last night. I open my mouth to tell him about yesterday's scene with Bill-E.
Then close it.
Dervish is reaching for an egg with his right hand. My eyes are attracted to his nails. Not long — but jagged. Dirty. Red stains under the tips.
It could be paint or rust or something he ate in the pub the night before.
Or it could be
blood
.
Staring. Staring. Staring.
The toaster pops behind me.
I almost scream.
Dragging clothes out of the washing machine. If Dervish walks in on me, I'll say I left money in one of my pockets.
Underpants. Socks. Shirts. Trousers. Finally — a blue denim shirt with a small eagle insignia on the left breast pocket. The shirt Dervish was wearing last night.
I run my nose over it. Unpleasant and sweaty, but not smoky. Not beery. Not like it would smell if he'd spent a few hours in a pub.
Sitting by the phone. I want to call Bill-E, tell him about Dervish disappearing, the blood, the scentless shirt. Except —
He might have gone to the pub like he said.
Maybe he changed shirts before he went out, after I last saw him.
The stains under his nails could have been anything.
If Bill-E hadn't filled my head with garbage, I'd have thought nothing of Dervish slipping out without telling me. It's not the first time he's done it. He gives me plenty of space and freedom, and expects the same in return. Nothing suspicious about that.
But what does he do when he's out by himself? Where does he go? Did he really meet Meera in the Vale? If so, why didn't she come back here with him? And if he changed shirts before he went out, why isn't the one he wore to the pub in the machine with the rest of his dirty laundry?
Carcery Vale. Outside the Lion & Lamb. There are several pubs in the Vale. I want to go into them all to check if Dervish was in town last night.
My story — Dervish lost his watch, and sent me to ask if it had been found. He can't remember which pub he'd been in, so I'm doing the rounds of them all.
Holding me back — somebody might mention my queries to Dervish.
In the end I turn away from the Lion & Lamb and make for home. Not reckless or scared enough to check on Dervish's alibi. Not yet.
Night. Alone in the house. Meera called in this afternoon. I wanted to ask if she'd enjoyed the pub last night, but Dervish was there and I didn't want to be so obvious. They left a few hours ago. Dervish told me they were going into the Vale and not to wait up for them. Asked if I'd like them to bring back anything. I said some chips would be nice.
A truly crazy thought — what if Dervish and Meera are
both
werewolves? I cast that from my thoughts even before it's fully formed.
In one of the spare bedrooms, close to the lower end of the house, where the brick extension is. A clear view of the road from here. The room across the hall has an equally good view of the rear yard and sheds. I've left the window open, so if there are any noises, I should hear them.
Glued to the front window. Hoping to see Dervish and Meera staggering back from the village, singing drunkenly. Planning cutting comments for Bill-E. Wondering if this is all a big gag designed to scare me. I'll be mad as hell if it is — but relieved at the same time.
After midnight. Eyelids drooping. A clanging noise out back jolts me out of my half-daze.
I bolt through to the back room. Edge up to the open window. Peer out. The clouds aren't as thick as they were earlier. An almost-full moon lights most of the yard, though drifting clouds create random stretched shadows.
Dervish and Meera are by the sheet of corrugated iron where the tree stumps are. They're sliding it over to one side. Behind them, on the ground, half-hidden by shadows, something large wriggles. I train my sights on it. Moments later, the clouds drift on and moonlight falls directly on the creature.
A deer, its four hooves bound together with rope, its snout muzzled.
Dervish and Meera finish with the sheet of corrugated iron. I spot two large wooden doors set in
Then close it.
Dervish is reaching for an egg with his right hand. My eyes are attracted to his nails. Not long — but jagged. Dirty. Red stains under the tips.
It could be paint or rust or something he ate in the pub the night before.
Or it could be
blood
.
Staring. Staring. Staring.
The toaster pops behind me.
I almost scream.
Dragging clothes out of the washing machine. If Dervish walks in on me, I'll say I left money in one of my pockets.
Underpants. Socks. Shirts. Trousers. Finally — a blue denim shirt with a small eagle insignia on the left breast pocket. The shirt Dervish was wearing last night.
I run my nose over it. Unpleasant and sweaty, but not smoky. Not beery. Not like it would smell if he'd spent a few hours in a pub.
Sitting by the phone. I want to call Bill-E, tell him about Dervish disappearing, the blood, the scentless shirt. Except —
He might have gone to the pub like he said.
Maybe he changed shirts before he went out, after I last saw him.
The stains under his nails could have been anything.
If Bill-E hadn't filled my head with garbage, I'd have thought nothing of Dervish slipping out without telling me. It's not the first time he's done it. He gives me plenty of space and freedom, and expects the same in return. Nothing suspicious about that.
But what does he do when he's out by himself? Where does he go? Did he really meet Meera in the Vale? If so, why didn't she come back here with him? And if he changed shirts before he went out, why isn't the one he wore to the pub in the machine with the rest of his dirty laundry?
Carcery Vale. Outside the Lion & Lamb. There are several pubs in the Vale. I want to go into them all to check if Dervish was in town last night.
My story — Dervish lost his watch, and sent me to ask if it had been found. He can't remember which pub he'd been in, so I'm doing the rounds of them all.
Holding me back — somebody might mention my queries to Dervish.
In the end I turn away from the Lion & Lamb and make for home. Not reckless or scared enough to check on Dervish's alibi. Not yet.
Night. Alone in the house. Meera called in this afternoon. I wanted to ask if she'd enjoyed the pub last night, but Dervish was there and I didn't want to be so obvious. They left a few hours ago. Dervish told me they were going into the Vale and not to wait up for them. Asked if I'd like them to bring back anything. I said some chips would be nice.
A truly crazy thought — what if Dervish and Meera are
both
werewolves? I cast that from my thoughts even before it's fully formed.
In one of the spare bedrooms, close to the lower end of the house, where the brick extension is. A clear view of the road from here. The room across the hall has an equally good view of the rear yard and sheds. I've left the window open, so if there are any noises, I should hear them.
Glued to the front window. Hoping to see Dervish and Meera staggering back from the village, singing drunkenly. Planning cutting comments for Bill-E. Wondering if this is all a big gag designed to scare me. I'll be mad as hell if it is — but relieved at the same time.
After midnight. Eyelids drooping. A clanging noise out back jolts me out of my half-daze.
I bolt through to the back room. Edge up to the open window. Peer out. The clouds aren't as thick as they were earlier. An almost-full moon lights most of the yard, though drifting clouds create random stretched shadows.
Dervish and Meera are by the sheet of corrugated iron where the tree stumps are. They're sliding it over to one side. Behind them, on the ground, half-hidden by shadows, something large wriggles. I train my sights on it. Moments later, the clouds drift on and moonlight falls directly on the creature.
A deer, its four hooves bound together with rope, its snout muzzled.
Dervish and Meera finish with the sheet of corrugated iron. I spot two large wooden doors set in
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