The Gray House

I really must be going, but I am loath to leave him here, in the place where Steel-Toothed just came for a visit, albeit in a dream. Noble is scared, which means he’s more susceptible to demons of all kinds, should they like to drop in. On the other hand, I need to replenish the stocks of food, cigarettes, and other useful items, and also tell people I was going to be spending the night in the Sepulcher.

“Right. I’ll go check the door. If it’s locked, I’ll come straight back. If it isn’t, I’ll go see the guys. And bring some chow.”

Noble nods.

“OK. It’s really bright out there, be careful.”

I make a wave with my rake and open the door into the shining snow-bound corridor.

The Sepulcher at night is a haunted castle. I hate its bluish lights. They turn faces into death masks. I reach the end of the side corridor and turn the corner. Now my sliding reflection is caught between the glass doors of the cabinets on both sides. I walk briskly. There’s nowhere for me to hide, but I am somehow sure that it won’t be necessary. And that’s how it turns out. The night nurse’s area is illuminated like a giant aquarium, and in its center floats the gorgon’s cold face. If she were to open her eyes I’d have to turn into stone, rely on the inability of certain predators to notice stationary objects. But the Spider queen is asleep. Her eyes are closed, only the round-rimmed glasses glint menacingly.

Not only is the front door not locked, it’s even open a crack. It catches me by surprise, but once I’m out on the landing I see the orange points of light glowing rhythmically and stop worrying. They’re here. And they’ve been here for a long time already. Their bags are full of food. They brought bottles of water, blankets, the coffeemaker, and probably even utensils. Someone rises to meet me. They are all accustomed to the dark by now, so I am the only one here who can’t see anything, but judging by the sureness of his movement, this someone must be Blind.

“Janus says it doesn’t look good?”

Could be either a question or a statement. You can never tell with Pale One.

“More or less.”

“Let’s go.” He addresses those left sitting against the wall. “Get up. Sphinx will show the way.”

Which I do. Our grotesque cavalcade floats past the aquarium with the illuminated gorgon, past the glass cabinets and opaque doors. We are nothing but long, transient shadows. The most extravagant of them is the one consisting of two, Tabaqui atop Lary’s shoulders. It’s the tallest and the most disheveled. Neither Black nor Smoker is here, but Alexander is lugging sleeping Tubby, whose reflection in the cabinet doors resembles nothing so much as a massive backpack. I let them go ahead and bring up the rear, looking at them with love and admiration. This is my pack. It can read minds and grab meanings out of thin air. It is both awkward and awesome. Thrifty and quarrelsome. I allow myself to dissolve in the tenderness toward them—Black isn’t here, so there’s no one to knock the sentimentality off me. But Lord Almighty, how few we are. I catch myself falling behind instead of blazing the trail and quicken my steps. Out of the corner of my eye I catch the last reflections in the last cabinet—Alexander under his softly snuffling burden, Sphinx right behind him, and then one more silhouette, flashing the white sneakers as it steps in sync with us until I turn around and it vanishes. I feel much better. And then, solely for that last invisible one, I start composing a poem out loud. It comes out incredibly silly, just the way Wolf liked them.

Green locusts falling from the sky today,

The gray suburban hills are full of voices.

It takes two sacks to walk from fields back home,

Just two, filled to the brim with chirping noises . . .

THE HOUSE

INTERLUDE

Stuffage welcomed them with jeers and giggles.

“Blind’s Tail is back!” Muffin shouted.

Whiner and Crybaby played a drumroll on the bottoms of leaky pails.

“Blind’s Tail! Blind’s Tail!” they sang mockingly.

Their voices did not express hostility. It was more surprise. As if the month Grasshopper spent in the hospital wing had erased him from their lives.

Wolf was greedily lapping up the scene.

“And . . . And Grayhead is with him,” Muffin added hesitantly.

Almost the entire group was wearing sweatshirts with loud, garish messages. Grasshopper figured that those had become fashionable while he was away. The sweatshirts were declaring:

I’m on Fire!

Life Is One Big Disappointment

Keep Off!

The colorful slogans made the faces above them seem more grown up.