The Gray House

Blind threw the rag away and flopped on the bed. He was barefoot and frazzled, his sweater was tied around the neck, debris was clinging to his wet legs, soot covered his fingers, and he smelled funny. Of damp, and what seemed like fresh grass. There was also a thin ring of dirt around his mouth. I thought that the place he’d come from wasn’t a normal place. That it maybe had something to do with the basilisk eggshells. I also tried to figure out which type in the Jackal’s classification he fit into—maniacs or those with split personalities. I wasn’t too sure at the moment.

Then Sphinx returned, with Tubby clinging to his back. He sat next to Blind and stared at him. Then he spoke.

“Wipe your mug. Were you eating dirt again?”

“It wasn’t dirt,” Blind said blissfully, using his sleeve.

More of a maniac, I decided.

Tubby slid off Sphinx, rolled to my side, and started tugging at my pajama buttons, trying to tear them off. Alexander was busy making tea.

“It’s going to be light soon,” Humpback said. “How about we get some sleep?”

That wasn’t to be. Half an hour later Noble came back. The dawn-welcoming elf clad in elastic bandages. Also in someone’s beret, with some trinket around his neck and even more drunk than several hours prior. He unloaded crumpled wads of cash out of his pockets and picked a quarrel with me over my foot accidentally slipping under his pillow. He said many hurtful things about my legs, made a show of changing the pillowcase, and scrambled off again.

Once he wheeled out, I suddenly realized what his new adornment was. It was Black’s tooth on a silver chain.

And the next night I spent in quarantine. In this small room all covered in foam rubber. And in cheery chintz, yellow with blue flowers, over it. There was a commode, half recessed in the wall, masquerading as a trash bin with a hinged top. Also upholstered in foam rubber and chintz. And finally, a frosted white lamp on the ceiling. Nothing else. A perfect place for sleeping and contemplation. I wish I could have sought refuge there during my first year in the House. Like once a week. But I didn’t know it was this good. The House dwellers had long appropriated this resort for their needs, and there were only two ways to get in. Either as a punishment for some transgression, or by cajoling permission from the Sepulcher. I didn’t know about the second option. And of course I had no idea that a visit to the Cage could be regifted, which was exactly what Tabaqui had done.

Physicals were a weekly occurrence for about half of all House denizens and a monthly one for everyone else. When I was still with the Pheasants, we also had the so-called A-list, comprising those who went in every day. Six Pheasants qualified for it, and the rest all dreamed of joining them. A-list meant a less strict daily routine, the right to a nap in the afternoon, and a separate meal schedule complete with low-calorie salads and vitamin drinks. Every physical was a solemn event, so it was important to enter all your health concerns on a special notepad. I had used mine, dutifully divided into days and hours, for doodles, so they had taken it off me.

Today was the first time I’d been for a physical with the Fourth. While we were waiting for our turn, Lary created an installation from used gum, crowned by a fresh cigarette butt in the middle, on the wall of the hospital wing. Tabaqui spent the time drawing horrific black and white stripes and polygons on his face.

“It’s our duty to entertain the Spiders,” he explained. “Their lives are pointless, they have lousy jobs, so inventive KISS-style makeup is sure to raise their spirits.”

The KISS-style makeup did not raise anyone’s spirits. It did arouse suspicions, though. Tabaqui was thoroughly scrubbed in the treatment room to make sure he wasn’t trying to conceal some skin ailment. Finally, all pink, squeaky clean, and literally wet behind the ears, he wheeled out of the treatment room waving a white scrap of paper resembling a store receipt.

“How about this?” he boasted, parading the scrap in front of us. “That’s respect, that is! Here, in the Sepulcher, I’m a VIP!”

“Whatever do you want with it?” Noble asked. “It hasn’t even been a week since the last time.”

“It’s a present for Smoker,” Jackal explained. “I happen to enjoy giving out presents every once in a while.”

“Are you sure he’s going to like it?” Noble said doubtfully.

“Just let him try not to!”

I listened to them without any clue as to what they were talking about. One thing was clear: I was supposed to be overjoyed about something that Tabaqui was planning to give me. So as he wheeled to me and shoved his scrap in my hands, I endeavored to look happy. I must have succeeded. At least Tabaqui was pleased.

“Smoker is ecstatic,” he said to Noble. “And you thought he wouldn’t be able to appreciate it. You’re just a poor judge of character, that’s all.”