down to the edge of the trailer park. The dark grounds were mostly empty of people now, the trailers lighted, the windows flickering with the shifting images of television screens. Two rangy-looking dogs appeared from behind a trailer, spotted him, and came across to say hello, but they quickly lost interest and wandered off.
Without having made any conscious decision to do so, he found himself walking in the direction of the river again, down toward the bridge that spanned the fifty feet of moving water between New Cyprus and the Temple Bar. His feet seemed to compel him forward, despite the fact that the Temple itself was off-limits to anyone but the Elders tonight. But the Temple wasn’t his destination, really. He had no intention of knocking on any doors or of crashing the party. He would simply walk out to the island and back again, just to air himself out.
When he was out beyond the last of the trailers, he was faintly surprised at the quality of the darkness—a darkness virtually unknown in the suburbs. Overhead, though, the sky was awash with stars, bright enough for a space traveler to read by, and it was a marvel to him how little of that light actually reached the earth. He set his sights on the pools of illumination in the Temple parking lot and walked up onto the bridge. Away to his right, muddy rainwater washed down the gully from the Dead Mountains and swirled out into the river.
The windows of the Temple had slatted shutters drawn across them, and the interior light shone through in bands. It came to him that he could easily peer unseen through a gap in the shutters and have an eyeful of the secret doings of the Knights—the Elders giving each other the wiggly-fish handshake, maybe. He stopped suddenly and crouched down behind the railing. Someone
was
peering in through the shutters, back toward the rear of the building. There wasn’t much light coming through, and because the man was hunched over, it was impossible to make anything out for certain except that he was heavyset and had either blond or gray hair. He held something up to the window, almost undoubtedly a camera.
Bob Postum
, Calvin thought. He moved forward warily, crouching along, but almost as soon as he started out, the man turned sharply and looked in his direction. Calvin ducked again, and when he peeked over the railing a moment later, the man was scuttling away toward the river, disappearing into the willows before Calvin could get a good look at him. More boldly now Calvin hurried across the bridge and into the lot, crossing to the edge of the building and looking hard into the darkness along the water, where the willows shifted in the night wind. The Temple was built of heavy rectangular stones, evidently cut in the quarry in the hills. The back wall of the structure buried itself into the natural rock of the island, which mounded up in a castle-like pile to a height of fifteen feet or so. In the darkness it was difficult to see where the cut stone left off and the rock started, because natural rock and cut stone tumbled away on both sides, overgrown by willow.
He climbed partway up the hill of stone, crouching behind immense blocks and keeping his head low until he could see over the willows down to the river below. Heheard an odd noise now, a muted clunk and then a scraping noise somewhere dead ahead—the sound of oars in oarlocks. The river below ran black and swift and reflected a world of dancing stars. Thirty feet out his man was rowing a boat hard toward the far shore, making three times as much leeway as forward movement in the strong current, but drawing away quickly. He rowed backward, facing forward in the boat, so that Calvin could only see his back. It clearly wasn’t Postum. This man had shorter hair. He wore a white T-shirt with a dark blotch on the back, what might have been a face or a logo of some sort, and he rowed the boat like an amateur, jerking the oars out of the river when he was halfway through a stroke
Without having made any conscious decision to do so, he found himself walking in the direction of the river again, down toward the bridge that spanned the fifty feet of moving water between New Cyprus and the Temple Bar. His feet seemed to compel him forward, despite the fact that the Temple itself was off-limits to anyone but the Elders tonight. But the Temple wasn’t his destination, really. He had no intention of knocking on any doors or of crashing the party. He would simply walk out to the island and back again, just to air himself out.
When he was out beyond the last of the trailers, he was faintly surprised at the quality of the darkness—a darkness virtually unknown in the suburbs. Overhead, though, the sky was awash with stars, bright enough for a space traveler to read by, and it was a marvel to him how little of that light actually reached the earth. He set his sights on the pools of illumination in the Temple parking lot and walked up onto the bridge. Away to his right, muddy rainwater washed down the gully from the Dead Mountains and swirled out into the river.
The windows of the Temple had slatted shutters drawn across them, and the interior light shone through in bands. It came to him that he could easily peer unseen through a gap in the shutters and have an eyeful of the secret doings of the Knights—the Elders giving each other the wiggly-fish handshake, maybe. He stopped suddenly and crouched down behind the railing. Someone
was
peering in through the shutters, back toward the rear of the building. There wasn’t much light coming through, and because the man was hunched over, it was impossible to make anything out for certain except that he was heavyset and had either blond or gray hair. He held something up to the window, almost undoubtedly a camera.
Bob Postum
, Calvin thought. He moved forward warily, crouching along, but almost as soon as he started out, the man turned sharply and looked in his direction. Calvin ducked again, and when he peeked over the railing a moment later, the man was scuttling away toward the river, disappearing into the willows before Calvin could get a good look at him. More boldly now Calvin hurried across the bridge and into the lot, crossing to the edge of the building and looking hard into the darkness along the water, where the willows shifted in the night wind. The Temple was built of heavy rectangular stones, evidently cut in the quarry in the hills. The back wall of the structure buried itself into the natural rock of the island, which mounded up in a castle-like pile to a height of fifteen feet or so. In the darkness it was difficult to see where the cut stone left off and the rock started, because natural rock and cut stone tumbled away on both sides, overgrown by willow.
He climbed partway up the hill of stone, crouching behind immense blocks and keeping his head low until he could see over the willows down to the river below. Heheard an odd noise now, a muted clunk and then a scraping noise somewhere dead ahead—the sound of oars in oarlocks. The river below ran black and swift and reflected a world of dancing stars. Thirty feet out his man was rowing a boat hard toward the far shore, making three times as much leeway as forward movement in the strong current, but drawing away quickly. He rowed backward, facing forward in the boat, so that Calvin could only see his back. It clearly wasn’t Postum. This man had shorter hair. He wore a white T-shirt with a dark blotch on the back, what might have been a face or a logo of some sort, and he rowed the boat like an amateur, jerking the oars out of the river when he was halfway through a stroke
Similar Books
