sk.thetalisman-第54部分

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　that　Wolf's　nostrils　were　flaring　rapidly。
　　'He's　dead；　isn't　he？　Wolf！　I'm　sorry；　Jack。　God　pound　me！　I'm　stupid！　Stupid！'　Wolf　crashed　a　hand　into　his　forehead　and　this　time　he　really　did　howl。　It　was　a　sound　that　chilled　Jack's　blood。　The　herd　of　creep　looked　around　uneasily。
　　'That's　all　right；'　Jack　said。　He　heard　his　voice　more　in　his　ears　than　in　his　head；　as　if　someone　else　had　spoken。　'But　。　。　。　how　did　you　know？'
　　'Your　smell　changed；'　Wolf　said　simply。　'I　knew　he　was　dead　because　it　was　in　your　smell。　Poor　Phil！　What　a　good　guy！　Tell　you　that　right　here　and　now；　Jack！　Your　father　was　a　good　guy！　Wolf！'
　　'Yes；'　Jack　said；　'he　was。　But　how　did　you　know　him？　And　how　did　you　know　he　was　my　father？'　
　　Wolf　looked　at　Jack　as　though　he　had　asked　a　question　so　simple　it　barely　needed　answering。　'I　remember　his　smell；　of　course。　Wolfs　remember　all　smells。　You　smell　just　like　him。'　
　　Whack！　The　goofystick　came　down　on　his　head　again。　Jack　felt　an　urge　to　just　roll　back　and　forth　on　the　tough；　springy　turf；　holding　his　gut　and　howling。　People　had　told　him　he　had　his　father's　eyes　and　his　father's　mouth；　even　his　father's　knack　for　quick…sketching；　but　never　before　had　he　been　told　that　he　smelled　like　his　father。　Yet　he　supposed　the　idea　had　a　certain　crazy　logic；　at　that。
　　'How　did　you　know　him？'　Jack　asked　again。
　　Wolf　looked　at　a　loss。　'He　came　with　the　other　one；'　he　said　at　last。　'The　one　from　Orris。　I　was　just　little。　The　other　one　was　bad。　The　other　one　stole　some　of　us。　Your　father　didn't　know；'　he　added　hastily；　as　if　Jack　had　shown　anger。　'Wolf！　No！　He　was　good；　your　father。　Phil。　The　other　one　。　。　。　'　
　　Wolf　shook　his　head　slowly。　On　his　face　was　an　expression　even　more　simple　than　his　pleasure。　It　was　the　memory　of　some　childhood　nightmare。
　　'Bad；'　Wolf　said。　'He　made　himself　a　place　in　this　world；　my　father　says。　Mostly　he　was　in　his　Twinner；　but　he　was　from　your　world。　We　knew　he　was　bad；　we　could　tell；　but　who　listens　to　Wolfs？　No　one。　Your　father　knew　he　was　bad；　but　he　couldn't　smell　him　as　good　as　we　could。　He　knew　he　was　bad；　but　not　how　bad。'　
　　And　Wolf　threw　his　head　back　and　howled　again；　a　long；　chilly　ululation　of　sorrow　that　resounded　against　the　deep　blue　sky。
　　
　　　INTERLUDE
　　
　　Sloat　in　This　World　（II）
　　
　　From　the　pocket　of　his　bulky　parka　（he　had　bought　it　convinced　that　from　the　Rockies　east；　America　was　a　frigid　wasteland　after　October　1st　or　so…now　he　was　sweating　rivers）；　Morgan　Sloat　took　a　small　steel　box。　Below　the　latch　were　ten　small　buttons　and　an　oblong　of　cloudy　yellow　glass　a　quarter　of　an　inch　high　and　two　inches　long。　He　pushed　several　of　the　buttons　carefully　with　the　fingernail　of　his　left…hand　pinky；　and　a　series　of　numbers　appeared　briefly　in　the　readout　window。　Sloat　had　bought　this　gadget；　billed　as　the　world's　smallest　safe；　in　Zurich。　According　to　the　man　who　had　sold　it　to　him；　not　even　a　week　in　a　crematory　oven　would　breach　its　carbon…steel　integrity。
　　Now　it　clicked　open。
　　Sloat　folded　back　two　tiny　wings　of　ebony　jeweler's　velvet；　revealing　something　he　had　had　for　well　over　twenty　years…since　long　before　the　odious　little　brat　who　was　causing　all　this　trouble　had　been　born。　It　was　a　tarnished　tin　key；　and　once　it　had　gone　into　the　back　of　a　mechanical　toy　soldier。　Sloat　had　seen　the　toy　soldier　in　the　window　of　a　junkshop　in　the　odd　little　town　of　Point　Venuti；　California…a　town　in　which　he　had　great　interest。　Acting　under　a　pulsion　much　too　strong　to　deny　（he　hadn't　even　wanted　to　deny　it；　not　really；　he　had　always　made　a　virtue　of　pulsion；　had　Morgan　Sloat）；　he　had　gone　in　and　paid　five　dollars　for　the　dusty；　dented　soldier　。　。　。　and　it　wasn't　the　soldier　he　had　wanted；　anyway。　It　was　the　key　that　had　caught　his　eye　and　then　whispered　to　him。　He　had　removed　the　key　from　the　soldier's　back　and　pocketed　it　as　soon　as　he　was　outside　the　junkshop　door。　The　soldier　itself　he　threw　in　a　litter…basket　outside　the　Dangerous　Planet　Bookstore。
　　Now；　as　Sloat　stood　beside　his　car　in　the　Lewisburg　rest　area；　he　held　the　key　up　and　looked　at　it。　Like　Jack's　croaker；　the　tin　key　became　something　else　in　the　Territories。　Once；　when　ing　back；　he　had　dropped　that　key　in　the　lobby　of　the　old　office　building。　And　there　must　have　been　some　Territories　magic　left　in　it；　because　that　idiot　Jerry　Bledsoe　had　gotten　himself　fried　not　an　hour　later。　Had　Jerry　picked　it　up？　Stepped　on　it；　perhaps？　Sloat　didn't　know　and　didn't　care。　Nor　had　he　cared　a　tinker's　damn　about　Jerry…and　considering　the　handyman　had　had　an　insurance　policy　specifying　double　indemnity　for　accidental　death　（the　building's　super；　with　whom　Sloat　sometimes　shared　a　hashpipe；　had　passed　this　little　tidbit　on　to　him）；　Sloat　imagined　that　Nita　Bledsoe　had　done　nipups…but　he　had　been　nearly　frantic　about　the　loss　of　his　key。　It　was　Phil　Sawyer　who　had　found　it；　giving　it　back　to　him　with　no　ment　other　than　'Here；　Morg。　Your　lucky　charm；　isn't　it？　Must　have　a　hole　in　your　pocket。　I　found　it　in　the　lobby　after　they　took　poor　old　Jerry　away。'　
　　Yes；　in　the　lobby。　In　the　lobby　where　everything　smelled　like　the　motor　of　a　Waring　Blender　that　had　been　running　continuously　on　Hi　Speed　for　about　nine　hours。　In　the　lobby　where　everything　had　been　blackened　and　twisted　and　fused。
　　Except　for　this　humble　tin　key。
　　Which；　in　the　other　world；　was　a　queer　kind　of　lightning…rod…and　which　Sloat　now　hung　around　his　neck　on　a　fine　silver　chain。
　　'ing　for　you；　Jacky；'　said　Sloat　in　a　voice　that　was　almost　tender。　'Time　to　bring　this　entire　ridiculous　business　to　a　crashing　halt。'
　　
　　　CHAPTER　17
　　　Wolf　and　the　Herd
　　　
　　　1
　　
　　Wolf　talked　of　many　things；　getting　up　occasionally　to　shoo　his　cattle　out　of　the　road　and　once　to　move　them　to　a　stream　about　half　a　mile　to　the　west。　When　Jack　asked　him　where　he　lived；　Wolf　only　waved　his　arm　vaguely　northward。　He　lived；　he　said；　with　his　family。　When　Jack　asked　for　clarification　a　few　minutes　later；　Wolf　looked　surprised　and　said　he　had　no　mate　and　no　children…that　he　would　not　e　into　what　he　called　the　'big　rut…moon'　for　another　year　or　two。　That　he　looked　forward　to　the　'big　rut…moon'　was　quite　obvious　from　the　innocently　lewd　grin　that　overspread　his　face。
　　'But　you　said　you　lived　with　your　family。'
　　'Oh；　family！　Them！　Wolf！'　Wolf　laughed。　'Sure。　Them！　We　all　live　together。　Have　to　keep　the　cattle；　you　know。　Her　cattle。'
　　'The　Queen's？'
　　'Yes。　May　she　never；　never　die。'　And　Wolf　made　an　absurdly　touching　salute；　bending　briefly　forward　with　his　right　hand　touching　his　forehead。
　　Further　questioning　straightened　the　matter　out　somewhat　in　Jack's　mind　。　。　。　at　least；　he　thought　it　did。　Wolf　was　a　bachelor　（although　that　word　barely　fit；　somehow）。　The　family　of　which　he　spoke　was　a　hugely　extended　one…literally；　the　Wolf　family。　They　were　a　nomadic　but　fiercely　loyal　race　that　moved　back　and　forth　in　the　great　empty　areas　east　of　the　Outposts　but　west　of　'The　Settlements；'　by　which　Wolf　seemed　to　mean　the　towns　and　villages　of　the　east。
　　Wolfs　（never　Wolves…when　Jack　once　used　the　proper　plural；　Wolf　had　laughed　until　tears　spurted　from　the　corners　of　his　eyes）　were　solid；　dependable　workers；　for　the　most　part。　Their　strength　was　legendary；　their　courage　unquestioned。　Some　of　them　had　gone　east　into　The　Settlements；　where　they　served　the　Queen　as　guards；　soldiers；　even　as　personal　bodyguards。　Their　lives；　Wolf　explained　to　Jack；　had　only　two　great　touchstones：　the　Lady　and　the　family。　Most　of　the　Wolfs；　he　said；　served　the　Lady　as　he　did…watching　the　herds。
　　The　cow…sheep　were　the　Territories'　primary　source　of　meat；　cloth；　tallow；　and　lamp…oil　（Wolf　did　not　tell　Jack　this；　but　Jack　inferred　it　from　what　he　said）。　All　the　cattle　belonged　to　the　Queen；　and　the　Wolf　family　had　been　watching　over　them　since　time　out　of　mind。　It　was　their　job。　In　this　Jack　found　an　oddly　persuasive　correlative　to　the　relationship　that　had　existed　between　the　buffalo　and　the　Indians　of　the　American　Plains　。　。　。　at　least　until　the　white　man　had　e　into　those　territories　and　upset　the　balance。
　　'Behold；　and　the　lion　shall　lie　down　with　the　lamb；　and　the　Wolf　with　the　creep；'　Jack　murmured；　and　smiled。　He　was　lying　on　his　back　with　his　hands　laced　behind　his　head。　The　most　marvellous　feeling　of　peace　and　ease　had　stolen　over　him。
　　'What；　Jack？'
　　'Nothing；'　he　said。　'Wolf；　do　you　really　change　into　an　animal　when　the　moon　gets　full？'
　　'　'Course　I　do！'　Wolf　said。　He　looked　astounded；　as　if　Jack　had　asked　him　something　like　Wolf；　do　you　really　pull　up　your　pants　after　you　finish　taking　a　crap？　'Strangers　don't；　do　they？　Phil　told　me　that。'
　　'The；　ah；　herd；'　Jack　said。　'When　you　change；　do　they…'
　　'Oh；　we　don't　go　near　the　herd　when　we　change；'　Wolf　said　seriously。　'Good　Jason；　no！　We'd　eat　them；　don't　you　know　that？　And　a　Wolf　who　eats　of　his　herd　must　be　put　to　death。　The　Book　of　Good　Farming　says　so。　Wolf！　Wolf！　We　have　places　to　go　when　the　moon　is　full。　So　does　the　herd。　They're　stupid；　but　they　know　they　have　to　go　away　at　the　time　of　the　big　moon。　Wolf！　They　better　know；　God　pound　them！'
　　'But　you　do　eat　meat；　don't　you？'　Jack　asked。
　　'Full　of　questions；　just　like　your　father；'　Wolf　said。　'Wolf！　I　don't　mind。　Yeah；　we　eat　meat。　Of　course　we　do。　We're　Wolfs；　aren't　we？'
　　'But　if　you　don't　eat　from　the　herds；　what　do　you　eat？'
　　'We　eat　well；'　Wolf　said；　and　would　say　no　more　on　that　subject。
　　Like　everything　else　in　the　Territories；　Wolf　was　a　mystery…a　mystery　that　was　both　gorgeous　and　frightening。　The　fact　that　he　had　known　both　Jack's　father　and　Morgan　Sloat…had；　at　least；　met　their　Twinners　on　more　than　one　occasion…contributed　to　Wolf's　particular　aura　of　mystery；　but　did　not　define　it　pletely。　Everything　Wolf　told　him　led　Jack　to　a　dozen　more　questions；　most　of　which　Wolf　couldn't…or　wouldn't…answer。
　　The　matter　of　Philip　Sawtelle's　and　Orris's　visits　was　a　case　in　point。　They　had　first　appeared　when　Wolf　was　in　the　'little　moon'　and　living　with　his　mother　and　two　'litter…sisters。'　They　were　apparently　just　passing　through；　as　Jack　himself　was　now　doing；　only　they　had　been　heading　east　instead　of　west　（'Tell　you　the　truth；　you're　just　about　the　only　hum