Sherret nodded. “I’m scared green. Or purple, if you like.”
“So am I. It’s all just too innocent, isn’t it? I’m glad we came together.”
They reached the end of the street without perceiving a movement of any kind. The wind which had streamed through this pass not long ago had died to nothing. The air was oppressively still. The silence itself was unnerving. It was as though the world was holding its breath in anticipation of some shattering explosion. But they could hear the sound of their own breathing.
They turned and looked back along the empty street.
Sherret felt an unworthy impulse to suggest that this was enough, honor was satisfied, they could now leave with dignity. But he knew it wasn’t enough.
“Let’s pay a social call,” said Lee. “Which house d’you think might have
‘Welcome’ on the mat?”
Sherret’s secret little shame bred an over-compensating boldness.
“I like the look of that one.” He pointed to the largest of all, double-fronted, on two floors.
“I’m with you there,” said Lee.
They negotiated a front gate and a short path to the door. It was a flat, bare door. Deliberately, Lee thumped on it thrice with his great fist. They waited.
They heard faint sounds of movement within the house but no one came to the door.
Lee banged again, and shouted, “Wake up in therel”
No answer.
“No,” said Sherret finally. “No ‘Welcome’ on the mat here. Probably no mat. Let’s try one of the neighbors.”
“I’ve a hunch none of them’s going to rush out to welcome us.” Lee was beginning to get angry, partly through fear, partly because of what the inhabitants had done to his father.
“Damned pack of murderers!” he bit out suddenly, and rammed his shoulder against the door. Its bolts burst apart and it flew open, revealing a lighted passage.
“We’ll root ’em out,” Lee snapped. “Come on.”
Sherret followed him. They opened doors into two empty rooms, and then in the third and largest they found one of the Three-people.
He was sitting quietly in a deep, hide-covered chair, and looked up as they burst in. The furniture was of good quality and looked to be handmade. Murals of mountain scenery covered the walls and the skins of unknown animals covered the floor. A white spiral of light glowed in the ceiling.
It seemed reasonably normal and civilized.
So did the occupant, who wore an elaborately embroidered jacket and comfortable, fur-topped high boots. He was a frail, oldish man with gray-white hair and a mild, kind face.
He regarded them benevolently.
“My name is Canato,” he said, in a pleasantly deep voice. “It’s kind of you to call. But would you mind leaving right away? I should like to be more hospitable, but you must know of our bad reputation. Believe me, it’s well-founded. You are in mortal danger in this village. Leave the valley while you can, and please, waste no time.”
“I’m sure your warning is well meant, Canato,” said Lee, closing the door but watching the man in the chair warily. “I can assure you we’ve not come here to waste time. We just want some information. I, personally, want to know what happened to various visitors here from my country. Most particularly, what happened to my father.”
“If your father is not buried in the graveyard just outside of the village, then he managed to get away.”
“He got away,” said Lee savagely, “but at some expense.”
“Friend, you are dangerously angry and vindictive. I implore you to go.”
