The Gray House

Sportsman was lounging on his bunk, legs dangling, and flipping through a magazine. He didn’t even glance in the direction of Grasshopper and Wolf. Not a Slave to Circumstances, Grasshopper observed the slogan on Sportsman’s sweatshirt. Wolf put down their bags.

“Hi, Blond!” he said to Sportsman.

Whiner and Crybaby immediately ceased the racket. Sportsman paid them a brief look over the magazine.

“Muffin, tell those two that I’ve been Sportsman for ages now.”

“He’s been Sportsman for ages, he’s not Blond,” Muffin repeated dutifully.

Wolf made an incredulous face.

“He’s not? And somehow his hair isn’t any darker.”

Muffin turned around in search of a clue, but was ignored by Sportsman, who was engrossed in the magazine.

“Sport’s hair is none of your business,” Muffin said significantly. “Or yours!” he snapped at Grasshopper, even though Grasshopper hadn’t mentioned hair at all. With him, Muffin felt himself on firmer ground.

Plump and rosy cheeked, he was pacing back and forth, preventing them from coming in. They waited at the door for him to get tired of it.

“So.” Muffin stopped and adjusted his pants. “You, mama’s darling. Your bed belongs to the newbie now. To Magician. So you’re going to sleep in that room. And be grateful that at least we’re not sending you to the wheelers.”

Grasshopper had already noticed someone else’s stuff on his bed but didn’t say anything.

“We don’t need sissies like you here,” Muffin said. “Or like him!” Muffin’s finger pointed at Wolf now. “Especially his kind we don’t need at all.”

“Was that Sportsman’s idea?” Wolf asked.

Sportsman didn’t deign to respond. He just stretched out on his bed, yawned, and flipped another page.

“Tail’s got arms now,” he said, still not looking up from the magazine. “I wonder . . .”

Grasshopper looked at his prosthetics and blushed. Wolf’s eyes narrowed.

Muffin bustled about, completely oblivious.

“Now beat it. This is the Pack’s room. Not for the sissies crawling around the Sepulcher.”

Wolf shoved him away.

“All right, I’m a sissy,” he said with disgust. “And you’re all tough guys here. Especially you and Champion. Or whatever he calls himself today. Blond. So. Since you’ve thrown us out of here, we’re going to live in that room now, and we’re going to have our own sissy rules, so the tough guys like you better keep out. Got that?”

Grasshopper couldn’t wait to leave. He furtively stepped on Wolf’s foot.

“Wolf. That’s enough. Let’s go.”

Wolf picked up the bags.

“We’re going,” he said. “To our room. And whoever doesn’t feel like a tough guy can come with us. There’s plenty of space.”

Whiner and Crybaby banged on their drums, a bit uncertainly.

“Hey!” Bubble protested, wheeling up to them on his skates. “What do you mean, your room? I sleep there too!”

“Not anymore,” Wolf declared. “You’re a tough guy, aren’t you?”

Bubble looked himself over.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“Enough of this,” Sportsman said, putting away the magazine and raising himself off the bed. “You heard. Beat it, before it gets beat for you. Bubble is going to sleep wherever he wants, and you just shut up!”

The pack was silent. The newbie, the one on crutches who could do magic tricks, was looking at Grasshopper sadly. He’d like to come with us, Grasshopper realized. But he’s got my bed now, they’ll never let him go.

They went out into the hallway. Someone belatedly whistled behind their backs.

Grasshopper laughed.

“That’s exactly what I wished for.”

“I know,” Wolf said.

They entered the room next door. Wolf turned on the lights. The room was bare and ugly. Steel cots in two rows, with rolled-up mattresses on them. Only three had linens. Blind was sitting by the wall and raised his head as they entered. He hadn’t grown at all—or he just didn’t look like he had. His hair had gotten longer. The fashion for sweatshirts with messages apparently hadn’t reached him. He was wearing a checkered flannel shirt, an adult one. Elk’s shirt, much too long for him.

“Hey, Blind!” Grasshopper said happily. “It’s me. And Wolf. They threw us out. And here you are!”

“Hey,” Wolf said, putting down the bags.

“Hello.” Blind rustled.

“A sad sight,” Wolf said, looking around the room. “But we’ll soon transform this into Gardens of Paradise.”

Grasshopper perked up.

“Can I do the transforming too?”

He couldn’t wait to try his new prosthetics.

“I said ‘we.’” Wolf nodded. “We, living here. Blind, is that OK with you?”

Blind was listening intently, with his head slightly to the side.

“Yes. Do all the transforming you want.”

Wolf went up to the tucked-in beds.

“Which one is Bubble’s bed?”

“Second from the window.”

Wolf grabbed everything from that bed and hauled it to the door. Then he returned for the linens.

“Are we going to evict Crook as well?” Grasshopper asked hopefully.

Wolf stopped.

“Don’t know. I guess he can decide for himself.”

Wolf deposited Bubble’s things in the hallway and came back.