October 21: A Night in the Lonesome October-fest

Another big day. Then again, I think they all are, late in the month.

Snuff stops to speak with Larry and fill him in. He tells him everything save Linda Enderby's true identity.

(Snuff thinks that he's so clever for sniffing out the Linda Enderby ruse, but that was just the Great Detective throwing him a bone to throw him off the trail of what he's really up to. I think someone should write a comedy version of Lonesome October, where there are no other players, just the Great Detective switching costumes every time Snuff looks away.)

They discuss the progress of the search for the constable, and conversation turns to bolt holes each has established. We get another memorable line from Snuff:

"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.

Snuff goes looking for Gray, can't find her and wanders to Rastov's place, where he finds Rastov with the Icon and a bottle of vodka. Rastov is no condition to talk, so Quicklime discusses things with Snuff instead.

Prior to this exercise, I didn't have much of an opinion on Quicklime, other than generally being kindly disposed towards him because I like snakes. But I like Snuff's almost mentoring relationship with the younger animals. (Also I appreciate that Zelazny didn't use any cheap gimmicks with sibilants when writing Quicklime's dialogue) He corrects a few of the snake's misconceptions about the Game:

"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."

That's interesting. We know that Snuff is playing it close to the chest here (When he answers "So I've heard," when we know he's been party to several other Games), and it's possible that he and Jack were already involved in the Game during the session when everyone withdrew, and he's framing his answer in such a way as to obscure that fact.

Quicklime accounts how he got Needle drunk and thereby learned the locations of the Count's other graves. They go to investigate, and Snuff savors the world as it is:

The sun shone brightly, though there were clouds about, and, of course, a goodly cluster off toward the Good Doctor's place, farther south, and there came a bit of chill with a northerly breeze. We made our way cross-country through the colors of autumn, browns, reds, yellows, and the ground was damp, though not spongy. I inhaled the odors of forest and earth. Smoke curled from a single chimney in the distance, and I thought about the Elder Gods and wondered at how they might change things if the way were opened for their return. The world could be a good place or a nasty place without supernatural intervention; we had worked out our own ways of doing things, defined our own goods and evils. Some gods were great for individual ideals to be aimed at, rather than actual ends to be sought, here and now. As for the Elders, I could see no profit in intercourse with those who transcend utterly. I like to keep all such things in abstract, Platonic realms and not have to concern myself with physical presences. . . . I breathed the smells of woodsmoke, loam, and rotting windfall apples, still morning-rimed, perhaps, in orchard's shade, and saw a high, calling flock V-ing its way to the south. I heard a mole, burrowing beneath my feet. . . .

While traveling, the pairs reveals to each other that they are both closers. Quicklime is cheered, until they discover the Count's staked skeleton.

Snuff returns home, and is passed by the Great Detective in his coach. (Our eyes met and held for several long seconds. Then he was gone.)

Graymalk tells Snuff that she has learned that the vicar has one of the Tools for the game, the pentacle bowl. He also has his thirteen year old stepdaughter chained up for use as a sacrifice later on.

Snuff tells Gray that the Count has been killed, and Gray gives her account of an encounter with the Count.

"No matter whose side he was on, I can't say I'm sorry to see him out of the picture," she said. "He was extremely frightening." 

"You met him?" 

"I saw him one night, departing that first crypt. I'd hidden myself on a tree limb, to watch it happen. He seemed to ooze up out of there as if he weren't really moving any muscles, just flowing, the way Quicklime can do. Then he stood there a moment with his cloak flapping about him in the wind, turning his head, looking at the world as if he owned it and was deciding what part of it would amuse him just then. And then he laughed. I'll never forget that sound. He just threw his head back and barked, not the way you do, unless you've a special way of barking just before you eat something that might not want to be eaten, and that this pleases you, adds to the flavor. Then he moved, and it played tricks with my eyes. He was different things, different shapes, flapping cloak all about, even in different places at the same time, and then he was gone, like a piece of the cloak sailing away in the moonlight. I wasn't unhappy to see him go."

I love that passage.

They then spy on the Gipsies, who are entertaining Linda Enderby, who takes up the violin and plays, getting caught up in the music to the extent that her disguise slips a little.

Abruptly, he halted and took a step, as if suddenly moving out of a dream. He bowed then and returned the instrument to its owner, his movements in that moment entirely masculine. I thought of all the controlled thinking, the masterfully developed deductions, which had served to bring him here, and then this, this momentary slipping into the wildness he must keep carefully restrained, and then seeing him come out of it, smiling, becoming the woman again. I saw in this the action of an enormous will, and suddenly I knew him much better than as the pursuing figure of many faces. Suddenly I knew that he had to be learning, as we were learning other aspects, of the scope of our enterprise, that he could well be right behind us at the end, that he was almost, in some way, a player, more a force, really, in the Game, and I respected him as I have few beings of the many I have known. 

Later, as we walked back, Graymalk said, "It was good to get away for a time." 

"Yes," I said, "it was," and I regarded the sky, where the moon was growing.

October 20: A Night in the Lonesome October-fest

Snuff accepts Gray's invitation to have a meal at her place and enjoys it. Afterwards, as they are walking:

Streaks of high cirrus fluoresced above us from the stars they framed, and a gust of wind stirred my fur. 

"I hunted rats and ate out of dustbins and saw my kittens killed and was hung by my tail and abused by wicked urchins," Graymalk said suddenly, "before the mistress found me. She was an orphan who'd lived on the streets. Her life had been even worse." 

"Sorry," I said. "I've seen some bad times myself." 

"If the way is opened, things should change." 

"For the better?" 

"Maybe. On the other paw, if it isn't opened, things may change, too." 

"For the better?" 

"Damned if I know, Snuff. Does anybody really care about a hungry cat, except for a few friends?" 

"Maybe that's all anybody ever has, no matter how the big show is run." 

"Still. . . ." 

"Yes?" 

"Hard times do really bring out the revolutionary in a person, don't they?" 

"I'll give you that. Also, sometimes, the cynicism." 

"Like you?" 

"I suppose. The more things change. . . ."

What a great passage. The opening reminded me of 24 Views of Fount Fuji: "Kit lives, though he is buried not far from here; and I am dead, though I watch the days-end light pinking cloudstreaks above the mountain in the distance, a tree in the foreground for suitable contrast." There is something authentic about Graymalk's pronouncement, they way she blurts out her history with no preamble, as if trying to to justify her decision to this dog who is her opponent, but remains her friend.

She sneaks into the Great Detective's house, and Snuff speaks with Nightwind, who is also watching the house. They discuss the constable, the vicar's companion Tekela, Larry Talbot's role in the Game. We learn what had been implied, that the officer had been murdered by the vicar as part of a mystical ceremony, in order to offset the penalty for joining the game late.

When Nightwind asks about Larry's wolf form, Snuff misleads him:

"Done. I haven't heard anything about him for a while. The dog is a stray from town. Name's Lucky. I give him some of my food when he's around and he does favors for me. He hangs around Talbot's place, too, because Talbot saves scraps for him. He's too big for anyone to want to feed on a regular basis, though, which is why he hasn't a real home. You might even spot him in the woods or fields some night, hunting rabbits."

I had assumed that the Companions can speak with each other and other creatures of the same species, and this seems to support that. However, we also have at least one instance of Snuff conversing with one non-dog, non-companion, so I don't know.

"Well, this will all shake down in a few days, I'm sure. In ample time for the work to be done and the world…Should I say 'redeemed' or 'preserved'? 

"Let us say 'messed with,' either way." 

He closed his left eye and opened it again.

I like that bit too.
.

"Good kitty," said the Great Detective, in a well-controlled falsetto, "come visit us again sometime." 

Graymalk was deposited on the back steps and the door was closed. I cleared my throat, but she sat there for a time grooming herself before wandering off in the other direction. Suddenly, she was beside me.

Zelazny was good at characterizing all the animals, not just Snuff.

"She has a good memory, that old lady," Gray finally said. 

"In what respect?" 

"Her servant spotted me, on a sudden return to the kitchen, and she heard me call out. She came back and called me by name. She was very nice. Even gave me a saucer of milk, which I felt obliged to drink. Who'd've thought anyone would look at a cat well enough to recognize her later, not to mention remembering her name?"

This part didn't ring quite true to me. We have a lot of cats in our neighborhood and we're pretty good about recognizing them. It's not a trick on the order of Rainman counting the dropped toothpicks or anything.

It rains on them as they investigate the Good Doctor.

As we drew nearer, I saw that the front door of the farmhouse stood open, light spilling out through its rectangle. And someone was moving upon the roadway, headed toward us. Another discharge from the storm clouds gave the building a thorny corona of light, and outlined briefly in its glare I saw that a very big man was moving toward us at an ungainly but extremely rapid pace. He was dressed in ill-fitting garments, and my single glimpse of his face showed it as somehow misshapen, lopsided. He halted before us, swaying, turning his head from side to side. Fascinated, I stared. The rain had washed all scents from the air, until we achieved this proximity. Now, though, I could smell him and he grew even stranger to me, for it was the sick, sweet scent of death that informed his person, reached outward from it. His movements were not aggressive, and he regarded us with something akin to a child's simple curiosity.

The giant figure before me leaned forward, staring into my face. Slowly, unthreateningly, he extended his right hand toward me and touched me on the head.

"Good…dog," he said in a harsh, cracked voice, "good…dog," as he patted me.

Then he turned his attention to Graymalk, and moving with a speed that belied his earlier gesture, he snatched her up from the ground and held her to his breast.

"Kit-ty," he said then. "Pret-ty kit-ty."

When the Good Doctor came up beside the giant he placed a hand upon his arm.

"Raining cats and dogs, I see," he said.

I stopped barking as the giant turned his head and stared at him, doubtless at a loss for words in the face of such a sallying of wit.

"The doggy wants you to put the kitty down," he told him. "The kitty wants to get down, too. Put her down and come back with me now. It's a bad night to be outside, with all this rain."

"Cat…kitty…down," said the big fellow, and he leaned forward and deposited Graymalk gently on the road. His eyes met mine as he rose, and he added, "Good…dog." 

"I'm sure," said the Good Doctor, taking hold of his arm with both hands now and turning him back toward the farmhouse. 

"Let's get out of here," Graymalk said, and we did.

I really love the Good Doctor and the Experiment Man. We never see much of the Good Doctor, but really seems to care for his creation.

October 19: A Night in the Lonesome October-fest

We open with some reflections and Things.

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.

Snuff goes to asleep, only to be awakened by a Gipsy caravan in the morning. I usually see the word spelled with a "y", "Gypsy", though it sees less use in 2013 as it's considered somewhat offensive. (Though I certainly don't hold that against a book from 1993, which is in turn referencing characters from Dracula)

Quicklime calls to Snuff from the side of the road and they confer about the development. ("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.")

Quicklime offhandedly mentions the possibility that the Count may have established more than one residence, causing Snuff to exclaim "Good Lords!" I leave it as an exercise to the reader whether that's a bit of flavor from Zelazny or a line with deeper meaning. Snuff and Quicklime realize that this may disrupt the pattern they've painstakingly constructed (though Rastov is the Calculator of his pair and Quicklime is surprised that Snuff plays that role in his) and go on to verify that the Count is where they expect him to be.

Snuff tells Quicklime that the Vicar holds services to the Elders, and is therefore a player and an opener. They part ways and Snuff travels to Larry's home, where an older woman is paying Larry a visit. The pair steps within, Snuff peers into the window and sees them talking. He waits until the woman departs, then runs up to Larry and asks about her.

He's not certain if Larry will be able to understand him, as he can only communicate with Jack between midnight and one, but Larry is able to understand him perfectly and tells him the woman is a widow named Linda Enderby. In reality, she is the Great Detective in another disguise. My friend Jen is right. The Detective is one of the best characters in the book.

After they complete that conversation, Snuff returns home to find Graymalk waiting for him. She informs him that the vicar brought the search party directly to the location where the constable's body had originally been dumped, and concluded that he was involved in the murder.

I like the Vicar. He's a really interesting character. The impression I get is that he's an amateur cultist who had been established in the area well before it was clear that it would be the location for the climax of the Game. He's small potatoes and not particularly good at anything (it takes him four days to get the police to the site of the murder?), but just ruthless and canny enough to cause trouble. They say the best fencer in the world doesn't fear the second best fencer, but rather the beginner who could do something completely unexpected. The beginner would die, but he might cause some real trouble first. I think something similar is at play here.

Snuff wanders a little after this, swinging by the vicarage, where he sees Linda Enderby's coach, and an albino raven.

October 18: A Night in the Lonesome October-fest

We get quite a compelling and eventful chapter today.

First time out yesterday I got him farther through the muck, but he was still in it when I left him. I was tired. Jack was sequestered with his objects. The police were about, searching the area. The vicar was out, too, offering exhortations to the searchers. Night came on, and later I made my way back to the muck, chasing off a few vermin and beginning the long haul once again.

I'd worked on and off for over an hour, allowing myself several panting breaks, when I realized I was no longer alone. He was bigger than me even, and he moved with a silence I envied, some piece of the night cut loose and drifting against lesser blacknesses. He seemed to know the moment I became aware of him, and he moved toward me with a long, effortless stride, one of the largest dogs I'd ever seen outside of Ireland.

As Flora said once upon a time:"This is an ultrasonic dog whistle. Donner and Blitzen here have four brothers, and they're all trained to take care of nasty people and they all respond to my whistle. So don't start to walk toward any place where you won't be desired. A toot or two and even you will go down before them. Their kind is the reason there are no wolves left in Ireland, you know."

I just googled Irish wolfhound, and I don't know a lot about dog breeds, but it seems to be that the dog depicted on the cover of the dust jacket could very well be an Irish wolfhound.

This passage is of particular interest: "The Irish wolfhound was bred for long solitary hunts based solely off of the dogs ability to visualize its landscape", which is something we see Snuff doing all the time.

And this one: "historically these dogs were required to work at great distances from their masters and think independently when hunting rather than waiting for detailed commands and this can still be seen in the breed."

They're gigantic, though (120 to 150 pounds), so maybe not. Anyone have any pet theories (no pun intended) as to what breed Snuff might represent?

Correction. As he came on I realized he wasn't really a dog. It was a great gray wolf that was bearing down on me. I quickly reviewed my knowledge of the submissive postures these guys are into as I backed away from the corpse. 

"You can have it," I said. "It's all right with me. It's not in the best of shape, though."

That's another something I really liked, because it seemed like the way a dog would respond. My wife is a naturalist, and I've absorbed some information through osmosis, and animals, even big ones like bears, tend to try to avoid the fights if they can. Even if Snuff was one of the reasons that there were no wolves left in Ireland, why get killed to prove it? I could really believe Snuff responding in this way, and it reinforces the impression that he's a dog.

Then we get the big reveal:

He loomed nearer. Monstrous jaws, great feral eyes. . . . Then he sat down. 

"So this is where it is," he said. 

"What?" 

"The missing body. Snuff, you are tampering with evidence." 

"And you might say I'm tampering with something already tampered with. Who are you?" 

"Larry. Talbot."

Larry drags the corpse to the river.

"I can't tell you how happy this makes me," I said. 

"You just did," he said. "Let's head back."

Zelazny wrote a lot of, well, Zelaznian characters, and many of them had similar personality traits. We don't see a lot of the small kindnesses that come with a true friendship, with is why I treasure those moments when they do arrive.

Larry leads Snuff past the house to a local church, where the vicar is leading a Black Mass.

Larry pointed out that the cross was upside-down, but I'd already noticed this myself. 

"Do you know what that means?" he asked softly. 

"Religious distress signal?" I said.

Heh heh. I enjoyed the silly good humor of the previous chapter, but I think Snuff's deadpan observations are funnier.

They realize that the Black Mass is something even more sinister, a service to the Elder Gods, and they vacate the premises before it turns into an orgy.

They talk about calculating and Larry's place in the game:

"That's not it, Snuff," he said. "I can't tell you because I don't know. I'm an anticipator. I know certain things about the future, and I anticipate 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.

If I needed one line to sum up Lonesome October, there it is. That's perfect.

October 17: A Night in the Lonesome October-fest

Soon it begins. Today is the day of the New Moon. The power will rise till the night of its fullness, on the thirty-first, the combination which brings us together. And with the rising we begin our work, that which draws us apart. The days ahead will be interesting, as the openers and closers reveal themselves by their actions. Last night may have represented a final act of cooperation.

That's interesting, in that it implies that openers and closers have largely the same recipes for their structures of powers. Otherwise an observer could determine the persuasion of a fellow Player simply by noting which items were collected.

Jack visits a cemetery for a few final ingredients and Snuff keeps watch. It turns out almost everyone else also had the same idea, and they're all digging merrily. Snuff chats with the graveyard dog from earlier in the story as he watches. Zach and others have observed that Zelazny is rarely profligate with his "talkisms" (my personal word for a word used in place of said: exclaimed, yelled, questioned, whispered, whatever) and often eschewed them entirely, just putting the words spoken in quotes without attaching them to a name, like lines in a play. It's kind of fun trying to identify those speakers not explicitly named.

"Eyeballs, anyone?" came a call. 

"Over here," said someone with a Russian accent. "One of them, please." 

"I'll have the other," came an aristocratic voice from the opposite direction. 

"Either of you got a couple of floating ribs, or a pair of kidneys?" 

"Down here, on the kidneys!" came a new voice. "And I'm in need of a patella!" 

"What's that?" 

"Knee bone!" 

"Oh? No problem. . . ."

Some of them are easy. We can eliminate Jack and Larry, as Snuff would certainly know their voices. The voice with the Russian accent belongs to Rastov, the voice with the Hungarian accent must be the Count, Owen and McCab are named outright. Jill, as the only woman, is also easy to place.

I think the Good Doctor must be the aristocratic voice. Though he could be the new voice that comes slightly later, as, out of all the characters, he's the most likely to use "patella". The new voice could be Morris. It seems unlikely that Snuff would recognize McCab's voice, and not Morris's, but I've known couples where one member does all the talking when they're together, and it could be the case with them. The vicar is unlikely, as he's not out of the closet yet, so maybe the Good Doctor's hunchback? It's not unreasonable to assume that an assistant to a medical professional would incorporate some of the vocabulary into his speech.

Lonesome October is hard to categorize. It's a Lovecraftian, Holmsian, Zelaznian, adventure horror scavenger hunt narrated by a dog. Though it has a number of comedic elements, it's largely played straight, and I wouldn't call it a comedy in the same way I would If At Faust You Don't Succeed. Nevertheless, I don't think the absurdity of this scene is inconsistent with the theme of the book. I think a steady diet of it would be grating, but as a one-off, a scene like this is an awful lot of fun.

On the way out, we passed a white-bearded, frail-looking man, half-adoze, leaning on a spade near the gate. Casual inspection would have had one believe him a sexton, out for a bit of night air, but his scent was that of the Great Detective, hardly drowsing. Someone had obviously spoken too publicly.

Good old Sherlock!