sk.thetalisman-第67章
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pped with short； squiggly horns that looked good for absolutely nothing。 Wolf herded them back out of the road。 They went obediently； with no sign of fear。 If a cow or a sheep on my side of the jump got a whiff of that guy； Jack thought； it'd kill itself trying to get out of his way。
But Jack liked Wolf…liked him on sight； just as he had feared and disliked Elroy on sight。 And that contrast was particularly apt； because the parison between the two was undeniable。 Except that Elroy had been goatish while Wolf was 。 。 。 well； wolfish。
Jack walked slowly toward where Wolf had set his herd to graze。 He remembered tiptoeing down the stinking back hall of the Oatley Tap toward the fire…door； sensing Elroy somewhere near； smelling him； perhaps； as a cow on the other side would undoubtedly smell Wolf。 He remembered the way Elroy's hands had begun to twist and thicken； the way his neck had swelled； the way his teeth had bee a mouthful of blackening fangs。
'Wolf？'
Wolf turned and looked at him； smiling。 His eyes flared a bright orange and looked for a moment both savage and intelligent。 Then the glow faded and they were only that muddy； perpetually puzzled hazel again。
'Are you 。 。 。 sort of a werewolf ？'
'Sure am；' Wolf said； smiling。 'You pounded that nail； Jack。 Wolf！'
Jack sat down on a rock； looking at Wolf thoughtfully。 He believed it would be impossible for him to be further surprised than he had already been； but Wolf managed the trick quite nicely。
'How's your father； Jack？' he asked； in that casual； by…the…way tone reserved for enquiring after the relatives of others。 'How's Phil doing these days？ Wolf！'
4
Jack made a queerly apt cross…association： he felt as if all the wind had been knocked out of his mind。 For a moment it just sat there in his head； not a thought in it； like a radio station broadcasting nothing but a carrier wave。 Then he saw Wolf's face change。 The expression of happiness and childish curiosity was replaced by one of sorrow。 Jack saw 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 qui
