others in tow. He dismissed the waiters, and began to consume the meal of sumptuous pasta in cream sauce, lots of cold milk, and the meat of a lobster, which he did not like, but which was, nevertheless, white.
Afterwards he lay on the sofa, quietly listening to the crackling of the fire and hoping perhaps for a gentle rainfall.
He also hoped that Yuri would return. It wasn’t likely. But he had insisted they remain here at Claridge’s on the chance that Yuri would trust them again.
At last Samuel came in, so drunk that he staggered. His tweed jacket was slung over his shoulder, and his white shirt was rumpled. Only now did Ash see that the shirt was specially made, as the suit had been, to fit Samuel’s grotesque body.
Samuel lay down by the fire, awkward as a whale. Ash got up, gathered some soft pillows from the couch, and put them beneath Samuel’s head. The dwarf opened his eyes, wider than usual, it seemed. His breath was fragrant from drink. His breath came in snorts, but none of this repelled Ash, who had always loved Samuel.
On the contrary, he might have argued to anyone in the world that Samuel had a rocklike, carven beauty, but what would have been the use?
“Did you find Yuri?” Samuel asked.
“No,” said Ash, who remained down on one knee, so that he could speak to Samuel almost in a whisper. “I didn’t look for him, Samuel. Where would I begin in all of London?”
“Aye, there is no beginning and no end,” said Samuel with a deep and forlorn sigh. “I looked wherever I went. Pub to pub to pub. I fear he’ll try to go back. They’ll try to kill him.”
“He has many allies now,” said Ash. “And one of his enemies is dead. The entire Order has been alerted. This must be good for Yuri. I have killed their Superior General.”
“Why in the name of God did you do that?” Samuel forced himself up on his elbow and struggled to gain an upright position, but Ash had finally to help him.
Samuel sat there with his knees bent, scowling at Ash.
“Well, I did it because the man was corrupt and a liar. There cannot be corruption in the Talamasca that isn’t dangerous. And he knew what I was. He believed me to be Lasher. He pleaded the Elders as his cause when I threatened his life. No loyal member would have mentioned the Elders to anyone outside, or said things that were so defensive and obvious.”
“And you killed him.”
“With my hands, the way I always do. It was quick. He didn’t suffer much, and I saw many others. None of them knew what I was. So what can one say? The corruption is near the top, perhaps at the very top, and has not by any means penetrated to the rank and file. If it has, it has penetrated in some confused form. They do not know a Taltos when they see one, even when given ample opportunity to study the specimen.”
“Specimen,” said Samuel. “I want to go back to the glen.”
“Don’t you want to help me, so that the glen remains safe, so that your revolting little friends can dance and play the pipes, and kill unsuspecting humans and boil the fat from their bones in cauldrons?”
“You have a cruel tongue.”
“Do I? Perhaps so.”
“What will we do now?”
“I don’t know the next step. If Yuri hasn’t returned by morning, I suppose that we should leave here.”
“But I like Claridge’s,” Samuel grumbled. He keeled over, eyes closing the moment he hit the pillow.
“Samuel, refresh my memory,” Ash said.
“About what?”
“What is a syllogism?”
Samuel laughed. “Refresh your memory? You never knew what a syllogism was. What do you know about philosophy?”
“Too much,” said Ash. He tried to remember it himself. All men are beasts. Beasts are savage. Therefore all men are savage.
He went into the bedroom and lay down on the bed. For one moment, he saw again the pretty-haired witch, Yuri’s beloved. He imagined that her naked breasts were pressed gently against his face, and that her hair covered them both like a great mantle.
Then he was fast asleep. He dreamed he was walking through the doll museum in his building. The marble tile had just been polished, and he could see all the many colors, and how colors changed depending upon what color was right beside them. All the dolls in their glass cases began to sing-the modern, the antique, the grotesque, the beautiful. The French dolls danced, and swung their little bell-shaped dresses as they did so, their round little faces full of glee, and the magnificent Bru dolls, his queens, his most treasured queens, sang high soprano, their paperweight eyes glistening in the fluorescent lights. Never had he heard such music. He was so happy.
Make dolls that can sing, he thought in his dream, dolls that can really sing-not like the old ones that were bad mechanical toys, but dolls with electronic voices that will sing forever. And when the world ends, the dolls will still sing in the ruins.
Ten
“THERE’S NO QUESTION,” said Dr. Salter. She set down the manila folder on the edge of the desk. “But it didn’t happen six weeks ago.”
“Why do you say that?” said Mona. She hated this little examining room because it didn’t have any windows. Made her feel she was going to smother.
“Because you’re almost three months along, that’s why.” The doctor approached the table. “Here, you want to feel it yourself? Give me your hand.”
Mona let the doctor lift her wrist and then place her hand on her own belly.
“Press hard. You feel that? That’s the baby. Why do you think you’re wearing that loose thing? You can’t stand anything tight against your waist, now, can you?”
“Look, my aunt bought me these clothes. They were hanging there, or it was hanging there.” What was it, damn it, oh yeah, linen, black for funerals, or for looking nifty with fancy high-heeled black-and-white string shoes. “I can’t be that pregnant,” said Mona. “That’s just not possible.”
“Go home and check your computer log, Mona. You are.”
Mona sat up, and jumped down from the table, smoothing down the black skirt and quickly slipping into the fancy shoes. No need to lace or unlace, though if Aunt Gifford had seen her stuffing her foot like that into an expensive shoe, she would have screamed.
“I gotta go,” she said. “I’m expected at a funeral.”
“Not that poor man who married your cousin, the one killed by the car?”
“Yep, that poor man. Listen, Annelle. Can we do one of those tests where you see the fetus?”
“Yes, and it will confirm exactly what I’ve been telling you-that you’re twelve weeks along. Now listen, you have to take all the supplements I’m giving you. A thirteen-year-old body is not ready to have a baby.”
“Okay, I want to make an appointment for that test where we look at it.” Mona started for the door, and had her hand on the knob when she stopped. “On second thought,” she said, “I’d rather not.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know. Let’s just leave it alone in there for a while. Tests can be scary, can’t they?”
“My God, you’re turning white.”
“No, I’m not, I’m just going to faint like women in the movies.”
She went out, passing through the small, carpeted outer office, and out the door, though the doctor was calling to her. The door swished shut heavily, and she hurried through the glass-enclosed lobby.
The car was waiting at the curb. Ryan stood beside it, arms folded. Dressed in dark blue for the funeral, he looked almost the same as always, except that his eyes were watery now, and he was plainly very tired. He opened the door for her.
“Well, what did Dr. Salter say?” he asked. He turned to look at her, up and down and with care.
She really wished everybody would stop looking at her.
