Текст книги "Nameless"

Автор книги: Sam Starbuck

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"Put a collar on him, his owners'll probably call you and complain."

"Good, they can pay for all the scrambled eggs the cafe keeps feeding him. If they exist."

"He can't just be a stray," I said, kicking little piles of snow through the porch railing. "He's too clean. Besides, where's he going to sleep in this weather and not freeze to death, if he hasn't got somewhere to go?"

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself. "

I whistled and he broke away from Paula, pulling so hard against her arms that she tumbled to the ground.

"Good dog, Nameless," I said, patting his head. Paula called me a filthy name and pushed herself up.

"See?" she said, as she brushed snow off her clothes. "You've named him."

"I call him Nameless. By definition, I have given him a lack of a name."

"Not true. You call him that, so it's his name."

"But it describes the state of not having a name," I said.

"You can be as fancy as you want about it, city boy, but you call him something and he answers to it, that's a name," she said. "Isn't that right, Nameless?"

He lifted his muzzle and howled, auwh auwh woo. Paula gave me a smug look.

"Well, I'm not buying him a collar," I said. "I'm not going to be arrested for attempted dognapping."

"Suit yourself, I'm sure," Paula said, and then added, "Cranky."

"I'm not cranky!"

"Cranky Christopher!"

I threatened her with the shovel and she ran down the steps, laughing. "Don't sic your dog on me!"

"Go sell some hammers!"

She walked off, swaggering a little until the snowball I threw hit her in the back of the head. Then she yelped and flung one back, which gave her enough cover to escape across the street.

I left the shovel against the wall of the shop and came to stand at the top of the steps, leaning against a post. Nameless inched his way around my legs until he was curled up with his head just below my hip, shoulder pressed up to my thigh, so I gave in to the inevitable and rubbed him behind the ears with my fingertips. A couple of children, on their way home from school, waved at us as they passed. Another dog trotted by – Laurie-from-the-hotel's dog, I think – and growled briefly. Nameless laid his ears back against his head, and the dog continued onwards.

A wave of dizziness caught me off-guard just as I was about to pick up the shovel again, and I gripped the support-post tightly. A second later came the familiar feeling of panic – the too-fast beat of my heart and then arrhythmia as it tried to regulate itself. It was bad, almost as bad as it had been at Halloween, and the world tilted and spun as my chest constricted painfully. Nameless whined and nudged me with his muzzle. I was going to collapse on my own front porch –

Then my vision began to clear and the sickening spin of the world settled back into stillness. My heart had caught a rhythm again and my pulse was fast but steady in my ears.

I took a few deep breaths as my heart slowed. The cold air made my throat ache.

"I'm fine," I said, slowly releasing the post. My fingers throbbed where the edges of it had bit into them as I held myself upright. "Inside, I think, for me. I'm fine. Run along," I added, sweeping my hand in an arc towards the street. Nameless obediently stood and thumped down the steps, swatting me with his tail as he passed.

When Lucas walked in ten minutes later and seemed more attentive than usual, I didn't give it a second thought.

***

Towards mid-February, the days began to get a little warmer and I started taking walks in the morning, when I wouldn't have had many customers anyway. Once in a while I went out to The Pines to see Lucas, but more often I just made an erratic loop through the town, passing the church and then the high school, through the residential streets, across the road down to the train tracks and then up the main street, back to Dusk Books. Sometimes Nameless tagged along, or we met while I was walking and he gave up whatever canine errand he'd been on to escort me.

I'd noticed that he was a loner among the dogs of Low Ferry. They mostly ran wild during the day, an odd pack of village pets, hunting dogs, herders, and the kind of scruffy mutts that are so good at patrolling the outlying farms. I didn't think anything of it, however, until I encountered Nameless trying, and failing, to make friends.

The other dog was a smart, solid-built retriever belonging to one of the schoolteachers. Nameless had just come out of a side street and loped over to say hello; as soon as he got within five feet of the retriever, there were bared-teeth and flattened ears. Nameless, undaunted, inched forward, only to jerk back when the other dog snapped at him.

"Hey!" I called, and both dogs looked up at me. "Break it up!"

Nameless twitched his ears as far forward as they could go and started to run past the retriever, but another snarl and a snap sent him scuffling backwards. He was large enough that he probably could have subdued the other dog with a well-placed snap of his jaws, but for whatever reason he wouldn't.

"Manners," I said, getting close enough to nudge the retriever with my knee. He snapped again, more out of instinct than any real desire to hurt me, then looked abashed and sidled past, out into the street. With a last backward look and his hackles still raised, he sauntered off.

I crouched and held out my hand, palm down, and Nameless nosed it briefly before allowing me to rub the soft fuzz on the crown of his head.

"Not very popular, are you?" I asked. He butted against my fingers. "Can't win 'em all, I guess."

He followed me back to Dusk Books after that. We passed three more dogs on the way, and each time they barked at him from their yards or crossed the street to avoid us both.

"Hi!" the boy called breathlessly from my front steps, when we returned. "Hi, Nameless!"

"Afternoon," I said. "It's cold out to be stalking me."

"I just wanted some comic books," the boy answered, as I opened the door.

"You could have gone inside, in the warm."

"You weren't here."

"As if that's ever stopped anyone," I answered, picking up a slip of paper on the counter.

Christopher,

Needed change for a customer.

Left ten dollars, took all your ones

and most of your quarters.

Carmen

"Poetry," I added, pointing it out to the boy. He grinned and went to the comic-book rack. Nameless nudged him in the small of the back, and he obediently stroked the dog's shoulders as he examined the rack. "Maybe you should adopt him," I said.

"He's not the kind of dog you adopt," the boy replied, without turning around. "He does the adopting."

"He seems well-kept."

"Should be. They're always brushing him in the hardware store. He gets by all right."

"Dogs are pack animals, though. Strange to see one without a pack," I said. Before he could reply, one of his friends put his head in and yelled for him to hurry up. He sighed, laid a stack of comics on the counter, and paid with the last of his credit from the wood-delivery. Nameless gave me a look, ambled past the counter, and followed the boy out the door.

***

It was another few days before Lucas came into the village again, snowshoes on his back and carrying a bag of masks over his other shoulder. We ran into each other, me coming out of the hardware store and him idling down the street.

"Looking for somewhere to sell them," he said, lifting the top flap of the bag to show me the jumble of faces underneath. I saw two pale Noh masks in among the gaudy colors. "My shelves were filling up. Time to cull the collection again."

"Would you like me to sell some?" I asked, lifting out a fanciful papier-mâché mask with a silver cross-hatch design on it.

"If you'd like," he answered shyly. "You don't have to."

"They'll look good in the shop," I replied. "Come walk with me – haven't seen much of you lately. Getting along all right?"

"More or less," he answered.

"Lonely, out at The Pines?"

"You know me, I don't get that lonely. Just..." he rubbed his chin thoughtfully as we walked. "I'm trying to see things differently, and it's – well, it's not what I expected."

"Surprised you see much of anything, out there."

"It's not so bad," he said with a smile. "I keep busy. You remember the students I had in December? They've stayed on."

"How does the boy like that?"

"He's not happy about it, but he isn't throwing fits. Even if they're both girls."

I laughed. "Give him a few years."

"He's already older than he ought to be. I think it bothers him. The teachers don't know what to do with him anymore."

I glanced sidelong at him. His head was bowed, eyes fixed on the ground as they so often were.

"You must know what it's like," I said.

"Being young and smart? Sure," he said.

"Bet your teachers didn't know what to do with you either."

"They were fine," he answered, still looking down. "My parents didn't. They used to think I was slinking off to smoke cigarettes and have sex."

"Were you?"

He glanced up at me and smiled – small but mischievous. "No. I was making masks in the school art room. I'm not sure which they would have preferred. The masks creep them out."

"Want some lunch?" I asked, stopping at the corner before we could cross the street to my shop.

"Sure. It'll give me time to dry off before I track mud all over your shop. Besides, I need to talk to you about something."

"All right," I said, leading the way to the cafe. When we entered, he picked a booth near the back instead of my usual window-table, and I peered through the kitchen hatch at Carmen.

"Hiya!" she said.

"The service here is terrible," I replied.

"Watch it! I'll set my fiancée on you."

"Yes, Carmen, we all know you're getting married," I drawled.

"Anyway, what'll it be?"

"Lucas!" I called.

He looked at me, startled. "Uh, hamburger please."

I turned back to Carmen. "Hamburger, no pickles, fries, chicken salad sandwich on toast – make that two fries."

She cocked an eyebrow at me. "You boys want to split a shake?"

"Don't start trouble, Trouble," I replied, and went back to sit down. "So. You wanted to talk."

"Yeah..." he cut his eyes away nervously. "After last time we...had one of those talks, I thought maybe it'd be better in town. We might shout less."

"If I remember, I did most of the shouting last time," I said.

"I didn't mean – "

"It's fine. I'm sorry. I was only worried about you..." I trailed off, because what he'd actually said had only just caught up with me. "Uh. Is this about...that?" I asked.

He couldn't do it. I understand now why he couldn't; he couldn't say the words. Sometimes we can't. Even when they don't sound like madness.

"Things aren't the way I thought they would be," he said finally. "I see that now and I'll get used to it, I'm sure I will...Christ." He rubbed his forehead. "Maybe we shouldn't talk in public anyhow. Thank you," he added shyly to Carmen as she set down our water glasses.

He was uncomfortable with the silence, I could see that. He looked anxiously for something to talk about and, in his nervousness, came up blank.

"What do you think would sell best in the shop?" I asked, nodding at the bag of masks by his feet. "I can sell them on consignment, or if you want I'll buy them for credit."

"I'll pick some out, I guess." He looked uncomfortable.

"You don't have to. Business between friends can get a little awkward."

"Oh, no, I just...sometimes feel weird asking for money for them. I see all their flaws, you know?"

"Worried people will want their money back?" I asked. "Lucas, the Friendly are good judges of quality. If they'd take your masks in payment, you have nothing to worry about from Low Ferry. Pick me out some good ones and I'll sell them for you."

He nodded. Carmen emerged with our food and set it down, plates steaming a little.

"Enjoy," she said, winked at Lucas, and walked away before she got the full, glorious view of his ears turning bright pink.

"Are you tutoring today?" I asked, around a mouthful of food.

"Yep," he replied. "English today, shouldn't be too hard."

"What are they studying?"

He smiled – small but honest, full of pleasure. "Term projects. They're doing a report on fairy tales. The boy's idea."

"That should be interesting. I have a copy of Hans Christian Andersen back at the shop," I added. He chuckled.

"They're more interested in the Brothers Grimm," he said. "I think the boy's looking forward to finally getting to shock his teachers a little. Cinderella's sisters dancing themselves to death in hot iron boots, that sort of thing."

"Brutal little kiddies. I approve," I answered, and took another bite of food. "Right up your alley, anyway, huh? The truth behind the pleasantries?"

He gave me an odd look, full of regret and an odd kind of resolution. "Suppose so."

Once we'd finished and he'd quietly insisted on paying, I left him at the front of the cafe.

"I'll come by this evening before I leave for The Pines, drop off some masks," he said. "Will you be around?"

"Where would I go?" I asked with a grin.

That evening I left the lights on in the shop and carefully did not hang the Closed sign, though I gave discouraging looks to my few evening patrons. It was well past dark and I was beginning to think Lucas had forgotten – or had decided to stand me up, which given his shyness wouldn't have been unexpected – when Nameless appeared. He pawed politely, not at easily-scratched green paint on the door itself but on the weathered wooden frame. I opened the door and he snorted, shaking snow off his feet as he walked in.

"Hiya, Nameless," I said, shutting the door behind him. "Staying the night?"

He turned to face me and whined, backing towards the fire as if inviting me along. I went to pick up a book and he barked; chastised, I glanced down at him, then crouched and rubbed his fur just below his ears.

"What's up?" I asked, looking for any signs he'd been hurt. He pulled out of my grasp and backed away again, then began to scratch at his muzzle as if he had something caught in his nose. I reached out to help, but he growled at me and I began to worry.

He managed to get his front paw behind his ear, right at the line where the black marking on his face ended, and it seemed to catch. It was a few more seconds before I realized, in a dreamlike way, that the black fur was coming off – and by then it was not black fur anymore at all. It was smooth black suede, laced to an ear made of black leather and part of a forehead that looked like thick, doubled-over white linen.

I don't recall actually seeing the change. So much happened at once. I recall seeing the fur, and then seeing that it was not fur at all, but after that I remember only the soft noise the mask made as it fell and the look in Lucas's eyes as he stared up at me, sitting on my bookshop floor, wearing the gray coat he'd bought from the Friendly and a battered pair of black pants.

The world began to tip precariously. It seemed to have an erratic pulse of its own that caught me up – thud-ump, thud-ump-ump-ump, thud-thud-ump...

"Christopher, your heart," he said, eyes widening. I must have looked terrible, because he scrambled up off the rug and took me by the shoulders. I couldn't breathe. "Are you all right?"

I looked at him, mute and panicking. I wasn't sure what I was thinking or how to say it and my pulse was too fast –

Lucas put a hand on my chest and pressed, his other hand holding onto my arm. I stumbled back but he held me up, and then there was a sharp pain, like a muscle spasm or a cramp.

The black tunnel that had been forming in my vision cleared and my heartbeat evened out, much more suddenly than it ever had before. I could feel it under Lucas's palm, strong and solid, and I felt sure he could feel it too.

There was a long silence between us.

"I did this thing," Lucas said slowly, head bent over the hand still resting on my chest. "The greatest thing. Out of a book, with my own hands, I did it."

I drew a quick breath, my lungs still expecting to aid a failing body, then had to let it out again. I cautiously took a few more. Lucas removed his hand, gave me a searching look, and then bent to pick up the mask still lying on the floor nearby.

"I thought I'd better just show you," he said apologetically. "I didn't think about your heart."

"That's all right," I heard myself say, distantly. "I think it's fine."

"Are you okay?" he asked. I stared at the mask, mind utterly blank. "Christopher?"

"I'm...I need to sit down," I said, still staring. He was blocking the most direct way to the chairs near the fireplace, and I was in no condition to come up with detours, so I stood there until he moved aside, then made my way to the nearest seat. I sat down in it, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. My eyes came to rest about a foot above the fireplace, near Dottore.

Strangely, I had no urge to question what he'd done. Tricks were beneath Lucas, and even a skeptic knows – maybe they know best – that life is too short to ignore what we see with our own eyes. It never occurred to me that Lucas had not actually done what I had just seen him do. The ice-prints I could rationalize away; there was no rational excuse for this.

He sat in the chair across the hearth from me and regarded me carefully. "Are you sure you're all right, Christopher?"

"Yes," I answered. And then I stopped talking until I thought of something new to say.

"How long? Since New Year's?" I asked. He nodded. I nodded. The world began to settle a little more with every word I actually spoke. "Magic, huh?"

"Something like," he said ruefully. "I don't know what to call it, exactly."

"Can I see the mask?"

He offered and I took it, turning it so that the ears were right-side-up and the muzzle faced me. It was a friendly face, actually: black and gray and white, made of scraps stitched tightly together, molded into the shape of a dog's head, the finished product of the mess of scraps I'd seen on Christmas Eve. On a man it would fit high on the forehead and extend down over nose and upper lip, leaving the chin free to speak – actually it would have looked a little silly, I think.

There was no head-strap to hold it on with, which struck me as strange until I understood what it meant. He had made the mask with remarkable faith, gambling on the fact that it would never need to be secured. Because it would never be worn – not as any ordinary mask would.

"Have you told anyone else?" I asked. "Has anyone else...tried it?"

"God, no," he said, looking horrified. "I don't think it would even work on another person. The mask doesn't have any real power, it's – "

" – the actor. I remember."

He looked embarrassed and unhappy. "I felt like I was lying to you," he said.

"Only to me?"

"Well, the dogs all know, of course – I don't act right. You saw. They don't like me. People don't really think about it. I feel guilty about taking their food, sometimes. I suppose that's lying, so it's not just you. But it felt worse, because you matter more."

"Why?"

Lucas rubbed his forehead, then spread his hands. "You liked me anyway. Most of the others think I'm strange. Some of them think I really am a witch."

I leaned back, fingers tapping on my knees. "I wouldn't tell anyone else, if I were you. It wouldn't exactly help that opinion."

"I don't plan to."

I leaned forward and put my face in my hands, breathing deeply.

"Christopher – "

"I'm all right, Lucas," I said. "My head just hurts a little. I don't know what to ask next."

"You don't...really have to ask anything, if you don't want," he said hesitantly. "We don't even need to talk about it again. I just wanted you to know, so that you'd....know. Like I did before. It's just important to me."

"I'm not important, though. I'm just a shopkeeper."

"You're my friend. Everyone likes you, but you picked me. You didn't push me out, anyway."

"Nobody in town pushed you out, Lucas. Charles made you Fire Man. That's an honor."

"But they don't talk to me."

"You don't talk to them."

"I know that!" he said, frustrated. "I don't know how."

"All right." I shook my head. I didn't have the energy to have a fight. The mask was heavier in my hands than I thought it would be. Beautiful, weighty – a real thing, that Lucas had made, that held some part of him.

"You knew what it would be," I said, looking down again at the sharp, pointed ears, the haphazard pattern of blacks and grays and whites. "You always knew it would be a dog."

When I looked up, his eyes were fixed on mine. He nodded slowly.

"Everyone loves a dog," he said.

I wasn't sure I understood, then, but there was only so much I could absorb in one night. That he had succeeded in what I thought was madness, that he had somehow stopped my own heart's attempts to kill me, that he sat in front of me afraid I was angry with him – these things I was managing, but not much more. His bare toes tapped anxiously on the floor.

"You're barefoot," I said.

"Yes," he answered. "It doesn't work with shoes on."

I tried not to laugh hysterically. "It doesn't work with shoes on? What kind of ridiculous logic is that?"

"I don't ask. I don't question. I'm not like you, Christopher. I want to think there's wonder in the world. It's just hard for me to find."

"I'm fully capable of appreciating beauty," I said.

"It's not quite the same thing," he replied, and there was an almost bitter twist to his lips. "It doesn't matter."

"The ice," I said. "You walked on the snow."

"It's all tied up together. The winter and the weather and this. I don't pretend to understand it, really."

"You did it twice," I said, hardly listening. "Once after the blizzard – and then again when you were – "

"Nameless," he supplied. "Nice name, by the way."

"You've been working on this for months."

"I said I was. You wouldn't believe me. I'd already done...some things," he said, suddenly looking guilty. "When I blew out the circuit-breakers, I told you that. And when the thaw came through so you could go to Chicago. And um. I mean, I didn't mean to do it. But the storm, sort of."

I stared. "You can't seriously be taking credit for a blizzard, Lucas."

"You saw the news reports after. Nobody knew it was coming. Nobody expected it. I was so angry with you." He twisted his fingers together. "Can I have my mask back?"

I held it up and he rose, taking it quickly and sinking back into the chair, hands spread possessively across it. I watched for a while as his fingers smoothed and re-smoothed the grain of a soft, fuzzy piece of gray flannel set over one eye.

"So what now?" I asked.

"What now what?"

"What now? What do you do now? What do we do?"

He chewed on his lower lip. "I don't know. It wasn't what I thought it would be. I don't even know what I thought it would be. I thought it would fix me, somehow. But it didn't."

He looked close to tears, and still so afraid. With his shield against the world clenched in his hands and his body pulled in as much as he could.

"Maybe you should stay tonight," I heard myself say.

"In town?"

"No, here. Stay here, with me, Lucas."

He glanced up, and suddenly his eyes were luminous – not animal or afraid, almost triumphant, certainly relieved. As a man his eyes were dark, but just for a second I suddenly saw Nameless's bright ice-blue superimposed over them.

Good dog.

"Just, if you're going to – " I gestured at the mask. "Wait until I'm upstairs?"

"Of course," he agreed. I stood, rubbing the back of my head. "Goodnight, Christopher."

"Goodnight," I answered automatically. I was halfway up the stairs, in a daze, before his voice stopped me.

"Christopher?"

I ducked down to look at him. "Yes?"

"I'd like..." he stopped himself. "I can sleep on the hearth if you want."

Of course. I closed my eyes.

"Come up when you want to," I said. "I guess the foot of the bed's more comfortable than the hearth."

His smile was wide and pleased. "Thanks."

I nodded at him and continued up the stairs, hardly bothering to strip off my socks and belt before I crawled into bed still mostly-clothed. After a minute I heard claws clicking on the hearthstones, then on the stairs. The bedsprings creaked as he leapt onto the blankets. There was a contented canine sigh.

"I hope you don't have fleas," I mumbled, but the shock of revelation had exhausted me and the slow, regular beat of my heart pulled me down into sleep much faster than I expected.

Nameless – Lucas – no, Nameless – was still there in the morning, though not on my bed. He was sitting patiently in the shop when I came downstairs, ears pricked forward to listen for my descent.

Without thinking, I rubbed the soft bristling short hair on his head and scratched behind his ears. I would never have touched Lucas so personally without asking permission first, but this was Nameless and he was not afraid to ask or receive, as Lucas had often seemed. There was no diffidence, no awkward shyness in his direct blue gaze.

I brought breakfast back from the cafe for both of us, feeding him by hand just as I would have a week ago, a day ago. He accepted the food from my fingers with a canine smile and a wagging tail. As well as I knew that it was Lucas looking out from behind his eyes, I couldn't find it in myself to treat him differently than I would treat any other dog. Sometimes, now, I think that we treat human beings much less charitably than pets.

He left after breakfast. I watched him trot across the snow and saw the tell-tale refraction of sunlight on the smooth hard ice that formed under his paw-pads, preventing him from sinking too deeply in the powder.

And...nothing changed.

Nor, in the end, do I see why it really should have. Lucas came around more frequently, true, but he had to – now that the snow was melting it was easier for him to come in to town, and the little cluster of chairs and tables in my shop was a natural place for him and his trio of children to do their tutoring. Nameless was often in town as well, still begging food from the cafe, still keeping guard on my porch and surveying the people passing like a king. He was petted and loved, brushed, fed, often hugged and once, somewhat disastrously, hitched to a sled. The result was a handful of small children tipped feet-up in the snow with Nameless barking madly and leaping about nearby, good-naturedly attempting to shake the makeshift harness from his shoulders.

But the dogs wouldn't go near him.

And, true, Lucas was in town more, but at the same time he was not. He was quieter, even less given to human interaction than before. He sat in the back of the cafe when he ate there, never met his students at the school anymore, and spent even more time hiding behind the shelves when other people were in my shop.

We did not discuss what he'd told me, and in some ways I began to wonder if it hadn't been some strange hallucination – until I looked at Nameless and saw the human intelligence in his eyes.

It was actually a warm day in April when Nameless came trotting into the shop on the heels of a customer, accepting the attention and admiration of my younger patrons with gracious dignity. I didn't think much about it, other than to note that the fur he'd shed was becoming conspicuous and I would have to start sweeping it up soon. As usual, the boy and his schoolmates were there, trading insults and waiting for Lucas to arrive. I happened to know that they had school projects due which required book-research and so there was no end of browsing, comparing, and secretive copying-of-text when they thought I wasn't looking. The boy bought two books, then dawdled with the girls Lucas was also tutoring while the rest disappeared.

"Isn't Lucas here?" he asked finally, after having exhausted his interest in literature. I glanced at Nameless, lying on the hearth.

"Were you supposed to meet him today?" I asked.

"Yes – it's a tutoring day. Have you seen him?"

"No," I said, as Nameless lifted his head and stared right at me, his ears flat against his skull. I stared back, confused. He heaved a sigh and rested his head on his paws again, looking disconsolate.

"He's not usually late," the boy continued. "Can we wait here?"

"Oh – wait a minute," I said, when it became obvious that Nameless would be of no help. "He – that's right. He called, I'd forgotten."

It sounded lame, even to me, but I'm not a bad liar and children trust people who aren't their parents. Well. They trust me, anyway.

"He said he wouldn't make it in today – feeling a little under the weather, I guess," I said. "I'm really sorry, I completely forgot."

"That's all right," the boy said easily. "Day off, right?"

"You might as well go home – but I'll know if you tell your parents you finished your homework at tutoring!" I called after them, as they threw their bags over their shoulders and ran down the steps. They passed Michael on his way up the path.

"Afternoon," he said, closing the door behind him. I gave Nameless a look that told him he had better stay right where he was, then turned to Michael.

"Good afternoon, Michael. Thought you'd be at the bank today," I said.

"Sandra's taking my shift. I had to go out to the train station down south of ours," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. He laid down two slick train tickets on my counter – Low Ferry to Chicago on the express, the first weekend in June.

"Wow," I said. "Really going, huh?"

"Yep." He bounced on the balls of his feet. "Had to tell someone. And you've – you haven't told anyone at all about us. So I thought you'd like to know."

"I do like to know, thanks," I smiled at him. I really hadn't told anyone, not even Lucas, and I hadn't actually talked about Michael or Nolan or Sandra at all. Charles thought I was turning over a new leaf, giving up gossip for Lent or something. He ought to know better, but we all see what we want to see. "You set for money?" I asked.

"I got a little put by. Nolan's got some from when his granddad passed," he said. Nameless pricked his ears forward.

I winced inwardly, but I couldn't let it show. "Place to stay?"

"Buddy of ours is at school out there, said he'd put us up till we found our feet. Lots of banks in Chicago. Lots of work."

"What about Sandra? Leaving her a little high and dry at the bank here, aren't you?"

He shrugged. "Nolan's sister's about ready to take over for him. They'll be fine."