The things are getting restless, but their restraints still serve. I stopped by Larry's place this morning, to suggest he answer to the name «Lucky,» if so addressed by any woodsy denizen in his wanderings. This necessitated my giving him a little background concerning speculations as to his status. He's agreed to be even more circumspect in his comings and goings. I filled him in on all the rest, too, since I considered us partners. Everything, that is, save for Linda Enderby's true identity. I was loath to destroy his illusions concerning the genial old lady whose company had given him such pleasure. Whatever had been learned there had been learned, and I doubted it could have been much in such a bizarre case as his, with him so guarded concerning it, and letting him live a little longer with his fond memory of the visit did not seem much in the way of risk taking. I resolved to wait a few days before revealing the deception.

«Hear anything more about the police and their search?» I asked.

«They're still investigating, but they seem to have questioned everyone and now they've started searching fields along the way. I think the latest theory is that the officer might have been thrown from his horse, which did make it back to their stables.»

«I guess he didn't wash up. Maybe he made it out to sea.»

«Possibly. I'm sure they'd be looking at any washups pretty closely.»

«I wonder what this beating of the bushes might mean to the Count, if they go very far afield?»

«I'll bet if you check today you'll find he's moved.»

«So you think he has another place, too?»

«Of course. That's his style. And he has the right idea. Everyone should have a place to run to. You can never be too careful.»

«Do you?»

He smiled.

«I hope you do, too,» he said.

When I smile no one can tell.

I went looking for Graymalk then, to see whether I could persuade her to climb down into the crypt for me again. But she wasn't anywhere about. Finally, I gave up and wandered over to Rastov's place.

Quicklime wasn't readily available either, and I began rearing up and peering in windows. I spotted Rastov himself, slouched in a chair, vodka bottle in one hand, what might be his icon clutched to his breast with the other. Something stirred on the windowsill and I realized it to be my erstwhile partner. Quicklime raised his head, stared at me, then gestured with his head toward the adjacent room. At that, he slid from the sill and was gone.

I made my way back to the near window of that room, which was opened slightly. Moments later, he emerged.

«Hi, Quick,» I said. «How's it going?»

«Sometimes I wish I were back in the fields again,» he replied. «I'd be getting ready for a long winter's sleep.»

«Bad night?»

«I got out just in time. He's at it again. Drinking and singing sad songs. He could get us into a lot of trouble when he's had too much. He'd better be sober for the big night.»

«I should hope so.»

We went off toward the rear of the place.

«Busy?» he asked me.

«Believe it.»

«Listen, Snuff, the boss doesn't tell me everything, and Nightwind said, just a day or two back, that there are divinatory ways for discovering whether someone's an opener or a closer. Is that true?»

«He's right,» I said. «But they're unreliable before the death of the moon. You really have to have some juice to make them work.»

«How soon after?»

«Several days.»

«So people could be finding out everyone's status pretty soon?»

«Yes, they will. They always do. That's why it's important to finish any mutual business before then. Once the lines are drawn, your former partners may be your new enemies.»

«I don't like the idea of having you or Nightwind for an enemy.»

«It doesn't follow that we have to kill each other before the big event. In fact, I've always looked on such undertakings as a sign of weakness.»

«But there's always some killing.»

«So I've heard. Seems a waste of energy, though, when such things will be taken care of at the end, anyhow.»

«… And half of us will die in the backlash from the other half's winning.»

«It's seldom a fifty-fifty split of openers and closers. You never know what the disposition will be, or who will finally show up. I heard there was once an attempt where everyone withdrew on the last day. Nobody showed. Which was wrong, too. Think of it. Any one of them with guts enough could have had it his own way.»

«How soon till the word gets out, Snuff?»

«Pretty soon. I suppose someone could be working on it right now.»

«Do you know?»

«No. I'll know soon enough. I don't like knowing till I have to.»

He crawled up onto an old tree stump. I sat down on the ground beside him.

«For one thing,» I said, «it would interfere in my asking you to do something just now.»

«What,» he said, «is it?»

«I want you to come back with me to the crypt and check it out. I want to know whether the Count's still there.»

He was silent, turning in the sunlight, scales shimmering.

«No,» he said then. «We don't have to go.»

«Why not?»

«I already know that he's not there.»

«How do you know this?»

«I was out last night,» he said, «and I hung myself in a plum tree I'd learned Needle frequents when he feeds. When he came by I said, “Good evening, Needle.”

“Quicklime, is that you?” he answered.

“Indeed,” I replied, “and how go your farings?”

“Well. Well,” he said. “And your own twisting ways?”

“Oh, capital,” I answered. “I take it you have come to feed?”

“Yes. I always come here last, for these plums are my favorites and put a fine end to a harvesting of bugs. I prefer saving the best for last.”

“As it should be,” I said, “with all endeavors. Tell me, for I was wise in these ways now, having lived with Rastov, have you ever sampled the long-fallen plums, those which look wrinkled, ruined, and unappetizing?”

“No,” he replied, “that would be silly, when so many good ones still hang upon the tree.”

“Ah,” I told him, “but looks may be deceptive, and good is certainly a relative term.”

“What do you mean?“ he asked.

“I, too, enjoy the fruits,“ I said, “and I have learned their secret. Those over yonder on the ground are far better than those which hang yet upon the limbs.”

“How can that be?” he said.

“The secret is that as they lie there, cut off forever from the source of their existence, they draw upon their remaining life to continue a new kind of growth. True, the effects wither them, but they ferment from their own beings a new and special elixir, superior to the simple juices of those upon the tree.”

“They taste a lot better?”

“No. They do not. This goes beyond mere taste. It is a thing of the spirit.”

“I guess I ought to try it, then.”

“You will not be disappointed. I recommend it highly.”

So he descended to the earth, came upon one of those I had indicated, and bit into it.

“Agh!” he exclaimed. “These are no good! Overripe and… ”

“Give it a chance,” I said. “Take more, swallow it down, and then some more. Wait just a bit.”

And he sampled again, and again.

“A little later”, he said, “I feel slightly dizzy. But it is not unpleasant. In fact…”

He tried another, suddenly more enthusiastic. Then another.

“Quicklime, you were right,” he said after a while. “There is something very special about them. There is a warm feeling…”

“Yes,” I answered.

And the dizziness is not quite dizziness. It feels good.”

Take more. Take lots more,” I told him. “Go with it as far as it will take you.”

Shortly, his words grew harder to understand, so that I had to slide down from the tree to be sure I heard everything he said when I began, 'You were with the Count when he created his new graves, were you not… ?