The Gray House

. . . when Hairy needs to hear something she makes a hole in the wall, and when she needs to see she sends her rats to see for her. She is born of the foundation, and she is alive while the house is still standing. The older the house, the bigger and wiser its Hairy. For those she likes, she makes her domain benevolent and gentle, and for the others—the other way around. In the ancient times, people used to call her spiritus familiaris and made offerings to her. They hoped she would protect them from dark influence and the evil eye . . .

I wondered whose story that was. I couldn’t make out the voice. I even suspected that they’d switched off the lights specifically to confuse me. And that they were now telling these tales in resonant, disguised voices for the very same reason.

. . . because ever since the time that the knight nailed the two-headed skull up in the Grand Hall, he was beset by the dragon’s curse. The eldest sons in his line were born two-headed. Some said differently. That it wasn’t the knight who came out victorious in that long-forgotten battle, but the dragon, and that it was the lizard who lived in the castle now in the guise of a human, and that for this very reason he never allowed anything bad to be spoken about his two-headed progeny, but instead loved them more than all others . . .

The cry of the midwife toad is terrible and can be heard from far away. If you didn’t know beforehand, it would be impossible to believe that it is just a toad crying. It buries its eggs in wet leaves and shovels earth on top of them. You can find them wherever it is the dampest, by the roots of the oldest trees. When the little basilisk is about to hatch, the shell starts to smolder. You should never pour water on it or otherwise try to extinguish the fire, as it’s a very bad omen. It must be allowed to extinguish itself. The black slivers that remain can bring luck if sewn into leather or suede and worn constantly . . .

“I wouldn’t mind getting some of that shell,” I said, trying to chase away sleep. “Anybody here got any? Are there any basilisk hunters around?”

Everyone laughed.

“Or a two-headed dragon skull for you, maybe?” Tabaqui said indignantly. “That little nipper doesn’t miss a beat!”

“No. No skull, I don’t want to fall prey to a curse,” I said.

“But a bit of free luck would not be amiss?” the mysterious basilisk expert said.

“It’s luck, how could it be?” I said.

“Have it, then. But remember: you carry a part of the Forest with you now. May your desires be pure.”

Someone’s hand brushed my hair. I lifted my head and a pouch on a string slid down my neck.

All around me people rumbled indignantly, disapproving of my sudden fortune.

“Outrageous!” Tabaqui shouted.

Something bumped against the back of my head. It was small but expertly tossed. A quarter of an apple, as it turned out.

“I’ve been living here for ages, constantly at everyone’s pleasure, entertaining day and night. I’ve become all frayed and withered, and not a single wretched creature in this place has ever offered me to try on a piece of basilisk eggshell! This is the gratitude for all my pains, for years and years of misery,” Tabaqui ranted.

“I don’t think you’ve ever asked,” the former owner of the amulet said gently.