The nearest house was to my right and back several hundred yards along the way I had come. It was inhabited, I knew, by an elderly couple who fed birds, worked in their garden, and argued every Saturday night when the old man staggered in from the pub. In my earlier investigations of the area I had seen no signs that they might be involved in the Game.

I decided to sniff about, anyway. As I sought along the roadsides I heard a familiar voice:

«Snuff!»

«Nightwind! Where are you?»

«Overhead. There's a hollow place in this tree. Stayed out too long. Came in here to get away from the light. We think a bit alike, don't we?»

«Looks like we draw the same lines.»

«This can't be the place, though.»

«No. It's the center of the pattern we have, but it's not a likely spot.»

«Therefore the pattern is incomplete. But we knew that. We don't know where the Count is.»

«If he's the only other. It must take place at the center of the pattern we form.»

«Yes. What should we do?»

«Could you follow Needle back to the Count's place?»

«Bats are damnably erratic.»

«I couldn't do it. And I don't think Graymalk could.»

«No. Never trust a cat, anyway. All they're good for is stringing tennis racquets.»

«Will you try following Needle?»

«First I have to find the little bastard. But yes, I'll watch for him tonight.»

«Let me know what you find?»

«I'll think about it.»

«It might be to your advantage, if you ever need an errand run by day.»

«That's true. All right. Why do the players always form themselves into a pattern around the center of things, anyway?»

«Beats me,» I said.