by Gene Wolfe
"Slower . . . Now my house ain't real far."
Doris opened a hatch (or small window) behind us. "This tilts up, so the boss can talk to his driver. How are you two getting along?"
I said, "Fine. I like her."
And she: "I like him, m'lady. We gets along fine. Doin' fine, m'lady. I like him."
"You must've walked a long way."
The old woman cackled. "Way home's never long. Never a long way home. T'other one, he back there with you? You have t'other one in back there, settin' with you in the dark?"
"There are only the two of us," Doris said.
"T'other's back there, settin' in the dark, thinkin' I can't see him. I kin see him back there, dark or no." She pointed. "There 'tis! 'Tis my path right there."
I thought I could make it out in the headlights, though I may have been mistaken. I stopped.
She leaped down like a monkey, a feat that astounds me still. "Back there somewhere's t'other, m'lord." She was looking up at me; her small face, made hideous by countless years, was somehow captivating. "He's waitin'. M'lord, he's settin' in the dark. Waitin' . . . Wary. Be you wary."
Then she was gone. As Doris clambered back into the seat next to me, I said, "We ought to have asked her about the restaurant."
"I did. She'd never heard of it, but I said it was on Brompton Lake, and she said Brompton Lake was right up ahead, just follow the road. She said it was where she washes--where she washes . . ."
"Her face?" It had stuck in my mind, and certainly it had looked dirty.
A wolf howled. I had heard the sound on television and in films, George, but never in reality. It howled and it could not have been far away. I knew then an ancient fear that the first settlers knew, and wished mightily that I had brought my knife.
"Bax . . ." Doris grasped my arm.
"Yes?"
"I'm scared, Bax. She said she washed her shroud. I wish Ted were here with us."
I nodded. "We could certainly use another man."
There had been a faint knocking when I spoke. Doris asked, "What was that?"
"The engine, I suppose. I'm probably in too high a gear." I usually make a mess of downshifting, George, but that time I got it nearly right.
"I've been thinking. . . ."
I nodded. "Probably a good thing."
"Who do I know that I'd like to have here with you and me right now, because of the wolf? Ted, but he's dead."
I said, "I'd like to have him, too. Anyone else?"
"No. That's just it. I've got girlfriends and they'd be company. Good company, some of them. We'd hug each other and tell each other not to be scared, which would be great until the wolf came."
"The old woman said we had somebody else with us."
"Kiki? Yeah, she did. Somebody sitting in the dark. Tell him to stand up. We might need him."
"I'd rather not. If I--"
"What is it, Bax?"
"Water. I thought I saw the sheen of water through the trees."
"Go faster. It might be the lake."
Because of the age of the car and the roughness of the road, I did not. We descended into a tiny valley, losing all the stars; but when the road rose again, as it did, we went through a thick stand of trees and saw the lake spread before us.
"She was right," Doris said. "Kiki was. It wasn't far at all. Look over there."
I looked. There were lights, remote but real. As I watched, the headlights of a distant car came on, two more pinpoints of light. It turned its back, showing faint red taillights, then vanished as it pulled away. "It's a long way over," I said. "The other side of the lake."
"But the road goes that way."
It did, though it had become no more than rutted dirt. We bounced along it for about a mile, which took a quarter hour or so.
And we were there. The asphalt of the parking lot was under our tires, and the building no more than fifty yards away.
"It didn't look this close," Doris murmured.
I got the dueling pistols out from under the seat.
"Are you going to bring those inside?"
"Yes. I haven't had a good look at them. We can look them over while we wait for our food."
"Let's hope we don't scare people."
"I won't even take them out of the case," I promised.
Inside, a discreet sign read OPEN UNTIL MIDNIGHT. Doris glanced at her watch. "We'll have plenty of time. It's only ten."
We asked for and got a booth. There were more dirty tables than diners in the dining area.
"I want fish chowder," Doris told the waitress. "You going to have fish chowder, Bax?"
I shook my head, looking down at the case and wishing the waitress would leave so I might open it.
"Appetizer, sir?" That was she.
"Thank you, but no."
"The special tonight is Salmon Rangoon. That's grilled salmon with Rangoon sauce, garnished with crabmeat, tomatoes, diced peppers, and hard-boiled eggs."
"Nine ninety-five," I said.
"No, sir. Eleven ninety-five, only the kitchen may be out of it already. I can see."
"I'll have steak, medium-rare."
"Yes, sir. New York strip or filet mignon?"
"Filet mignon, medium-rare."
"Six ounce or ten ounce?"
Doris said, "Ten."
"For him?"
"Yes. He wants the ten. Medium-rare."
The waitress wrote. "How would you like that cooked, sir?"
I said, "Rare."
Doris said, "I want a whiskey sour."
"Yes, ma'am. With your appetizer?"
I said, "Now."
"Yes, sir. One for you, too, sir?"
I shook my head.
"Tossed or Caesar?"
"Tossed."
"We have blue cheese, ranch . . ."
I omit the rest, George. Doubtless you are ready to kill if you've read this far. For myself, I can only say I had two antique pistols which I would at that moment gladly have traded for a sawed-off shotgun.
"You must be hungry," Doris said when the waitress had left us at last.
"I wasn't before that began. Now I'm famished. It's ten o'clock--"
"Ten fifteen."
"I stand corrected."
"You like that case, don't you? You've been caressing it."
"I do. When my fingers glide along the leather, it tells me oh so softly that Charles Dickens has not yet been born."
"He wrote that thing about Scrooge, didn't he?"
"Yes. A Christmas Carol. He wrote it in eighteen forty-three. He'd have been thirty-one or thereabout."
"There are ghosts, aren't there, Bax?"
I nodded. "More than I've ever seen in the Black House. The Victorians loved ghosts." I glanced at the plump young woman coming toward our booth. "Can we do something for you?"
"I certainly hope so!" She was blond, and a large pimple was ripening on her right cheek. "That's a nice bruise you've got."
Rising, I said, "I fell. I'm Baxter Dunn, and this lady is Doris Griffin."
"I thought so!" The blonde was producing a business card. "She called you Bax and then you mentioned the Black House."
Doris said, "While you eavesdropped."
"I couldn't help it. It's gotten very quiet in here." The blonde turned back to me. "I spoke to you on the phone, remember? I'm Cathy Ruth. I'm on the Sentinel, and I'm a friend of Martha Murrey's. Remember?"
Doris said, "She writes restaurant reviews."
"And lots of other things. Do you want to tell me about the Black House?"
I said, "There's really nothing to tell. It is a quiet, comfortable house not far from the river. I like it, and I've been furnishing it with antiques. I'll let you come in and look them over when I'm finished. You probably write that sort of article, too."
Cathy shook her head.
"That's a shame. Perhaps you will by the time I'm finished, but meanwhile your food's getting cold."
"Cold food . . ." Doris pantomimed writing a note.
"Oh, I'm not reviewing this place. We're just having dinner."
"In which case, your dinner companions--"
"What's in that box?"
Doris snapped, "None of your business!"
Cathy laid a plump hand on my shoulder. "I've been nice, Mr. Dunn. Very, very nice. You've got the Black House, and you've given me next to nothing. I could print rumors. Heck, I could make up my own rumors. Confidential sources in the Department of Public Safety tell us . . . All that stuff. We do it all the time, and I'll bet you know that already."
"Yes. I do."
"All I'm asking is a little cooperation. A tiny li'l bitty bit, see? Believe me, it would be smart to give it to me. I've done the other thing, Mr. Dunn. I know how to do it, and I know what happens when I do."
"You could be sued," Doris said.
Cathy smiled. "I work for the paper, Ms. Griffin. You'd be suing the paper. It has lawyers on retainer, and it has the First Amendment. There isn't a politician in the state--and that includes the judges in the state courts--who wants to get the Sentinel mad at him. Use your head."
I said, "I've used mine. In return for a favor, I'll open up totally. Give you everything. It's a simple favor and I'll describe it in detail. Give it to me, and I'll be your confidential source in the Black House."
"I couldn't quote you by name."
"Correct."
"Will you deny the stuff you gave me?"
"Rarely if ever. Only when I must, in other words. In the vast majority of cases, and perhaps in all, I will simply decline to comment if questioned."
Doris told her, "He's good at that."
"I'll bet. Tell me what the favor is, and I'll think it over."
"Be careful, Bax."
Smiling, I ignored it. "In a nutshell, my brother George has been arrested for assaulting a police officer. I'm asking you to keep his name out of the paper. If it's printed, it will destroy his career. I want to spare him that if I can."
"He hit a cop?"
I nodded. "With his fist. He had no weapon. I could give details, but you will want to get them from her."
Cathy's eyes went wide.
"You may, of course, use everything you learn except my brother's name. His name is George Dunn. I don't want you to print that."
"I give you my word, and you'll empty the bag?"
"Exactly."
Doris's drink and fish chowder came. I offered to buy Cathy a drink, which she declined.
When the waitress had gone, Cathy said, "We have a deal. It's good until you hold back on me. Hold out and it's off."
"Naturally. I won't."
She grinned and offered her hand. I shook it solemnly without bothering to count my mental reservations.
"Now open that box."
I did.
"Hey, wow! I thought it was going to be pictures. Or love letters. Maybe both."
"They are dueling pistols," I explained. "A legacy from an old friend."
"Cool! Do you know how they work?"
I nodded. "I could load and fire them for you, but I certainly will not do that here."
"What's in the little boxes?"
"I haven't opened them, but one is probably patches and the other bullets. This big brass flask is for powder, and the little one's for priming powder. This is a ramrod. There's only one for the two pistols because they were sold as a set."
Cathy pointed. "What's that?"
"A bullet mold. You heated lead in a crucible--you'd have to buy those separately--and poured it into this. It is smaller than many." I took it out and opened it. "Only two bullets, enough for a single exchange of fire. In most cases, that's all there was to a duel. The duelists stood twenty paces apart, aimed, and fired. Quite often, both missed. They shook hands and retired with honor intact."
Doris said, "How do you know all this, Bax?"
"There are a great many duels in Victorian literature. To understand them properly, and what the author is saying about them, I familiarized myself with the real duels with which the author would have been familiar. The famous duel in which Aaron Burr ended the life of Alexander Hamilton, for example."
Cathy pointed again. "What's this little brass hammer for?"
"To start the bullet. A patched bullet fits tightly in the bore. You didn't really require a brass hammer, of course. Many shooters tapped their bullets in with the handles of their knives. But the hammer's a nice touch."
Doris had picked up one of the boxes and opened it. "These are flints."
I shrugged.
Cathy had the other box. "These are the bullets. Pretty, too! Hey, there's a note in here. . . ." She pulled it out.
I tried to take it from her, but she drew it back. "I found it and I get to read it." She paused. "Hey, listen to this. 'The werewolf will claim my son. Spare her if you can. His mother may help. These bullets are silver.' There's no signature."
Doris said, "Bax, you slipped that note in there."
I shook my head.
Cathy had picked up a bullet. "I think these really are silver. I'm going to show this one to my boyfriend's father. He's a jeweler."
"You can't take it," Doris told her.
"Right over there." Cathy gestured. "I'm having dinner with my boyfriend and his parents." She was gone before Doris could protest again.
The jeweler rose as she returned to the table, and after a moment or two followed her back to ours. "You probably don't remember me, Mr. Dunn. I'm Dick Quist."
"I certainly do."
"Have you noticed his ring, Cathy? That's a star sapphire, the best I've ever seen."
"You know I have!" Cathy gave her future father-in-law a quick smile before turning to me. "Poppa Quist says they're silver, Mr. Dunn."
"Coin silver, probably." He returned the bullet Cathy had taken to the box. "They're a bit tarnished, of course. But silver."
Cathy nudged him. "Somebody thinks Mr. Dunn might have to shoot a werewolf."
Dick Quist chuckled.
Doris said, "Somebody does, and I think I know who. Not who it is, but who it was."
"An eccentric, I'm sure."
"I wish I could be. Did you know Alexander Skotos, Mr. Quist? He died three years ago."
"I've got to get back to Louisa. She'll be mad if I'm gone too long."
He left, and Doris said, "He knew Alexander Skotos."
Cathy shook her head. "He's a family man, that's all. You two wouldn't make trouble for me with Robert's folks, would you?"
I said, "I certainly would not."
"I won't," Doris told her, "provided you go back there right now."
My steak and Doris's salmon arrived. I closed the pistol case hastily and laid it on the seat beside me.
When the waitress had gone, Doris said, "That bitch kept your note."
I was grinding pepper. "It doesn't matter."
"She'll put it in the paper."
"Perhaps. What if she does?"
"Don't you care, Bax?"
"I would rather she put it in there, accurately, than that she attempted to reproduce it from memory. She might write, 'The werewolf widely known as the Hound of Horror,' for example."
"You believe in werewolves."
I nodded. "I've seen and spoken to a woman I believe to be a werewolf. No, whom I believe to be the werewolf--the one who killed Martha Murrey's neighbor. You need not credit me."
"I believe you saw someone."
"Correct, I did--the woman by the river who gave me your keys. I'll introduce you at the first opportunity."
"You're looking terribly thoughtful. What is it?"
"Well, well, well . . ." I fear I sighed. "I've always wanted to play the Great Detective. We read a great many mysteries in prison."
"You were in prison?"
"I was. I was trying to tell you in the car, but I lost my nerve and never finished. I defrauded my brother, Doris. After that, I defrauded several of his friends. I was caught, of course. I was caught, and I begged them not to prosecute. I swore that if they would only give me
a few years, I would repay every cent."
"I can see how this hurts you, Bax. Why don't we drop it right here?"
"They wouldn't. It took me a long time to understand why, but eventually I did. May I please explain? This is the Great Detective, too."
She nodded.
"The amounts were trivial. Not to me, but to them. What mattered was the insult to their pride. They thought themselves sophisticated businessmen. They thought me a poor, unworldly scholar--which was true enough. Now the poor, unworldly scholar had sold them three lost mines, a swamp, and half the town hall of El Dorado. He wasn't going to get away with it, by George! So they prosecuted, led by my brother."
"I understand. You believed those lost mines--or whatever they really were--yourself, didn't you, Bax?"
I shook my head. "No, I didn't. I was lying, and I knew it."
"Your steak is getting cold."
Dutifully, I sliced off a small piece, chewed, and swallowed. "Back in the attorney's office, you heard my brother say I had defrauded him. It was true, and perhaps you wondered why I haven't repaid him. I have not, because my offer to repay was spurned. I spent three years and some odd months in prison. That was the payment he wanted, and he has had it. He will get no more from me."
"You promised to tell that girl anything she wanted to know to keep your brother's name out of the paper."
I cut off another bite. "I'd like to think he would do the same for me. He wouldn't, but I like to think it."
"Great Detectives always have weaknesses."
"I've noticed. Mine is wandering from the subject. There's a mystery in that note. Surely you caught it."
"I don't even remember what it said."
"I believe I can quote it verbatim. 'The werewolf will claim my son. Spare her if you can. His mother may help. These bullets are silver.' "
"All right, I'll try. Why would he want the werewolf spared?"
I shook my head. "There could be a thousand reasons for that."
"I've got it!" Doris snapped her fingers. "Alexander Skotos wrote that note. Why didn't he leave his property to his son?"
I smiled. "That isn't what's puzzling me, but let's leave it there. As you said, I ought to be eating."
"Me, too. You know, I felt sure you were going to say Trelawny could've written it. How's your steak?"