The Sorcerer's House

by Gene Wolfe

  I chewed another piece, swallowed, and tried to imitate a gourmet. "Excellent without quite reaching superb. Did the Salmon Rangoon live up to its star billing? My potato is good, by the way. Good, but not great."

  "No comment on Trelawny?"

  "Only this. His secretary might have written it, too. So might Mr. Hardaway. Not to mention Cathy Ruth. Did you see the note before you saw it in her hands? Are you sure? I did not."

  "You're being silly. Two women."

  "How do we know the note's telling the truth? You think there's no werewolf. What if there's no son? Either woman could be conning us. It's entirely possible they're working together, and no more unlikely than Trelawny."

  "I was going to eliminate that. I don't believe he did it."

  "We could explain to each other why he's exceedingly improbable. Shall we do it?"

  Doris shook her head. "It would be a waste of time."

  "I agree. Nor will I play the Great Detective, which would be another. Here's a real question, by which I mean one that I can't answer. Why was Dick Quist so reluctant to talk about Alexander Skotos? We agree that he clearly knew him."

  "Yes. You know, Bax, a good many people must've known him, not just Mr. Hardaway and that lawyer. If we could find some of them and get them to talk about him, we might learn a lot."

  "You're right." I pushed aside my plate and took out my telephone. "Have you ever listened to your date trying to date another woman while he was with you? I realize that it cannot have happened often."

  Doris shook her head. "You're up to something."

  "I certainly am." I switched on the phone, dialed Directory Assistance, and specified this state and town. "I'm trying to locate a policewoman named Kate Finn. Her address is eight eleven Walnut."

  . . .

  Doris whispered, "Isn't that the one your brother socked?"

  I nodded.

  "Well, is there a Finn at eight eleven Walnut?" A gesture silenced Doris.

  . . .

  "That will be a relative, I'm sure," I said. "Would you give me the number, please?"

  "Give it to me and I'll write it down."

  I covered the speaker. "They're ringing it now."

  . . .

  "This is Baxter Dunn, Officer Finn. I'm calling for two reasons. The first is that I want to say how sorry I am about what happened tonight. On behalf of my brother George and our family, I apologize most humbly."

  . . .

  "That's very good of you, officer. I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive my brother someday. He is a good-hearted man with a bad temper. There's a great deal of stress associated with his work."

  . . .

  "I realize that, believe me. The second reason is that I need to talk to you. I'd be delighted to buy you lunch or dinner tomorrow. Your choice. Will you join me?"

  . . .

  "Here's the thing that worries me, officer. If it goes to trial, I'll certainly be called as a witness for one side or the other. I'll tell the truth, of course. But I'd like to tell it in a way that does no harm at all to you and Officer Perrotta. George was beaten quite severely, as I'm sure you realize. He's sure to allege police brutality, and quite frankly I don't feel he deserves to get away with that."

  . . .

  "No, we're not at all close. And of course he struck me, too. I'm sure you remember."

  . . .

  "Wonderful! I'd love a home-cooked lunch. Tomorrow about noon? I'll be there." I hung up.

  "You didn't say anything about Alexander Skotos," Doris observed.

  "Certainly not. That will come later."

  "I see." Doris looked thoughtful. "The waitress took your plate. There was a little steak left and half your potato. She took mine, too. Do we want dessert?" When I said nothing, she added, "This is on me, you know. On my expense account."

  I shook my head.

  "What about a drink?"

  "No. But go ahead if you'd like one yourself."

  "You're driving."

  "I'm driving, and I don't drink. I used to--used to drink too much, to tell you the truth. I've given it up."

  "I'll skip the drink if you'll answer three or four questions."

  "I'll try, and if I don't know something I'll say so." When I put the case of dueling pistols back on the table, Doris's face betrayed an unasked question. I said, "I want to put in flints and load them."

  "Why?"

  "Because I think we may need them on the return trip." There were rectangles of soft leather in the box of flints. I folded one over the back of a flint, put it in the jaws of the cock, and tightened them.

  "Is this because of the white horse?"

  I put down the pistol and stared at her. "Are you asking whether I intend to shoot it? Absolutely not."

  "It didn't look like a regular horse to me."

  "Nor to me." I got out the powder flask.

  "Could that thing go off?"

  I shrugged. "I have it on half-cock, but yes. That's always possible."

  Doris ordered a whiskey sour.

  "No more questions?"

  "Do you love me?"

  I sighed. "I don't say it often, because anyone can say anything. Words really mean very little. Men can be defrauded with words and women can be seduced with words, and it really comes to about the same thing. I'm not a fighter, Doris."

  "I never thought you were."

  "You were right. But if there is danger tonight I'll be out in front of you, fighting." I poured a measured charge of black powder down the barrel of the first pistol. "I want to have something to fight with, and these are all I have."

  That brought the smile I love so much.

  "You're worried about the white horse, because you think you saw something you didn't understand."

  She nodded.

  "So did I, and since I got closer to it I probably saw more. I saw something else as well--something you didn't see. I saw that absurd car stopped beside the road. I saw you in the front seat, and I saw myself standing alongside it with these pistols thrust into my belt."

  "Bax, have you gone crazy?"

  Here I must close, George. There is no more paper. I will buy some tomorrow, and begin a fresh letter as soon as I can find time.

  Yours sincerely,

  Bax

  Number 24

  NEVER TRUST

  Hey, Prof!

  You probably are wondering why I am writing you so fast, and have I heard anything about the Greek. Okay, I have, but it is not much. And I am writing you real fast because of what you said about chicks. Having two can be a lot a fun. I have been there and I know. Only if one finds out she will rat you out in a New York minute. You know what she might sing better than me, but I know there has got to be stuff she might tell.

  Listen up. You never trust a prosecuting attorney, a automatic, or a chick. Never!

  Okay, here is the rest. I run into a guy they call Iron Mike. He had been out and come back about six months ago. He is a cat burglar, and they say pretty good. He said yeah I talked to the Greek only I did not rat out the Prof or anybody.

  Here is what he said. He was flat and wondering how he could buy a few tools when his ex phoned him. She said a guy had talked to her that wanted to talk to him, maybe, and if he had something the guy could use he would pay. She said Iron Mike should meet him in a diner. That did not sound too bad so he went.

  The Greek came all right and had a long skinny torpedo with him. He says the skinny guy never said a word, just grinned the whole time. Mike says he took one look and knew he better not go anyplace with these guys only they never tried to get him to go anyway. The Greek said he would like something to eat, that Mike would. I guess he looked hungry. So Mike said he would and ordered a burger and fries and pie to go with his coffee. The Greek ordered two coffees, only the skinny guy never touched his.

  The Greek said you were in quite a while. Mike said yes. Well, maybe you knew Baxter Dunn. Mike said, yes, we were like that. You are lying, the Greek said. Do not lie to me or y
ou get nothing. Right, Mike said, I knew him but we were not real close. Who was? Mike says he did not know.

  You lie, says the Greek and the skinny guy gets out a piece of clothesline and starts running it through his fingers. Mike said he had funny fingers. I said funny how but he would not talk about it. So Mike fingers a couple guys you were close with, one being me. How is he doing, the Greek says? He is doing swell, he is maintenance crew now and a cinch for parole, Mike tells him. He said people could push you around some but only so far and some other stuff and the Greek gives him a hundred and splits.

  That is all I got, Bax, but I will keep my ears open.

  Sheldon Hawes

  Number 25

  THE HITCHHIKER

  Dear Mrs. Pogach:

  Let me first thank you for your extreme kindness in visiting me psychically. For me, it was a new experience; and I mishandled it badly, I know. I apologize. I should never have left you as I did. From the bottom of my heart, I am most terribly sorry.

  There has been a fresh development with which I ought to acquaint you. It is that the paranormal activity I had previously associated with my house exclusively appears to extend to an antique limousine I discovered in my garage. My friend Doris Griffin and I used this limousine to visit a restaurant some distance south of Medicine Man yesterday. There were oddities--to say the least--on our drive out. Still more on our return trip. Indeed, these were, if anything, more marked and peculiar, perhaps because the hour was later.

  I will describe one now. If you accede to my request, I shall be more than happy to detail the other. You may wish to quiz Doris as well; if you do, I will do my utmost to secure her cooperation.

  When we left the restaurant, everything seemed quite normal. The familiar road carried only a little traffic, but that was to be expected as the hour was late. We had not gone far when we saw a young woman in a white gown standing on the shoulder of the road. We stopped and asked whether she required assistance.

  "A ride. Only a ride." Her voice was thin and sad. "May I ride with you?"

  "Certainly," I said. "Just get in back. Where are you going?"

  "Where you are going."

  That seemed a bit odd, but I supposed she meant that she was returning to Medicine Man. A window permitting passengers to communicate with the driver stood open. Looking through it, Doris Griffin introduced herself and asked the hitchhiker's name.

  "Mary King."

  Doris began another question, then screamed. I braked so hard and so suddenly that I stalled the engine.

  "She's gone! Bax, she disappeared! I was looking at her!"

  I got out and opened all four doors of the passenger compartment. There was no one in there. Some distance away from the road, I could just make out what appeared to be a ruinous church and a cemetery. Here I should explain that though the moon was full, it was often obscured by clouds.

  I started toward the church and its tottering grave markers, but Doris called me back; she was terrified, and kept repeating that the hitchhiker had vanished while she (Doris) had been looking at her.

  There were also, as I have indicated, other incidents.

  Thus I ask your assistance. Please come. I will of course pay all reasonable travel expenses, and will gladly and promptly pay your fee if you succeed. (As per your letter.)

  Yours sincerely,

  Baxter Dunn

  Number 26

  BAX INVESTIGATES

  Dear Millie:

  Have I told you that I have had a letter from your adviser, Madame Orizia? I have, and a most remarkable psychic visit as well. Now I have written her requesting her assistance.

  In the meantime, I have begun to assist myself. Allow me to tell you about it.

  Two incidents determined me. The first occurred last night, as Doris and I were driving back from a restaurant on the shore of Brompton Lake. Our car was surrounded by huge wolves. I could not be sure how many there were, but there were certainly half a dozen and there may well have been more. I have read that wolves do not normally attack human beings, but these did not seem to be normal wolves.

  The road was narrow and rutted, and I was driving very slowly. Doris urged me to more speed, and upon my request contrived to squeeze through the window communicating with the passenger compartment to lock its doors from inside and secure all its windows. Is it a lie to conceal one's good motives?

  If it is, I lied to Doris. I indicated to her that I feared the wolves would enter the passenger compartment; the truth was that I feared they would invade the driver's. Although the driver's seat is somewhat higher than his passengers', his compartment is open on both sides and thus much more accessible.

  That is in fact what occurred. If it had not been for one of the antique pistols I had pushed through my belt, I would certainly have been badly bitten and might well have been killed. As it was, I thrust its long barrel into the brute's mouth and fired.

  The second determining incident occurred this morning after my return home. Emlyn introduced me to a young woman he clearly admired; she was Lupine, the psychotic I had met beside the river.

  I have lived in this house for weeks now, but in all that time I have done little more than observe. This morning I resolved to do much more. I shall investigate. I am determined to make myself the master of this house in fact as well as in name. I began by reviewing my earliest experiences here. I have a scholar's memory, Millie. That can be a curse, but it can be a blessing as well.

  Very quickly I hit upon Jake. I had asked Doris about Mr. Black's first name, and she had indicated that "Jake" had known it. I telephoned her and asked whether it would be possible for me to speak with Jake.

  It was soon arranged. Jake would be most happy to buy Doris and the owner of the Skotos Strip dinner that night. It reminded me that I had promised to join Officer Finn and her mother for lunch. I was washing and shaving when my cell telephone chimed.

  "Mr. Dunn? It's Cathy Ruth. I'm in the neighborhood and I have something that belongs to you. Can I drop by and return it?"

  "As it happens," I told her, "I must join someone for lunch at noon. Could you give me a ride over? I was planning to walk, but not looking forward to it. A house on Walnut."

  "Why, I'd be delighted to, Mr. Dunn. I'll be there right away."

  I had supposed that right away would be twenty minutes or more, but apparently the fine old phrase has a different meaning for reporters. She was knocking at my front door in less than half that, was escorted into the living room by old Nick and his little terrier, and was left to cool her heels while I finished dressing.

  Dressed, I welcomed her and received the possession I had expected--a note presumably written by the late owner of my antique pistols, Alexander Skotos.

  "This gives me a perfectly grand chance to ask you about ghosts and strange happenings, Mr. Dunn. What can you tell me?"

  "Very little I'm afraid. There have been no strange happenings in the house lately, but there are a couple of areas I want to look into. One is the trunk strapped to the car. I found an old car in the garage, you see, and I have a locksmith coming."

  "Let me know what was in there if you find anything, okay?"

  I nodded. "I certainly will. The other area is the cellar."

  "O-o-o!" Her eyes went wide.

  "I've been thinking of doing that. Midnight would be the best time, wouldn't you say?"

  "Midnight tonight?" She was clearly eager.

  "Yes, tonight, assuming that you can make it tonight."

  "You're serious, Mr. Dunn?"

  "Entirely. You'd better wear old clothes--I would imagine there will be a good deal of dust." I was careful not to mention to her (although I will tell you, Millie) that Nick had already been down there, knew about the furnace, and had gotten a washer and dryer installed there.

  "I'll be here. Say eleven thirty or so?"

  "Sounds good. I'm going out to dinner, but I should be home by then. Bring a large flashlight. Even if there are lights down there--which I doubt--we'l
l have to find the switches."

  Cathy agreed, and drove me to eight eleven Walnut for my luncheon date with Kate Finn.

  The Finn house was a modest bungalow, which was what I had expected, but homelike, neat, and clean. A smiling, gray-haired woman opened the door for me. "Mr. Dunn? I'm Biddy Finn." Seeing my surprise, she added, "It's really Bridget, but everybody calls me Biddy and I hope you will, too."

  "I'm George J. Dunn's brother, Biddy, and he's the only Mr. Dunn as far as the family's concerned. Please call me Bax."

  "I will. Oh, I will! Please come in. I see your face is still a little swollen."

  "And my jaw's still a bit sore, but neither is really troublesome. Doris Griffin--she was there as well--got an ice pack for me at some drugstore, and I was able to keep it on my face now and then. How's your daughter?"

  "A little worse, I'm afraid. She's in the kitchen making donuts. Do you care for homemade donuts?"

  I smiled. "You know, I don't think I've ever had any."

  "You will. They're Kate's specialty." For a moment Biddy looked stricken. "Mine's lobster salad. You don't object to lobster, I hope? So many people are allergic to shellfish.

  "I love shellfish. Lobster particularly."

  "That's wonderful! Please sit down. Kate will be here in a moment. It will be a very simple lunch. But good, I hope. Soup, sandwiches, salad, and Kate's donuts."

  "My mouth's watering already."

  "Well, it won't be gourmet food, but--"

  Kate had come in. "Hi, Bax! How are you feeling?" The bruises on her face were very apparent, and for the first time since he had struck her I was truly angry with George.

  I rose. "Much better than you do, Kate, I'm sure."

  "I know how hideous I look. You've got to make allowances."

  "You look like a most attractive young woman who's been brutally assaulted. If George were here, I'd be tempted to kick him."

  Biddy asked, "Does he beat his wife?"

  It was something I had never even considered and took me aback. "To the best of my knowledge, no. No, I--well I'm sure he doesn't. Millie would have told me."