The Gray House

When Noble was wheeled out, he resembled a scarecrow. He had on Alexander’s sweater, a veteran of many a general cleanup; Tabaqui’s craziest vest; Lary’s belt with the monkey-head buckle; Sphinx’s fingerless glove on his left hand; and Blind’s seashell on a string around his neck. Also there was Nanette’s feather behind his ear and Tubby’s bib in his pocket. I had nothing I could give him except cigarettes, so I gave him a pack, but then remembered about the amulet, the one allegedly containing basilisk eggshell, and handed it over to him as well.

No one went out to see Noble off.

THE HOUSE

INTERLUDE

The heat descended on the House, and with it came volleyball fever and vacations. The inhabitants of the House discarded it like a tired shell and hatched out into the sun—anyone who could walk or ride, yell and watch, and especially those who could run and hit the ball. The House was utilized for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and sleep, but the locus of the civic activity moved to the yard, where the opening of the volleyball season was proudly celebrated.

The court was bisected by the net and framed by the chairs and benches. Those had all been bristling with warning signs since early morning, and by the time breakfast was over there was nowhere to sit or escape from the sun. The elite spectator spots were shielded by a canopy. Everyone else had to make do with parasols.

The walking boys would rush to claim the crate seats right after breakfast. The Stuffage gang, the Singings from the Nesting, the unfortunates of the Cursed room. Sometimes fights broke out for the best spots. The junior wheelers came out later, together with seniors, secure in the knowledge that the counselors would take care of their seating arrangements. The walking weren’t thus privileged, so they had to wage war for every crate. On the other hand, once the game began they were promptly shooed away, sent to bring water, lemonade, and cigarettes, only to find their places taken up when they returned. They then had to settle down directly on the dirt, but even there they had no respite from demands, since someone soon was parched from shouting too much, another needed sunglasses to cover blinded eyes, and everybody was continually thirsty. For the walking juniors, the games consisted mostly of running errands. Surprisingly, they seemed to enjoy this. They enjoyed everything that had to do with the seniors’ entertainment. The sun, the ball flying up to the heavens, the sunglasses on every face, and the general air of screaming insanity.

Poxy Sissies were the last to make their appearance in the yard. They therefore had to contend with the worst seats, in the very back, but that did not bother them in the slightest. They were hardly interested either in the game itself or in those seniors who flitted around the court accompanied by the fittest among the counselors. They had their own delights. Blind practiced discerning the fortunes of the teams based on the shouts from the crowd. Beauty gnawed on his fingers and dreamed of catching the ball if it happened to fly in their direction. Magician absorbed the applause and the catcalls, imagining himself on stage. Grasshopper studied the seniors.

The Moorists and the Skullers divided the yard in half. The watershed was represented by the counselors’ seats in the middle under the canopy of honor. That was where Elk sat as well. “I’m too old for things like that,” Elk told Grasshopper when asked why wasn’t he playing too, like Splint and Black Ralph.

Moor’s place was sacrosanct. The large multicolored umbrella dominated the landscape. Moor descended to the yard trailed by five attendants. The bodyguard, also wheelchair pusher. The girl with a flyswatter. The girl with the warm blanket. The girl with two thermal jugs. The bologna slicer. Moor settled under the umbrella. The girls positioned themselves on the chairs around it. Nail, the pusher-bodyguard, remained behind the wheelchair. The bologna slicer (a floating assignment) put down a mat by Moor’s feet. This resembled nothing so much as a tribal elder’s preparations for departure from his native village. Grasshopper always thought how much more fun it would be if someone were to sit next to them and bang a drum. And the girls could rattle something. Then the picture would have been complete.

Skull’s people occupied the opposite end. There were no masters or servants there. Skull himself sat on a simple bench. Not in a hundred years would you suspect that he ruled this place, except everyone knew that he did.