The Paper Grail by James P. Blaylock Page A

thing in her face.
    “I don’t think they’re going to renew my lease. I’m going to have to move the shop, probably back off Main Street.”
    “The sons of bitches!” Uncle Roy slammed his fist on the kitchen table.
    “Roy!” Aunt Edith said, glancing at Howard, pretty clearly embarrassed for him.
    “They’re talking about redevelopment along Main,” Sylvia said.
    “What the hell is that, ‘redevelopment’?” Uncle Roy looked disgusted. “Of all the damned things …” he said.
    “That’s when they tear down whatever’s interesting and put up something shabby and new,” Howard put in. “They’re always up to that down in my neighborhood.”
    “Is this certain?” Uncle Roy squinted at her. The look on his face suggested that he read an entire plot into the notion. “Who told you, the old lady?”
    “No, Stoat. This morning. I saw you drive past,” she said to Howard. “I’m kind of glad you didn’t stop, though. I wasn’t in any mood to talk.”
    So Stoat, somehow, had become—what? Her landlord? A landlord’s agent? Guiltily he found that he was wildly relieved. Happy even. This explained the sidewalk conversation. Stoat was a backwoods Simon Legree, twisting his blond mustache.
    Uncle Roy paced up and down, dark looks crossing his face. “They’re moving,” he said.
    “Oh, Roy.” Aunt Edith started putting together sandwiches on the counter.
    Howard wondered what his uncle meant—who was moving? What did the word mean, exactly?
    Roy stopped. Looking hard at Howard, he asked, apropos of nothing at all and in the cryptic manner of Mr. Jimmers, “Are you a man who likes to fish?”

6
    U NCLE Roy brooded while Sylvia and Edith ate their sandwiches. Looking nervous, as if he had nothing to do with his hands, he got up finally and opened the refrigerator door, staring in at Tupperware containers full of leftovers. He hauled out an open tin can, holding it up and widening his eyes at Howard. “Peach?”
    Howard shook his head. “Still full from breakfast.”
    “Anyone else?” Sylvia and Edith shook their heads. “Don’t mind if I do?” No one minded. Uncle Roy poured milk into the peaches, fishing a clean fork out of the drawer. He waved for Howard to follow him and took the can out into the living room and sat back down in his chair, sipping milky peach syrup out of the open can. Howard could hear Sylvia and Aunt Edith talking between themselves, having cranked the conversation up once the men were out of the room.
    “Slippery little devil,” Uncle Roy said, biting into a peach, eating it off the end of the fork. Howard waited for the subjectof the unrenewed lease to surface again, but it didn’t, and he became aware that Uncle Roy was studiously avoiding it. After a couple of minutes Sylvia left, heading back down to Mendocino. Uncle Roy assured her that nothing would happen, that he would work things through. “Don’t worry,” he said to her, but it was unconvincing.
    Then Aunt Edith came in, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief and immediately climbing the stairs. Howard sat there uncomfortably. His uncle had sunk into his chair. He sat now with his head pulled down into the flesh of his neck and chin, as if he had turned into a sort of human pudding. There was more in his face than sorrow or worry. He was thinking hard about something, making plans. He started to speak, but was interrupted almost at once by the sound of footfalls on the front porch and then a heavy knock.
    Uncle Roy shook his head, meaning for Howard to stay in his chair.
    After a moment a woman’s voice spoke from outside, very loud, as if she were shouting through a bullhorn. At first Howard thought it was Sylvia come back, apparently in some sort of rage. “I know you’re in there!” the woman shouted, and then banged on the door again. It was an old woman’s voice, though, loud and thin like the voice of the Witch of the East.
    “Ssh!” Uncle Roy put a finger to his lips. The house was silent for