Dernhelm shot a quick, irritated look at his wife. His dark brown eyes flashed, and some of the color went out of his sun-scorched flesh. "I guess that's so, Robby," he said, obviously annoyed. "Just about every farmer in the county leases out acreage. They tell me there are differences in the soil throughout the county, and they like to check every variable."
"Does each farmer tend the crop that's planted on his land?"
Dernhelm's jaw muscles clenched; he was a man who didn't like answering questions, personal or otherwise. "No," he said at last. "We sign a contract that says we won't interfere with the crops in any way. We're not even allowed to look at them. They're all important scientists connected with the place, and I guess they have their own way of doing things."
"Do you mind my asking how much they pay you to lease the land?"
He flushed, jammed his hands into his pockets. "What does this have to do with Tommy's death?"
"Probably nothing," I replied evenly.
"Then I guess I do mind, Robby," he said tightly.
"Okay, John. I didn't mean to pry."
"If you don't mean to pry, how come you ask so many questions about my business?"
I considered telling him what Coop Lugmor had said about Jake Bolesh's financial connection with Volsung, but decided it wasn't (he time to repeat what, at the moment, amounted to nothing more than mere gossip from the lips of a frenzied alcoholic-especially when that gossip involved an old enemy I was probably going to have to deal with eventually. "I apologize, John," I said quietly.
Janet came across the room, touched her husband's arm. "John? Robby didn't mean any harm."
But John Dernhelm was worked up. "I've got something I want to get out of my craw," he said through clenched teeth. "Robby, I know you're supposed to be some hot-shot college professor and private detective; I also know that Janet asked you to poke around. I'm opposed to it, and I've told her so. We know what's happened, and it's better to just let it be. Excuse me. I'm going to watch television."
Dernhelm turned and wearily, like a man carrying a very heavy bag of sorrow, trudged back up the steps. Janet and I stood in silence for a few moments, then Janet said: "I'm sorry, Robby. I'll get you any information you need."
"No, don't go against your husband. I can get the information someplace else. And don't be sorry. John's feelings are perfectly understandable. John's not going to be the only member of our family upset if I continue."
Janet thought about it. Shadows of doubt moved in her eyes as she absently chewed at her lower lip. "I wonder if I'm doing the right thing," she said at last. I waited, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. "What do you think, Robby?"
"From what I've learned in the past hour, I don't think you could characterize this as a lousy investigation-there hasn't been an investigation. Tommy and Rodney Lugmor were found early Wednesday morning; this is Sunday, and it's all over. The cops didn't even look through Tommy's things. The least they should have done was to question you, and check out what Tommy put on that computer."
Janet uttered a strange, hollow laugh that was at once tinged with bitterness and burnished with pride. "I suspect they'd have had one heck of a time doing that."
"Why?"
"That computer was Tommy's pride and joy. He built a lot of the components himself. In some ways he was very open and childlike, but he was very secretive in other ways. He used the computer for all sorts of things."
"Like maybe keeping a diary in it?"
Janet stared at me hard. "Yes," she breathed. "It's possible. But I don't know how anyone can get at it. Tommy was fascinated with the problem of computer security-and how to break it. I'm pretty sure he encoded everything, and you'd have to know the code to get into the memory banks. Knowing Tommy, that would be some code." She sighed, glanced toward the steps. "Robby, what should I do?"
"You're Tommy's mother, Janet. Also, you have to live with whatever dirt I may dig up or bitterness I may cause. In a few days I'll be back in New York and just an afterthought to these people."
"You can advise me. What would you do if you were me?"
"I'd want to make sure I wasn't haunted for the rest of my life by doubts or unanswered questions," I replied evenly. "No matter what the cost, I'd want to satisfy myself that I knew as much of the truth as there was to know."
"That's what I want."
There were fourteen memory discs stacked neatly in an open-faced file next to the computer terminal, but there was no way I was going to fool with them. I wasn't even going to turn the computer on, for fear of erasing something. However, there were other things to look at.
I worked my way around the room, systematically checking between and inside the well-worn books for stray scraps of paper. Nothing. I sat down in the swivel chair and carefully leafed through the four volumes of J. R. R. Tolkien- The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy: The Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers, and The Return of the King- that had been placed on the table supporting the computer terminal.
The books had been gone through so many times that the pages were falling out. There were what appeared to be thousands of notations in the volumes-underlined passages, margin notes, notes to check certain sections of his diary, and the word score! written in heavy block letters in a number of places.
Pushing the books aside, I opened a drawer in the table. There was a blue plastic card with what looked like strips of magnetic tape on both surfaces and which I assumed fit into one of the many slots in the various computer components. I placed the card on top of the stack of books and turned my attention to the scraps of paper in the drawer. The first one I read startled me.
There are monsters In Mirkwood! Unclean!
"Does the term 'Mirkwood' mean anything to you?"
Janet, who had been studying me from across the room, shrugged wearily. "I think it's some evil forest mentioned in one of the Tolkien books."
"I know that. I've read them. Have you?"
She nodded. "Tommy insisted. I can't say I could really get into them; I like some science fiction, but fantasy doesn't much interest me."
"Fantasy certainly fascinated Tommy."
Janet cocked her head to one side, smiled wryly. "Tommy used to go around reciting passages from Lord of the Rings by heart. He said it relaxed him."
"Did 'Mirkwood' have any connection for Tommy outside the books?"
She thought about it, finally shook her head. "Not that I know of. Why?"
I showed her the paper. "That phrase- 'There are monsters in Mirkwood! — was in the last letter he wrote me. I got it about two weeks ago, which means he must have written it just before he ran away. I didn't think anything of it at the time because he was always dropping odd phrases into his letters-usually out of context; he used them to separate paragraphs. Now I'm wondering if 'Mirkwood' meant something else to him."
"I'm sorry, Robby, I just don't know. Tommy's mind could be like a laser one moment, a scattergun the next. He could be thinking of a dozen things at one time."
I stared at the books, the plastic card, the computer terminal and memory discs-all the strange legacy of a tormented fourteen-year-old genius-and wondered what secrets they held, if any.
"Janet?" I asked softly. "Was Tommy a homosexual?"
The question didn't seem to upset her, as I'd feared it might, but she considered it for a long time. "Robby, I don't really know," she said at last. "You know how physically slight Tommy was; he was all brain, certainly undeveloped physically and socially. He didn't have any girl friends, but that was because he was so absorbed in his schoolwork, his computer, and the game. The friends he did have were brains like he was, other students in the extension program for gifted children sponsored by the university. If you'd asked me that question two weeks ago, I'd have said that Tommy was probably asexual at this point in his life. Now…" Her voice trailed off.
"What game?"
Janet raised her eyebrows. "They called it Sorscience. Tommy never mentioned it in his letters?"
"I really am surprised, Robby. As far as Tommy was concerned, you were a big part of it. I know he used you to score a lot of points."
"Tell me about it."
"I'll tell you what I know, which isn't a lot; I told you Tommy was very secretive. Sorscience was a fantasy game: magic, sword and sorcery, dungeons, dragons, wizards, and monsters-that sort of thing."
"I've heard of Dungeons and Dragons. I saw it with Tommy's things in the shed, and I know it's very popular with college kids. I've never heard of Sorscience."
"Tommy and his friends used to play Dungeons and Dragons, but they all got so good that everyone wanted to be Dungeon Master and they eventually got bored with it. I suppose they could have invited other kids to play with them, but they tended to be very impatient with kids who weren't as bright as they were. The end result was that they made up their own game. The object of Sorscience was to find scientific discoveries, theories, or inventions that duplicated magical situations or feats of sorcery described in Lord of the Rings. As you can imagine, they spent hours in the library poring over newspapers and scientific journals. As I understand it, a player would score points for finding a situation or discovery, and even more points if the experiment could be duplicated or physical evidence displayed. That's about all I know."
"What did I have to do with it?"
Janet flushed, laughed. "Can't you guess?"
"I'm afraid to."
"You were Frodo!"
"Frodo was a hobbit with furry feet," I replied drily, "not a dwarf."
Janet, still grinning, shrugged. "Close enough. After all, what's a fantasy novel without a dwarf?" She paused, sighed, and her smile became bittersweet. "Tommy was so proud of you, Robby. He was proud that you were a dwarf, so very proud that you were his uncle, He lived for his visits with you in New York. He couldn't wait to grow up and finish his schooling so he could move to New York like you and Garth."
"He scored points in this game because his uncle was a dwarf?"
Janet nodded. "The fact that you were a relative made you his private property, so to speak. He scored simply because you were a dwarf, and thus matched a Rings character, but he kept scoring if you became involved in a case or did something that he could correlate to action in the books." She walked slowly across the room, put her hand on my shoulder and raised her eyebrows. "You have been involved in some bizarre cases, Robby."
"Umm."
"Like that business with the witches' coven."
"Yeah. They were playing the game then?"
"No. The game was a recent invention, but Tommy got a ruling to the effect that, since you were 'his' dwarf, anything you'd ever done counted. You were 'Frodo the Ring Bearer.' For example, he correlated the witches' coven to Tolkien's Orcs. You entered their lair and survived. Points."
"No wonder he was always pressing me for information. I don't understand why he never mentioned it."
"He might have been afraid you'd be angry. Or maybe he just didn't want you to feel self-conscious."
"Was Rodney Lugmor a player?"
"Yes," Janet said, frowning. "Rodney was very bright, as you probably know, and he was also in the university's extension program."
"Janet, I'd like a copy of the rules for this game. Also, a list of all the players."
My sister shook her head, then placed her hand on top of the computer terminal. "I've never seen a rule book or player list, Robby. If they exist, they're probably in here. In code."
"Secrecy is one leg of the so-called Witch's Triangle of Power," I said tightly. "Secrecy may have been part of the game, or a way to score points."
"Robby, I do know of one other player-Bill Jackson. His family has a small farm over on Arrowrun Road. Tommy, Rodney, and Bill used to meet here once in a while to discuss strategy and fine points of the game. I'll call his mother for you, if you want. He's only fifteen, so I suppose the ground should be prepared before you talk to him."
"Do that," I said, rising from the swivel chair and looking at my watch. "Janet, I'd like to fly in someone from New York to help me. I know it will be sticky with John, but I'd like this guy to be able to stay here in Tommy's room. Believe me, you'll never see him-and he'll starve to death if you don't bring him food from time to time. Can you manage it?"
"I'll manage it."
"May I use your car?"
"Of course," Janet said, slightly puzzled. "The keys are in the ignition. You can keep it as long as you like; we have the pickup. Where are you going?"
"Coop Lugmor's place. How do I get there?"
She wrote down the directions. I put the paper in my pocket, headed for the stairs.
"Call Mom for me, will you?" I asked. "Tell her I've got my key, and not to wait up for me."
"People around here go to bed pretty early!" Janet called after me. "Coop may be asleep!"
"I hope so," I said over my shoulder. "It'll be a pleasure to wake him up."
4
Coop Lugmor wasn't asleep, only drunk. He smelled of bad booze and filth; his unshaven face and wasted, haunted eyes were like a microcosm of the crumbling, weather-bombed farmhouse where he lived. Chest-high sawgrass and weeds were a moat around the house, and I literally had to beat a path up to the front door where Lugmor, alerted by the sound of the car's engine, was waiting for me.
"Robby?" he mumbled. "That you?"
"The ghost of Christmas past, Coop." Garth had sounded as if he were feeling sorry for Lugmor; but then, Garth had never been a dwarf. Lugmor had helped to make my childhood miserable, and I was feeling mean. "You still interested in hiring me?"
He licked his lips. Some of the drunkenness seemed to go out of him, chased by grief-or hope. "Sure am, Robby. Uh, I don't have much- "
"This is what it will cost you to have me find out things for you. You're an old boyhood acquaintance, so you get a very special rate; it's a thousand dollars a day, plus expenses."
At first I wasn't sure he'd heard me. He continued to stare down at me in the bright moonlight, his mouth half open. "A thou-?"
"A thousand dollars a day, Coop, plus expenses. And I don't guarantee I'll find out a thing you don't already know. What I'll do is poke around and ask a few questions. You hire me, you'll be wired to any answers I get."
"Robby," Lugmor rasped, "things haven't been too good for me the last few years. I haven't got anywhere near that kind of money."
"Tough shit, Coop." I turned and headed down off the porch into the jungle that was his front yard. "Ask your own fucking questions."
Now I knew I was being really ornery, and I knew that neither my mother, father, nor my brother would have been very proud of me at the moment. Yet, I couldn't stop myself; it was as if there were a cruel stranger growing inside me, taking over. Coop Lugmor had thumped me good, and now I was thumping back in the worst way possible-I was kicking his mind.
There was a cry like the bark of a sick dog, then a thump of flesh and crash of pottery. I spun around and crouched, thinking that Lugmor might be trying to attack me. The man was sprawled on the ground; rushing after me, he'd fallen off the porch and broken his jug. He sat up and sobbed; his right hand was bleeding, and tears ran down his face collecting dirt. Feeling slightly nauseated, I walked back to him. I'd have stooped to help almost any other creature in his position, but I couldn't bring myself to touch the horrible memory that was Coop Lugmor.
"There are awful bad things going on in this county, Robby!" Lugmor said. "That's God's truth! Nobody cares! My brother and your nephew get killed and all they do is tell lies! Somebody's got to show them we're not all robots! Somebody's got to do something!"
"I said I'd ask questions. You want to hear the answers, you pay my price."
Lugmor flapped his bleeding hand at me. I grimaced, took a step back. "I haven't got it!" he wailed.
"You've got land, which means you get money from the Volsung Corporation."
"They cut me off last year. I've got nothing, Robby! I've been living off the vegetables I
grow."
"You've got the farm," the cruel stranger in me said coldly and evenly.
"You want me to sell my farm?"
"Frankly, I don't give a shit what you do. You came to me. I might suggest you get a mortgage. You've got a house, a barn, and a few hundred acres. It ought to be worth something."
"Holy Jesus," Lugmor moaned. "How would I pay off the loan? They'd take the farm, Robby, and I don't want to live like some animal in the woods."
"Think about it. If you change your mind, you can call me at my folks' place."
"Wait!" He struggled to his feet, swayed. "I'll do it, Robby! I'll get a mortgage, pay you what you want!"
"Splendid."
"It'll take time!"
"I'll take a note to the effect of our agreement. Now, Coop."
Lugmor led the way into his house, a hovel that would make any woods I'd ever seen look like the Ritz in comparison. Apparently the man really was existing on nothing but vegetables, because there were scraps of rotting greens scattered about what I assumed to be the living room. A single kerosene lamp was burning something that wasn't kerosene, and Lugmor lit two others. Dirt was everywhere.
Standing in the center of the room as far away from any piece of furniture as I could get, I waited while Lugmor rummaged around for pencil and paper. He wrote something down, handed me the slip. I put it in my pocket without looking at it; it would be illegible. It was also worthless, but Coop Lugmor wouldn't know that. I wanted him crawling around in the woods; I wanted him hurt and broken the way he had hurt and tried to break me.
Now I wasn't too proud of myself. I was growing myself a monster, I thought, and the stranger was beginning to make my insides decidedly uncomfortable. He was crowding out my soul, making it hard to breathe. My heart hurt.
And there wasn't even any satisfaction.
Lugmor had wrapped his bleeding hand in a filthy rag. He blew his nose with an equally filthy rag he carried in a pocket of his overalls, then dried his eyes with the back of his hand. "Thanks, Robby," he said in a trembling voice. "I appreciate your being a friend to me. You'll find out I'm telling the truth. Rod was no fag, and he didn't kill himself and your nephew. You want a drink?"
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