A Night in the Lonesome October by Roger Zelazny Page B

"'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. . . ?'
          "And so I learned their locations, and that he was moving to one last night," he finished.
         "Well done," I said.   "Well done."
         "I hope he didn't awaken feeling the way I did the other morning.   I did not linger, for I gather it is a bad thing to see snakes when you are in that condition.   At least, Rastov says it is.   With me, it was humans that I saw last time, all those passing Gipsies.   Then yourself, of course."
         "How many graves are there besides the crypt?"
         "Two," he said.   "One to the southwest, the other to the southeast."
         "I want to see them."
         "I'll take you.   The one to the southwest is nearer.   Let's go there first."
         We set out, crossing a stretch of countryside I had not visited before.   Eventually, we came to a small graveyard, a rusted iron fence about it.   The gate was not secured, and I shouldered it open.
         "This way," Quicklime said, and I followed him.
         He led me to a small mausoleum beside a bare willow tree.
         "In there," he said.   "The vault to the right is opened.   There is a new casket within."
         "Is the Count inside it?"
         "He shouldn't be.   Needle said he'd be sleeping at the other one."
         I entered nevertheless and pawed at the lid for some while before I found a way to open it.   When I did, it came up quite easily.   It was empty, except for a handful or two of dirt at its bottom.
         "It looks like the real thing," I said.   "Take me to the other one now."
         We set off on the longer trek, and as we went I asked, "Did Needle tell you when these graves were established?"
         "Several weeks ago," he answered.
         "Before the dark of the moon?"
         "Yes.   He was very insistent on the point."
         "This will ruin my pattern," I said, "and everything seemed such a perfect fit."
          "Sorry."
         "You're sure that's what he said?"
         "Positive."
         "Damn."
         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