I poked with my paw at the two remaining nails. Tight. Perhaps it would be better to fetch Larry and a pair of pliers than to risk breaking my teeth on them. Still, it wouldn't hurt to try a bit first. I worried one for the better part of a minute, and it did seem to loosen slightly near the end. I stopped to rest my jaws then, promising myself I would have a go at both nails before I considered quitting.

I gave the second one -- which was located about ten inches to the left of the first -- well over a minute of the same treatment, and I found it hard to tell when I'd let up whether I'd affected it much.

I did not like the taste of the plaster and the pigment used in the design. I was not sure what lay beneath the plaster, holding the nails in place. Not enough of that covering had chipped away for me to distinguish the surface it covered -- only enough for grit with a damp bas.e.m.e.nt taste to come into my mouth.

I stepped back. The design looked s...o...b..red-upon, and I wondered how dog spit would affect its subtle functions.

"Please don't quit," Cheeter said. "Try again."

"I'm just catching my breath," I told him. "I've been using my front teeth so far, because it was easier. I'm going to switch to the side now."

So I leaned again and took a grip with my back teeth, right side, upon the nail which seemed to have responded slightly to my suasions. I had it moving, then loosening, before too long.

Finally, I dropped it and listened. Silver makes a pleasant sound when it's struck.

"Six," I announced. "How does it feel now?"

"More tingling," Cheeter said. "Maybe some sort of antic.i.p.ation."

"Last chance to quit while you're ahead," I said, as I repositioned myself to use the left side of my jaws on the final one.

"Go ahead," he told me.

So I caught hold and began to work it, slowly, with steady pressure rather than jerking movements, which I had learned from the previous one to be more effective. I feared for my teeth, but nothing cracked or chipped. As much as I liked the sound of silver, I did not like its cold metallic taste.

And all this while the shadow itself flowed over my face intermittently, pa.s.sing before my eyes like a quick cloud before the sun, wrapping me momentarily, falling loose again.

I felt the nail move. My jaws were beginning to ache by then, though, and I switched sides. I've cracked large bones with my teeth, and I know the power that is there. But this required more than simple biting ability. It was the movement that was really important, involving my neck muscles as well as my jaws. Forward, back. . . .

And then the nail began to loosen. I paused to rest.

"What do we do when it's free?" I asked them. "What's to prevent its simply slipping away? Is there any special means of reattaching it?"

"I don't know," Cheeter said. "I never thought of that."

"How was it separated from you in the first place?" Graymalk asked.

"He made a light and cast it there upon the wall," Cheeter said. "He drove in the nails, then pa.s.sed his sickle close to my body, somehow severing it. When I moved away, it remained. I felt different immediately."

"It will respond to your life," Graymalk said, "if you position yourself correctly and it flows over you. But your life must be exposed at the seven points which held it -- and it will respond to the nails which bound it."

"What do you mean?" Cheeter asked.

"Blood," she said. "You must scratch a wound on the back of each paw, one atop your head, one at the middle of your tail, one midback -- the seven places the shadow was pierced. When Snuff removes the final nail he must take care not simply to draw it straight out but to drag it downward, snagging the shadow, pulling it to cover you. You will then be standing with a foot on each of the four nails which held the paws, your tail resting upon that of the tail, your head extended and down to touch the sixth -- "

"I don't know which nail is which now," he said.

"I do," she replied. "I've been watching. Then Snuff will drag the shadow over you and drop its nail upon your back at the place of the seventh wound. This should serve to bind it to you again."

"Gray," I said, "how do you know all this?"

"I was recently given a small wisdom," she responded.

"By the high cat -- "

"Hush!" she said. "This place is not that place. Leave it there."

"Sorry."

She moved to position the nails, and Cheeter scratched himself -- paws, head, and tail. I could smell his blood.

"I can't reach my back for the seventh," he said.

Her right paw slashed forward, opening a bright inch at the the middle of his back. It came too fast for him even to flinch.

"There," she said. "Position yourself upon the nails now, as I have instructed."

He moved and did so, sprawled motionless then.

I returned to the final nail, taking hold and pulling slowly. As soon as I felt it come loose I dragged it down the wall and across the floor toward Cheeter, never lifting it from contact with a surface the entire while. I had no idea, though, whether the shadow was coming along with it, and I was in no position to ask. Still, if it weren't, I guessed Graymalk would have said something.

"Lead it over him and drop it upon his back," she said, "at the place of my mark."

I did that, stepping back immediately afterwards.

"Do you know whether it's taken hold?" I asked Cheeter.

"I can't tell," he said.

"Do you feel any different?"

"I don't know."

"What now, Gray?" I asked. "How long do we wait to see whether it's attached?"

"Let's give it a minute or two," she replied.

"The design," Cheeter said then. "It's changing."

I turned and looked. There might have been a trace of movement to it as I did so, but it was gone by the time I faced it. It did look smaller, though, a bit less extended to the left, and differently disposed to the right. And its colors seemed brighter.

"I think that means it's in place now," he said. "I want to move."

He sprang up and raced across the floor, scattering the nails. He bounded halfway up the stair, turned, and looked back at us. It was too dim to see whether he'd achieved the desired result.

"Come on!" he said. "Let's go out!"

We followed him, and I opened the kitchen door without difficulty. As soon as I did, he rushed past us.

The sun had come out, and as he flashed across the yard we could see the shadow which accompanied him. He leaped up onto the wall, hesitated, looked back.

"Thanks!" he said.

"Where are you headed?" I asked.

"The woods," he answered. "Good-bye."

Then he was off the wall and away.

October 26.

It was a slow day. No rounds to make. Just an occasional glance at the bottle of port, which had begun glowing faintly. I took several walks and visited briefly with Graymalk. She had nothing new to report. Strolled around Rastov's place, but Quicklime was nowhere in sight. Sniffed about Morris and MacCab's, but Nightwind had retired somewhere for the day. Walked up to Larry's, to keep him current on events, but he was out. Wandered over to the Good Doctor's storm-crowned quarters, but there was no activity there that was viewable from without. Made my way to the Great Detective's domicile, but all was quiet at the manse. I couldn't really tell whether he was there or not. Pa.s.sed the church and the vicarage a couple of times, and Tekela saw me the second time by and flew away. Went back home and ate. Took a nap.

I grew restless in the evening and went out again. Graymalk wasn't out and Larry wasn't back. I ran across a field and then decided to prowl the woods, to keep the old instincts in shape. Frightened a few rabbits. Sniffed out a fox's trail and tracked it for a time. Clever little lady, though. She picked up on me, doubled back, and lost me in a stream. Good to be reminded of these matters.

Suddenly, I decided to take a hint and enter the stream myself. Upstream was downwind, so I headed that way, which is what the fox had probably done, too, when she'd realized what I was just then realizing, about being followed.

My tracker was pretty clumsy, though, and it was not difficult to make my way back, staying downwind and keeping to cover, and to surprise him there at the stream's edge.

He was big, bigger than me, wolf-sized.

"Larry?" I called. "I've been looking for you."

"Yes?" came the reply.

"You're not Larry," I said.

"No."

"Why were you following me?"

"I just wandered by a few days ago, and I was thinking of spending the winter in this wood. This is a very strange place, though. The people in the area do peculiar things -- often to each other. I followed you when I saw you, to ask how safe it might be for me."

"Some of them are getting ready for something that will be happening at the end of the month," I said. "Lie low till it's past and you'll probably be all right for the winter, if you exercise a little discretion when you take a sheep or a pig. Don't leave carca.s.ses in plain sight, I mean."

"What's going on at the end of the month?"

"Weird stuff," I said. "A little specialized craziness. Stay away from any human gatherings that night."

"Why?"

About then, a little moonlight reached us through the branches.

"Because it might get you killed -- or worse."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to," I said, and I turned and got out.

"Snuff! Wait! Come back!" he called.

But I just kept going. He tried to follow me, but Growler'd shown me stuff that even the fox would have been proud of. I lost him easily.

In the moonlight I'd recognized him from his likeness in the ward-screen as one of the prowlers who'd been snooping around while we were in London. Maybe he'd just been checking things out, as he'd said. But put that together with his knowing my name when I hadn't given it to him, and I didn't like it a bit.

Overhead, growing in strength, the older, wiser moon paced me. I'd give her a run for her silver.

October 27.

I was awakened by a scratching on the back door. I went to it and pushed my hatch open. Graymalk was sitting before it, waiting. It occurred to me that I can't tell when she's smiling either.

I checked the sky, which was cloudy with blue breaks.

"Good morning," I said then.

"'Morning, Snuff. Did I wake you?"

I stepped outside and stretched.

"Yes," I said. "But I was oversleeping. Thanks."

"How are your aches and pains?"

"Much improved. Your own?"

"Better."

"Yesterday was pretty quiet," I said, "for a change."

"But last night was a different matter," she said.

"Oh? What do you mean?"

"Then you haven't heard about the fire?"

"Fire? No. Where? What happened?"

"The Good Doctor got burned out. It's still smoldering. I took a walk very early this morning and I smelled it. Went over and watched for a long time. His storm finally stopped when the place caved in."

"Is he all right? And the other fellows? Did they get out?"