The Gray House

We were wheeling out in a throng of chattering, hopping Rats. Then there was a traffic jam at the doors, composed mostly of those who wanted to keep alongside us, trying to read our faces. The Great Game abruptly shifted into active mode.

The sky was whitish outside the windows. The fog seemed to wrap the House in a big blob of cotton wool. And it also became very chilly. Like the temperature dropped several degrees in an instant. Or maybe it was just me getting the chills from all this.

Near the Coffeepot the throng thinned out a bit. The Pheasants dropped away, and the rest coalesced into groups. The Leaders marched into the Coffeepot one after the other. Once they were gone, the volume of the conversation went down significantly. Everyone waited.

The Rats were emitting muted snippets of music.

“I told you,” Lary mumbled, chewing his unlit cigarette into shreds. “I warned you. And now this . . .”

“So, what now? A rumble?” I asked, trying to sound casual. The way it came out almost made me gag.

“No, a candlelit dinner, mon poilu,” Tabaqui snapped.

Humpback said that there was no sense in all of us sticking around. He himself didn’t move an inch.

“You’re right,” Sphinx said. “Anything important we’ll find out from Blind.”

He also stayed put.

Alexander gave Tubby a bread roll. Humpback lit a cigarette.

Even knowing perfectly well that all of this was just a game, I still felt nervous. Everyone was in character a little too well.

Finally the door of the Coffeepot opened. Pompey emerged first. He turned toward Hounds and stuck up his thumb. Hounds roared approvingly. Blind and Vulture came out together and shuffled away, immersed in a hushed conversation. Red never appeared at all. It was as if the others had eaten him whole in the course of the meeting.

“Oh god,” Lary moaned when he noticed Pompey walking in our direction.

The packs, having already started to disperse, quickly resumed their places in the dress circle.

Pompey came closer. Tall, swarthy, with his chic Mohawk. But no bat, I noticed. Maybe it had already croaked.

“Can we talk?” he asked Sphinx.

“You already had a talk with Blind, what else do you want?”

Pompey took out a cigarette. He stood there among us like he was in his own room. Not anxious at all. Even a little showy. For some reason, we were the anxious ones.

“I’ve recently learned of this old Law,” Pompey explained between puffs. “It made me very sad. This, you know, prehistoric crap . . . And it’s exactly the reason I’ve dragged this out for so long. I just refused to believe it. I know all the guys were saying it was not in force anymore. But still . . .”

Hounds drifted closer, not wanting to miss even a single word.

“It is my opinion,” Pompey continued, looking distractedly over our heads, “that it was invented by cowardly Leaders. So that made me apprehensive, as you can imagine.”

The invisible ice could be chipped off Sphinx with a pick.

“But you’re not apprehensive anymore?” he asked.

“I overcame that,” Pompey announced proudly.

“Congratulations.”

“But I would still like to make sure. Is your pack following it?”

“No,” Sphinx said. “Anything else?”

“You are behaving a bit rudely,” Pompey said, frowning. “In the big scheme of things I’m looking out for your own interest.”

Tabaqui, behind Pompey’s back, very realistically imitated throwing up.

“There’s no need,” Sphinx said. “We are all free.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Pompey sighed with relief.

“It’s not nice.”

“You mean you’re in favor of that shit?”

Sphinx shook his head. His look, directed at Pompey, was more calculating than anything else. Like he was weighing something in his mind, trying to come to a decision.

“No,” he said finally and turned away. “It’s useless.”

Pompey assumed a businesslike air. He even threw away the cigarette.

“All right, out with it. What’s this about?”

“Nothing. Where’s your bat?”

This question took Pompey completely aback. At first he was surprised. Then offended.

“Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Not at all.”

Pompey’s face darkened.

“We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow. Bats and all. Maybe your head will clear up a bit by then.”

“Maybe,” Sphinx agreed. And laughed. Really laughed, not faking it.

I sighed, relieved. Finally someone blew it. Went out of character, spoiled the game for himself and others. I was really glad that he did, even though I couldn’t explain why. So people invented a game for themselves, what was so bad about that? I was sure that this was the end of it, that Sphinx’s laughter would now spread to others and everyone would abandon the script.

None of that happened.

Pompey feigned taking umbrage, said “Right. See you,” and stomped off to join with Hounds. The Sixth surrounded him, shielding him from us.