moved closer, so that its muzzle pressed against his chest, forcing him back a short step. He stroked the muzzle, reached up and scratched an ear. The beast cocked its head to one side so that ear was easier to reach.
Lansing scratched the ear, and the Wailer held its head so it could be scratched. It mumbled a little in its throat and pushed Lansing back another step as it moved affectionately against him.
“That’s enough,” said Lansing. “I can’t go on petting you all day. I have traveling to do.”
Almost as if it had understood, the great beast grumbled at him. Lansing took another backward step into the river. Then, deliberately, he let his hand fall from the mighty head and, turning about, began to wade the stream.
He kept on wading. The water was like ice. He did not look back until he reached midstream, with the water to his knees. Then he did look back. The Wailer stood forlornly on the shore, looking after him. It took a step, putting one foot in the water, then pulled it back and shook it.
Lansing laughed and went on wading. When he reached dry land, he turned again. The beast still was on the other shore. Seeing Lansing halt and look back, it took two steps into the water, then pulled back and shook itself.
“So long, friend,” said Lansing. Briskly he set out down the river. Half a mile farther on he had another look. The beast still had not crossed the river. Apparently it did not like cold water.
Lansing hurried. Despite what had happened, he told himself, it would not be a bad idea to put as much distance between himself and the Wailer as was possible. It was the sort of beast one could not place much reliance on.
The sun went down, but he did not pause for the night. He kept on walking, occasionally jogging, running at times, intent on covering as much ground as he could. The moon, now slightly past full, shed a cold, white light upon the wilderness. The river gurgled eastward. At dawn he stopped and built a fire, boiled coffee, had something to eat. There was no indication the Wailer was anywhere about.
He was tired and wanted sleep, but after a short time set out again, driving himself down the river. The sun was slanting well into the west when he reached the inn.
The common room was empty, dark and chilly. No blaze burned on the hearth. The card players were not at their table.
Lansing called and there was no answer. Going across the room, he collapsed into a chair before the dead fireplace. He huddled in the chair, worn by fatigue.
After a time, the moon-faced woman in the checkered apron came out of the kitchen.
“Oh,” she said, “so it’s you again.”
He croaked at her. “Was a young woman here? In the last day or two?”
“Oh, yes, indeed she was.”
“And where is she now?”
“She left this morning. Early in the morning.”
“Did you notice where she went? What direction she took?”
“No, I didn’t, sir. I happened to be busy.”
“Did she leave any word? Could she have left a note?”
The woman said, “I believe she did. I put it away. I’ll go and get it.”
She bustled off and Lansing waited. After a time she came back, carrying a bottle and a mug, which she set on the table beside him.
“I don’t know what happened,” she said, “but I cannot find the note. I must have mislaid it.”
He surged to his feet and roared at her. “How could you have mislaid a note? A note that was given you this morning?”
“I do not know how I could have, sir. Apparently I did.”
“Well, look for it, then. Have another look.”
“I’ve looked everywhere,” she said. “It’s not where I thought I put it. It’s not anywhere.”
Lansing sank into the chair. She poured a drink and handed it to him. “I’ll start a fire to warm you and then I’ll cook you something,” she told him. “You probably are hungry.”
“Yes, I am,” growled Lansing.
“The lady,” she said, “had no money…”
“Goddammit,” Lansing shouted, “I’ll pay her bill. Are you sure about that note?”
“Quite certain, sir,” she said.
He sat morosely, drinking, watching her start a fire.
“You’ll be staying the night?” she asked.
“Yes, I will,” he said. “I’ll leave early in the morning.”
Where could Mary have gone? he asked himself. Back to the singing tower to wait, knowing he’d show up? Or back through the badlands to the city? Not back to the city, he thought, certainly not back to the city. Although, perhaps, she might. Just possibly she might. Maybe she had thought of something there that needed more looking into, some facet of the city they had overlooked. But the question was why she hadn’t waited here; certainly she knew that he would follow her.
He sat pondering, turning over and over the thoughts that came to mind. By the time the landlady brought in the food, he’d made his decision. He’d go back to the singing tower and if she were not there, he’d start over again — from the tower back here again and then on to the city. If she was not in the city, he’d go back to the cube. He kept remembering that Mary had always thought the answer lay somewhere in the cube.
28
He was within a few hours of the tower when he met the other two — Jorgenson and Melissa — coming down the trail. There had been no sign of the Waller.
“My God,” said Jorgenson, “I’m glad we found you. There was no one at the tower.”
“No one but Sandra, and she was dead,” Melissa said.
“Where are the other two?” asked Jorgenson.
“Jurgens was lost at Chaos,” Lansing told him, “and I am hunting Mary. You are sure you saw no sign of her?”
“None at all,” said Jorgenson. “Where do you think she could be?”
“She had been at the inn. I thought she might have come back to the tower. Since she hasn’t, I would imagine she is heading for the city.”
“She would have left word for you at the inn,” Melissa said. “You two were very close.”
“She did leave a note. The landlady couldn’t find it. Claimed that she had lost it. I helped her search for it before I left.”
“That’s strange,” said Jorgenson.
“Yes, very strange. Everything here seems to work against us.”
“What happened to Jurgens?” Melissa asked. “I liked him. He was a sweet old soul.”
Swiftly Lansing told them, then asked, “What is in the west? Did you find anything?”
“We found nothing,” Jorgenson told him. “We stayed out a couple of days longer than we had intended, hoping we’d find something. The land is arid, not quite desert. Almost desert. We had water trouble, but we got along.”
“Just empty land,” Melissa said. “You could look for miles — and nothing.”
“Finally we came to the edge of the escarpment we had been traveling across,” said Jorgenson. “Not knowing, of course, we were traveling an escarpment. The land broke down, a long line of cliffs, and there, far as we could see, was desert. Real desert; sand and that was all. It stretched away as far as we could see and it was emptier, if that was possible, than the land we’d crossed. So we came back.”
“Chaos north and nothing west,” said Lansing. “That leaves the south, but I’m not going south. I’m going to the city; I think that Mary’s there.”
“It’s almost sunset,” said Jorgenson. “Why don’t we camp? Start out in the morning. Decide what we should do and start out in the morning.”
