Perhaps I ought to have tried to wake him by knocking on the door or tossing pebbles at windows. I did neither because the noise was liable to wake someone else, and it seemed to me that if I were to circle that enormous house I was sure to find some way to get inside. If I did, I was confident that I could locate the library. Turning to my left, I began looking for an unlocked door or window.
I hadn’t gone far when I realized that a big dog, black or at least quite dark, was following me. I’ve always liked dogs; so I stopped, spoke to this one in a quiet voice, and let him sniff my fingers.
At that moment my watch struck one and the dog’s ears went up. Softly I said, “That’s just the little clock I wear on my wrist. It’s called a watch, you see, but it strikes the hours.”
The dog cocked his massive head.
“You ought to know all about those. I suppose you’re a watchdog yourself.”
If the dog wagged his tail, it was too dark for me to see it. Reflecting that this dog was likely to be more intelligent than the dogs of my own time, and that talking calmly to a dog is generally a good way to show that you mean no harm, I said, “I’m locked out. Do you have a way to get back into the house?”
The dog appeared to nod, then turned and trotted away. I followed, walking fast to keep up. After two or three hundred strides we reached a wide porch, roofed, guarded with staunch pillars and furnished in shadows. I could just make out what appeared to be a narrow door on the other side. When I tried to open it, it would not budge. With a weary sigh, I looked down at the dog and was just in time to see his tail disappear.
Down on my hands and knees, I said softly, “Wuff!” all the while wondering whether the dog door had some way of distinguishing dogs from people. It seemed that it did not. I crawled through quickly and without much difficulty, watched by the dog. No doubt he was judging my dogginess and finding it less than satisfactory.
I have no idea what the occupants of the house called the room I had gotten into. There was a harp, stately and golden, with what seemed to be at least a hundred strings, all of which I was careful not to touch. There was also a painting (I could not see it clearly enough to judge whether it was finished) on an easel. Something in a cage snarled at the dog, then at me; its green eyes caught the light like emeralds. Twice life-sized, the statue of a bearded man with a woman’s breasts bent to inspect me but offered no comment.
Very much afraid of being caught, I dodged around a flickering fire somewhere near the center of the room and found a new door. It was locked, or perhaps bolted on the other side. I was about to turn away when something poked the small of my back. “Reach fer the sky!”
I raised my hands. “Buck? Is that you?”
“Last time I looked.” There was no more poking. “What the Sam Hill you doin’ in here, Ern?”
I tried to explain.
“Well come on back ’fore somethin’ worse than either of us gits us both.” He led the way. “What you go off for? You dead set on getting burned ’fore your time?”
Using much too many words, I struggled to explain that I had walked in my sleep. When I had finished, Baston said, “You do that a lot, Ern? Goin’ round like a spook?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Never before, I think.”
“Somethin’ got hold of you then. You know what it was?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, I think. People do walk in their sleep sometimes.”
“Could be somethin’ gits hold of them, too. You sure you wasn’t lookin’ fer the treasure?”
“Perhaps I was.” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
When I got back on my shelf I couldn’t sleep for an hour and more, and all sorts of thoughts flitted through my mind. At last I slept, and sleeping saw the fire. I was old and stooped and worn, the aged edition of myself who had stolen a scalpel from Dr. Fevre and taken his own life with it in the Polly’s Cove Library. I was drawn to this aged self, as an iron filing to a magnet—then a woman’s hand, hard and muscular but quite definitely a woman’s, drew me back. I woke drenched with sweat.
Perhaps I slept again, though I doubt it; when I heard someone walking in another room, I left my shelf. Shaved, aftershaved, and dressed, I waited in the kitchen for Ms. Harper Heath.
“Mr. Smithe! What are you doing up?”
“And off your shelf?” I smiled. “That’s something else you’ll soon ask. I thought I might save you the trouble. Will you talk to me while you have breakfast?”
“Listen to you, you mean.” She paused, her head tilted left. “If you’re going to tell me you’ve already found the treasure, I certainly will. Is that it?”
“I’m afraid not. I only want to offer a suggestion.”
“Have you eaten?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid not.”
“You’re repeating yourself. Sit down and order something. Whatever you want.”
I did, ordering oatmeal and coffee.
“Were you tempted to order kippers, Mr. Smithe?”
“No. Kippers never occurred to me.”
“Well, I’m going to have some anyway. I’ll give you a taste when you’ve finished your oatmeal. Is that what you wanted? A taste of whatever I have for breakfast?”
I shook my head. “As I said, I want to offer a suggestion. I’ve been thinking about the treasure you mentioned, a treasure hidden here in the house, or perhaps buried on the grounds. It could be buried on the grounds, couldn’t it?”
“Yes, as far as I know.”
“That’s what I thought. Buried treasure has usually been buried by pirates—in books, at least.”
For a moment Ms. Heath stared at me, a small piece of kippered herring waiting on her fork. “Are you suggesting this one was? That’s crazy.”
“No, I’m not. I have no idea who may have buried it, or why. Do you?”
She shook her head. “None. The house says it exists, but that all further information has been deleted from its memory. I’m rich already, but…”
“Indeed. If you had more money, you might buy Baston and me from the library.”
“And let you come and go as you please, with spending money. We’ve already been over that.”
“It costs you nothing to check one of us out of the library.”
Slowly, Ms. Heath nodded.
“You have to put up a big deposit, but it’s returned when you return the resource.”
“That’s right. What are you getting at?”
Here it was. It might be a tough sell, but I was determined to make it. “I have a suggestion. I suggest that we bring in a resource I know who was once captured and held for ransom by pirates.”
“And you think this man might…”
I was shaking my head. “She’s a woman, and a very shrewd one.”
“Is this somebody I’ve heard of?” Ms. Heath sounded interested.
“Very possibly. She’s written a number of books. Her byline is Audrey Hopkins—Captain Audrey Hopkins.”
The upshot was that Ms. Heath, Baston, and I went to the public library together. Audrey had been checked out, but Ms. Heath reserved her.
Baston sat up front beside Ms. Heath on the way back. From time to time one of them spoke. It may well be that I seemed to ignore some remark addressed to me. The truth was that I was so absorbed in my own thoughts that I paid little attention to what they said or the route of our groundcar. I had known women prior to Audrey and, while I was with her, assumed that I would know others after she and I parted. Now I could only long for her and weave plots that might reunite us.