"I do. I've been walking lines for some time. Where does he actually live?"

"That cottage behind the church is the vicarage."

"Okay. Close enough. I'm going to have to do a lot more calculating now."

"I need to know the center ground, the place of manifestation, Snuff."

"I'd guessed that, Larry, and I'll tell you when I figure it. Mind telling me your plans? I've a feeling they're special."

"Sorry."

"That makes you a part of my problem then, you know."

"How so?"

"If I don't know what you're up to, I don't know whether to count you as a player, whether or not to include your place in the diagram."

"I see."

He halted, there at the crossroads.

"Could you do it both ways -- with me and without me -- and let me know the results?"

"As well as both ways on the vicarage? That'd be d.a.m.ned complicated -- having to work it both ways, twice. Why are you afraid to tell me? You've as much as said you're a closer. All right. So am I. You happy now? Your secret's safe. We're in this together."

"That's not it, Snuff," he said. "I can't tell you because I don't know. I'm an antic.i.p.ator. I know certain things about the future, and I antic.i.p.ate being at the center when the moon is full. And yes, I'm on your side. But I'll also be out of my mind that night. I still haven't worked out the formula for bringing it through a moon-change intact. I'm not sure I should even be categorized as a player. But then, I'm not sure I shouldn't. I'm just too much of a wild card."

I threw back my head and howled. Sometimes it's the best thing to do.

I went home, made my rounds, thought a lot, and slept. Earlier today, I encountered Graymalk as I paced the neighborhood and calculated.

"Hi, cat," I said.

"Hi, dog. What's the status on your disposal project?"

"Finished. Done. Complete. All floated away. Last night."

"Admirable. There were times when I thought they'd find it before you got there."

"Me, too."

"We have to be careful what we talk about now."

"Or even how we phrase things. But we're adults and we're reasonably intelligent and we both know the score. So, how's it going?"

"Not real well."

"Math problems?"

"I shouldn't say."

"It's all right. Everybody's got 'em just now."

"Do you know that? Or are you guessing?"

"It couldn't be any other way, believe me."

She stared at me.

"I do believe you. What I'd like to know is how you can be so sure?"

"That's the part I can't tell you, I'm afraid."

"I understand," she said. "But let's not stop talking just because we're into the second phase."

"Agreed. I think that would be a mistake."

"So, how's it going?"

"Not real well."

"Math problems or ident.i.ty problems?"

"You're sharp. Both."

"If you solve the problem of whether Talbot's really a player, I'll trade you something for it."

"What?"

"Can't say, of course. But it could be useful if things get rough."

"I'm inclined to take you up on it, but I haven't an answer yet."

"That gives me something right there -- small, but something. So, for whatever it's worth, here's a negative: It can't be the center of a road. The mistress has researched it and found good metaphysical reasons why not."

"I'd come to that conclusion myself, but I didn't know about the metaphysics. All right, we're still even."

"Talk to you again soon."

"Yes, soon."

I took a walk, to my favorite thinking place, a little hill to the northeast, whence I could see the entire area for a great distance. I called it Dog's Nest. I mounted the height of one of the big blocks of stone that lay there and was afforded a view of the township.

Ident.i.ties. . . .

If neither Talbot nor the vicar were technically involved, I'd a good candidate for the center. And if only Larry were involved, it still held. Though I was leery of the Count, it would have to be checked out. But the vicar was also a wild card. If he were to be counted, but not Larry, an equally good candidate for center came into existence -- one I had even visited recently. If he and Larry were both to be counted as players, though, a third possible site of manifestation was created, to the southeast -- I hadn't quite figured where yet. I moved in a big circle about the hilltop, p.i.s.sing on stone after stone as I calculated, partly to keep track of the lines, partly in frustration.

Then I had it, and I marked it in my mind. If they both played, then a big old manse about which I knew nothing was the third candidate for the locale. Excitement leaped in my breast like a puppy, enthusiastic and more than a little naive. A bit of consecration was all that was necessary to strengthen the probability of its choice. I'd have to check this out.

I realized then that I needed the help of a cat.

I went looking for Graymalk again but she was nowhere about. Cats are never around when you really need one. There was still time, though.

October 19.

I went out last night and sniffed around the ancient manse. There were signs of recent work on the place -- smells of fresh-cut lumber, of paint, of roofing -- but it was locked up tighter than a canopic urn, and I couldn't tell whether there was anyone about. I walked home, still feeling relieved that I was done with my corpse dragging. The wind whistled and dry leaves blew by me. There were flashes of lightning from off in the Good Doctor's direction.

The Thing in the Circle said, "French poodle?" when it saw me enter.

"Not today."

"Anything else? Anything at all? I'd sure like to get out and kill and rend. I'm feeling stronger all of a sudden."

"Your time will come," I told it.

The Thing in the Steamer Trunk had poked a small hole in the front. An enormous yellow eye regarded me through it. It didn't make a sound, though.

Snoring noises emerged from the wardrobe in the attic.

I paused before the mirror in the hall. All of its Things were cl.u.s.tered again, rather than slithering, and a close inspection showed me that they had positioned themselves before a small flaw in the gla.s.s which I hadn't noted earlier. Had they found a way to create such dimensional flaws in their prison? Still, it was too finite to be of much use to them. I resolved to keep an eye on it, though.

I awoke to the crunching sounds of wheels, the clopping of horses' hoofs, and the sounds of several voices, one of them singing in a foreign language, from the road out front. Stretching, and stopping for a quick drink of water, I let myself out to see what was going on.

It was a fine, crisp morning, of sunlight, breezes, and leaves crunching beneath my feet. A line of caravans was pa.s.sing on the roadway, men in sashes and bright headcloths -- Gipsies, all -- walking beside or driving, headed, I guessed, for one of the open areas between us and the city, off in the direction of Larry Talbot's place.

"Good morning, Snuff," came a voice from the roadside weeds.

I walked over and investigated.

"'Morning, Quicklime," I said, when I spotted his dark sinuosity there. "How you feeling?"

"Fine," he replied. "A lot better than the other day. Thanks for the advice."

"Any time. You headed anyplace in particular?"

"I was following the Gipsies, actually. But this is far enough. We'll get word where they camp, by and by."

"You think they'll be stopping near here?"

"Without a doubt. We've been expecting them for some time."

"Oh? Something special about them?"

"Well. . . . It's common knowledge now that the Count's in the area, so I'm not talking out of cla.s.s. The master spent a lot of time in Eastern Europe, where he learned something of his ways. When the Count travels, he's often accompanied by a band of Gipsies. Rastov thinks he came here in a hurry when he determined where the locus would be, then sent for his band."

"What function will they serve here?"

"Now we're past the death of the moon, with the power rising, things get dangerous. Everybody seems to know where the Count's residing -- unless he's established a few more, uh, residences. So someone with a fence picket who's decided the Game would be better off without him could end his eligibility. He likely wants his Gipsies about to guard his quarters by day -- "

"Good Lords!" I said.

"What?"

"I hadn't even thought of the possibility of a player's having more than one residence. Do you realize what that would do to the pattern?"

"d.a.m.n! No, I hadn't! This is bad, Snuff. If he's got another grave or two somewhere that throws all the calculations off! It's good you thought of it, but what'll we do?"

"My first impulse was to keep it to myself," I said. "But then I realized we'll have to cooperate on this. We'll have to set up a schedule, take turns watching him come and go every night. If he's got another place -- or places -- we've got to find them."

"Maybe it would just be easier to stake the guy."

"That wouldn't solve the problem, though. It would just make it harder. And if he happens to be your ally -- or mine? You could be sacrificing someone who'd make the difference."

"True. True. I wish I knew which side you were on. . . ."

"I'm not so sure that would be a good idea just yet. We may work together better for not knowing it."

"'Work together. . . .' On the guard duty business, you mean?"

"I had a little more in mind, for us, right now, if you've got a little time."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I'll have to tell you a little of my calculations, but that's all right. Rastov has probably duplicated them by now -- "

"You are the calculator in your pair?" are the calculator in your pair?"

"That's right. Now, I propose telling you something, and then we'll go and check it out. No matter what we find, we'll learn something from it which will put us a little ahead."

"Of course I'll come."

"Good. My calculations show that one possible center of manifestation is that ruined church near where the Count is making his quarters. I don't know whether this is by accident or design. But either way it means that we can only check it by daylight. We'd better do it now, though, if there are going to be Gipsy guards around later."

"What exactly do you want to check?"

"I want you to slither down into the place and see whether it's suitable or whether there's not enough left for it to be our center. I'm too big to fit down the opening. I'll stand watch above and let you know if anyone comes by."

"I'll do it," he hissed. "Let's be on our way."

We started out.

"And you'll have to use your imagination, too. It may look bad, but if it could easily be enlarged by a few men with picks and shovels, tell me."

"Does this mean that Larry Talbot is a player?"