[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
was all over his hands now; he looked like the central figure in an ax murder. No matter he wiped it, or
most of it, off on a towel and went back to his chair and his bottle.
Let em try now! Let em try their dirty, filthy black magic! He had them stymied.
He prepared to wait for the dawn.
The sound of the buzzer brought him up out of his chair, much disorganized, but convinced that he had
not closed his eyes. Cynthia was all right that is to say, she was still asleep, which was the best he had
expected. He rolled up his tube and reassured himself with the sound of her heart.
The buzzing continued or resumed; he did not know which. Automatically he answered it.
Potbury, came a voice. What s the matter? You asleep? How s the patient?
No change, doctor, he answered, striving to control his voice.
That so? Well, let me in.
Potbury brushed on by him when he opened the door and went directly to Cynthia. He leaned over her
for a moment or two, then straightened up. Seems about the same, he said. Can t expect much change
for a day or so. Crisis about Wednesday, maybe. He looked Randall over curiously. What in the world
have you been doing? You look like a four-day bender.
Nothing, said Randall. Why didn t you have me send her to a hospital, doctor?
Worst thing you could do for her.
What do you know about it? You haven t really examined her. You don t know what s wrong with her.
Do you?
Are you crazy? I told you yesterday.
Randall shook his head. Just double talk. You re trying to kid me about her. And I want to know why.
Potbury took a step toward him. Youare crazy and drunk, too. He looked curiously at the big
mirror. I want to know what s been going on around here. He touched a finger to smeared enamel.
Don t touch it!
Potbury checked himself. What s it for?
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Randall looked sly. I foxed em.
Who?
The Sons of the Bird. They come in through mirrors but I stopped them.
Potbury stared at him. I know them, Randall said. They won t fool me again. The Bird is Cruel.
Potbury covered his face with his hands.
They both stood perfectly still for several seconds. It took that long for a new idea to percolate through
Randall s abused and bemused mind. When it did he kicked Potbury in the crotch. The events of the next
few seconds were rather confused. Potbury made no outcry, but fought back. Randall made no attempt
to fight fair, but followed up his first panzer stroke with more dirty work.
When matters straightened out, Potbury was behind the bathroom door, whereas Randall was on the
bedroom side with the key in his pocket. He was breathing hard but completely unaware of such minor
damage as he had suffered.
Cynthia slept on.
Mr. Randall let me out of here!
Randall had returned to his chair and was trying to think his way out of his predicament. He was fully
sobered by now and made no attempt to consult the bottle. He was trying to get it through his head that
there really were Sons of the Bird and that he had one of them locked up in there right now.
In that case Cynthia was unconscious because God help them! the Sons had stolen her soul.
Devils they had fallen afoul of devils.
Potbury pounded on the door. What s the meaning of this, Mr. Randall? Have you lost your mind? Let
me out of here!
What ll you do if I do? Will you bring Cynthia back to life?
I ll do what a physician can for her. Why did you do it?
You know why. Why did you cover your face?
What do you mean? I started to sneeze and you kicked me.
Maybe I should have said, Gesundheit! You re a devil, Potbury. You re a Son of the Bird!
There was a short silence. What nonsense is this?
Randall thought about it. Maybe it was nonsense; maybe Potburyhad been about to sneeze. No! This
was the only explanation that made sense. Devils, devils and black magic. Stoles and Phipps and Potbury
and the others.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]