“Hello,” and he said “Hello,” and their greeting dissolved the walls of her little world, and let in the unimaginable from Outside.
“You took your time,” the Watcher went on. He studied her thoughtfully, seeing a girl with a raindrop on her nose—a very young girl—small for her age, her face heart-shaped, her features delineated with the precision and clarity of a pen-and-ink drawing. The wind slipped under her hat-brim, tugging it back from her forehead, showing hair that was leaf-brown and close-cut, the would-be fringe dividing obstinately into a widow’s peak above her brow. Her eyes were wide and wide-set, their gray veined with celadon, and even in that instant of her mind’s opening he glimpsed depths that were incalculable, an intelligence that would always be wary. He had made her trust him, an elementary maneuver, but she would not hesitate to return to doubt if—and when—he let her down.
“You looked like a rock,” she said accusingly.
“It’s useful,” he replied. “Nobody wonders what you’re up to, if you’re a rock. No questions, no trouble. There’s nothing as unremarkable as a rock.”
“It isn’t possible,” said Fern, but the conviction was gone from her voice. “I
saw
the rock.”
“Appearances can deceive,” the Watcher said. “You see many things which are not there. A mirage, a reflection, a star that died thousands of years ago. You should trust your instinct, not your eyes. You knew me long before today.”
Fern did not attempt to answer that. “You’ve been spying on us.”
“Observing,” he corrected gently. “Fortunately, I am still an observant man, whatever else I may have lost. I seem to have spent centuries just watching.”
She was not entirely sure he was exaggerating. “That’s how I thought of you,” she said. “The Watcher.”
“It’s appropriate,” he said. “I have grown very tired of it, over the years. There are too many things that need watching, and far too few of us to keep watch. Have you found it yet?”
“Found what?”
“What you are looking for.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Fern pointed out.
“A profound philosophical statement. Not many people do, and if they did, it would be far worse. To find what you seek would be an anticlimax, to fail, a tragedy. But I am talking concepts, which is beside the point. Here, there is clearly something specific to be found. There has been a certain amount of attention focused on this house for some time: callers who were not what they seemed, prowlers by night, some human, some less so. Which reminds me, next time you hear noises in the dark, curb your curiosity. It would be safer.”
“You saw it,” Fern said. “That creature last night. What was it?”
“Something which should not have been there. Whoever sent it made a thoroughly unsuitable choice of instrument. Don’t worry too much: even if it finds an opening, it can’t come in, not without being invited. The ancient law still stands. Ignore it and it will go away.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. It would be rash to be too sure. But this thing was ill-chosen for our hunt: the sender may well have selected it simply to show that he—or she—has the power to summon such beings.” He rubbed his finger along the crooked bridge of his nose in a gesture of reflection. “His next move should be more practical. I hope.”
“
Whose
next move?” Fern demanded.
“I don’t know. I know very little right now. There are so many possibilities. It could be someone working alone, seeking self-aggrandizement, personal power—alas, we all want those. It could be an agent or emissary. It depends what we’re looking for. There are certain indications.” His eyes seemed to dim and then brighten again, their light fluctuating with the vagaries of memory. “Something was lost, long, long ago, before the beginnings of history: few remain who would recognize it, fewer still who would know the secret of its
“You took your time,” the Watcher went on. He studied her thoughtfully, seeing a girl with a raindrop on her nose—a very young girl—small for her age, her face heart-shaped, her features delineated with the precision and clarity of a pen-and-ink drawing. The wind slipped under her hat-brim, tugging it back from her forehead, showing hair that was leaf-brown and close-cut, the would-be fringe dividing obstinately into a widow’s peak above her brow. Her eyes were wide and wide-set, their gray veined with celadon, and even in that instant of her mind’s opening he glimpsed depths that were incalculable, an intelligence that would always be wary. He had made her trust him, an elementary maneuver, but she would not hesitate to return to doubt if—and when—he let her down.
“You looked like a rock,” she said accusingly.
“It’s useful,” he replied. “Nobody wonders what you’re up to, if you’re a rock. No questions, no trouble. There’s nothing as unremarkable as a rock.”
“It isn’t possible,” said Fern, but the conviction was gone from her voice. “I
saw
the rock.”
“Appearances can deceive,” the Watcher said. “You see many things which are not there. A mirage, a reflection, a star that died thousands of years ago. You should trust your instinct, not your eyes. You knew me long before today.”
Fern did not attempt to answer that. “You’ve been spying on us.”
“Observing,” he corrected gently. “Fortunately, I am still an observant man, whatever else I may have lost. I seem to have spent centuries just watching.”
She was not entirely sure he was exaggerating. “That’s how I thought of you,” she said. “The Watcher.”
“It’s appropriate,” he said. “I have grown very tired of it, over the years. There are too many things that need watching, and far too few of us to keep watch. Have you found it yet?”
“Found what?”
“What you are looking for.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Fern pointed out.
“A profound philosophical statement. Not many people do, and if they did, it would be far worse. To find what you seek would be an anticlimax, to fail, a tragedy. But I am talking concepts, which is beside the point. Here, there is clearly something specific to be found. There has been a certain amount of attention focused on this house for some time: callers who were not what they seemed, prowlers by night, some human, some less so. Which reminds me, next time you hear noises in the dark, curb your curiosity. It would be safer.”
“You saw it,” Fern said. “That creature last night. What was it?”
“Something which should not have been there. Whoever sent it made a thoroughly unsuitable choice of instrument. Don’t worry too much: even if it finds an opening, it can’t come in, not without being invited. The ancient law still stands. Ignore it and it will go away.”
“Are you sure?”
“No. It would be rash to be too sure. But this thing was ill-chosen for our hunt: the sender may well have selected it simply to show that he—or she—has the power to summon such beings.” He rubbed his finger along the crooked bridge of his nose in a gesture of reflection. “His next move should be more practical. I hope.”
“
Whose
next move?” Fern demanded.
“I don’t know. I know very little right now. There are so many possibilities. It could be someone working alone, seeking self-aggrandizement, personal power—alas, we all want those. It could be an agent or emissary. It depends what we’re looking for. There are certain indications.” His eyes seemed to dim and then brighten again, their light fluctuating with the vagaries of memory. “Something was lost, long, long ago, before the beginnings of history: few remain who would recognize it, fewer still who would know the secret of its
Similar Books
