lady with yellow hair?"
"By plump you mean fat?"
"That's right, fat."
"Then she's the one."
"I see. Please find her if you can, and call me if you do. I'll--"
"Your phone's off!"
"I'll turn it back on as soon as we're through, I promise."
"All right, I'll call."
"Wait--do you speak Chinese?"
Winkle giggled. "Riddle bit speak."
"I . . . see. Please call me if you find her." I hung up and returned the instrument to our waitress.
Doris said, "Now there's a missing woman. Is this another girlfriend, Bax?"
"Hardly. It's Cathy Ruth. She came early and seems to have decided to investigate on her own. Toby's looking for her."
"I see. You know, I never knew just what a footman does. What if he doesn't find her?"
I sipped tea. "In that case, you and I will look for her tonight."
"I was hoping you'd say that." Doris glanced at her watch. "It's getting late. Does your secretary live with you?"
"To be honest," I said, "I really don't know, although I suspect she may. To tell you the truth, I don't know where she lives. It's a big house."
Jake laughed. "Doris told me what happened when you got socked. I wish I could have listened in when the cops questioned you."
"You would have been entirely welcome. It gave me a wonderful opportunity to tell them what a truly fine man my brother George is."
Doris gave the thumbs-down sign.
"You two had better stop talking and eat," Jake told us. "I'm almost through."
"Excellent advice." I picked up my chopsticks and ate.
Doris said, "I've got a question for you."
I chewed and swallowed. "I have half a dozen."
"Well, I don't have answers. Only questions. Could the Ruth girl get hurt in that weird house of yours?"
Recalling the beating I had received from Ieuan Black, I nodded.
But now, Geo
rge, I must cease to write. I began this letter because, exhausted though I am, I could not get to sleep. Now I feel that I may sleep for a week.
Yours sincerely,
Bax
Number 29
HELP IS ON THE WAY
Mr. Dunn:
Thank you for your letter. I will certainly be in transit by the time you receive this, and may well have landed. I have reserved a room at the Medicine Man Hilton. You may contact me there, should you desire to. Otherwise I will contact you, probably by telephone.
Before I do, it would be well for you to review all recent manifestations. I would suggest that you give each one a short name, such as "Gray Figure in the Garden" or "Piano Played at Midnight." Be as specific as possible regarding times and places. Also, persons present. It is a key element. I will question you as to other details. For example: Just what was seen, if anything? Just what was heard, if anything? Was there an odor? A sensation of cold? Please search your memory for such details.
Your sister-in-law has told me you were attacked by wolves of more than natural size, and mentioned, as you did in your letter, that you feel that your car, as well as your home, is a site of supernormal activity. Such may be the case, but I think it unlikely. More plausibly, it is you yourself. We must examine this possibility.
Yours truly,
Mrs. O. Pogach
"Madame Orizia"
PS: Mrs. Dunn thinks the wolves may have been werewolves. She also said you shot and killed one. That is unlikely, as only silver bullets would have been effective.
Number 30
FREEDOM!
Dear Bax,
Glorious news! George has been released from Jail. He just telephoned me from his hotel. I said, "Does this mean you're coming home, dear?"
He said no because he cannot leave town. He would be arrested again. But he said Ben had found him a bail man. I do not know who Ben is, perhaps you do and will tell me. Please ask Ben and the bail man, too, to let him come home.
It is not that I love George, Bax, but I know you do. You will say he married me for my money, and I know you are right.
Also he calls me stupid. If he were smart himself, like you, he would not do that.
But his office keeps phoning with Questions. I cannot answer them, but they just think up more. I have not told them George was in jail, but I have not told them he was not, either. It is not a lie not to tell people things. Especially if they do not ask me.
Also George has the keys to the good car, which will be parked way out at the airport. I only have the old one, which is very hard to start. Besides, everyone knows it is old.
So if you see him, Bax, please let him know to call his office. Also mail me the keys. I would take a cab out and drive the car back. Then when he came home he could take a cab. I think you will see that is fair.
I like Miss Finn and her mother, too. Thank you for telling me about them. I have told Madame Orizia about the werewolves, but she did not believe me. She said she did, but I know she did not. This was the only time I have ever said anything and had her not believe it. Don't you think that is sad? I do.
But you told me and I believe you. Please be careful. Do not feed them or try to pet them.
Please tell George that I said that if you ever want to visit us you would be most welcome here. There is a big spare bedroom, and you could stay as long as you like. It would mean I would have somebody to talk to when George was at his office. When he was here, too. He will not talk to me mostly except to call names.
Fondly,
Millie
Number 31
GET OUT--AND GOT OUT
Dear Millie:
If memory serves, I told you in my last that I had promised a reporter (Cathy Ruth) that I would investigate the cellar in her company. A friend called while I was at dinner to tell me that she had arrived and was wandering through my house. I reacted to that as I suppose you or George or anyone else would; I might very well have given her permission to wander through my house, but I had given no such permission. Toby, a friend of my manservant's, was trying to find and expel her. All this resulted, I am very sorry to say, in our losing your husband. Let me explain.
Concerned by Cathy's disappearance, Doris Griffin returned to my home with me. The friend who had called me was not to be found. Nor was Toby. Nor was Cathy. After talking it over, Doris and I agreed that the most likely explanation was that Cathy had set out to explore the cellar on her own, and that Toby had tracked her there.
The cellar doors at the back of the house stood wide, which we took as confirming our conclusion. I changed into rough clothes, and loaned Doris an old shirt and a pair of Dockers. She had worn high heels to dinner, but there was nothing either of us could do about that; my shoes would have been far too large. After loading both my pistols, I offered her one. She declined, so I thrust them both into my belt.
Not long after Doris and I had changed, we encountered my manservant and apprised him of the situation. He was greatly perturbed and wished to accompany us, although he is lame and limps along with a crutch. I ordered him to remain upstairs near the telephone instead. I would have my cellular telephone and would call the house's landline number should we require assistance.
"Oh, Bax!" you will say. "Can't you see that these elaborate precautions were absurd?"
If I were there with you, Millie--and I have often wished I were--I would talk in just the same way. I am here, instead; and I have been dealing with this wonderful (often frightening) house for weeks. My precautions were not excessive, as you shall see. They were insufficient.
Our flashlights soon found the washer and dryer my manservant had caused to be installed in the cellar. They are in a small room near the door.
There was a wall behind us and another to our left; otherwise that cellar seemed a vast cavern. Here and there stood tables and shelves, some empty or nearly so, others heaped with all sorts of objects veiled in dust.
There were cobwebs everywhere, and most were filthy with dust. I will try not to write too much about them, but they were a constant irritant to which we never grew accustomed. They got onto our faces and into our hair. They clung to our clothes and our hands. From time to time, our flashlights revealed hairy spiders as large as saucers; they fled the light.
Far ahead (indeed it sounded impossibly far) I heard the excited yapping of a small dog. Once something held my jeans near the ankle and tried to pull me back.
Doris screamed and dropped her flashlight. I turned mine on her. A rat that looked larger than her head was clutching her hair. I clubbed it with my own flashlight, and it dropped to the floor and scuttled away.
She clung to me and wept. I embraced her and did everything I could think of to comfort her. I know that you do not care for Doris, Millie, and know, too, that she is no paragon. Yet I do not believe I have ever pitied anyone except myself quite as much as I pitied her then.
When at last she was a little calmer, she said, "Get me out, Bax. Please! Just get me out of here."
I tried. Or as I ought to say, we tried, for Doris picked up her fallen flashlight and helped me look for the long flight of wooden steps by which we had descended into that fearful cellar.
At last, she thought she had found it. I knew that she had not. I recalled the wall behind those we had come down, and I saw that there was no wall there; but they led up, plainly back to the ground floor, and that seemed to me all that we could hope for and more. To confess the truth, I scarcely noticed that the frantic yapping of the small dog seemed nearer as we mounted the high, uneven steps. (I must explain here, Millie, that I supposed the dog we heard to be my manservant's little terrier, which proved to be the case.)
We had nearly reached the top when I heard a woman scream; it was not Doris, but someone on the other side of the door at the top of the stairs.
"That's her, Bax!" Doris shouted. "It's got to be!"
She was at once wrong and right.
The door was locked. I shook the knob, tried to kic
k it open, and flung myself against it with all my strength; it gave not a hair's width.
"Shoot it!" Doris urged me. "Shoot the (expletive deleted) lock!"
I told her that shooting locks worked on television and in films, but nowhere else unless the shooter had a powerful shotgun.
"Try, damn it! Try!"
I did, and the echoes that my shot woke in that cellar are something I shall never forget.
"Push it! Push hard!"
The bullet had shattered the wood near the lock. I threw myself against the door once more, and it gave.
In the candlelit room beyond the doorway, a muscular dwarf of surpassing ugliness grappled a half-naked woman larger, darker, and substantially heavier than Cathy Ruth. I drew my other pistol and shouted for him to stop.
He dropped her, planted one foot upon her, kicked at the frantically barking dog, and grinned at Doris. He had the largest mouth, and the largest teeth, I have ever seen; below the waist, I shall not describe him. "Welcome, my lovely lady. Oh, you are so welcome. Come here."
She shrank back, clinging to me.
"Quorn will break you. Quorn will teach you to answer the lightest touch of his whip. You'll like it, too. Yes, you will! You'll kiss the lash, I promise. You'll see."
I wanted to say, "I believe your name was Quilp when last I heard of you," but I did not. Instead, I pointed toward his collar. "That's steel from the look of it, and there's still a bit of chain hanging from it. Haven't I seen you before?"
"You see the maggots in your own eyes, fool."
"I don't think so. Not long ago, you were chained to Ieuan's door."
He cursed Ieuan roundly, ending with: "He's the only son of snot I've ever seen filthier than you are."
"You're quite correct." I leveled my other pistol. "I am filthy. So is Doris, but we'll bathe and change clothes and be clean. Your filth is within you. If it were gone, you'd collapse."
Behind him, a woman gasped, "Please, Mr. Dunn! Oh, please!"
