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way. The wind was in the right direction; I let it take me toward a
group of buildings at the far end of the field.
By now I had trouble telling the difference between the yard manure and
the supply I had with me. Each shed had to be examined by sight, not
smell. Unfortunately, it is also almost impossible to take a casual walk
through a working farm. You not only have to contend with uneven and
odorous ground clutter and mud, but the local tenants as well. Never
mind Farmer Jones and his shotgun, it's his animals that are dangerous.
Chickens are fairly brainless and confined to coops, but ducks are
usually allowed to roam free to scavenge and play in their pond. It was
just my bad luck that I blundered right into a flock and sent them on a
panicky flight to safety. Mixed in with them were a few geese who made
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more commotion than all the rest together. In turn, they alerted a small
pack of large dogs who charged in helter-skelter, baying in full voice.
Their owner coming out of the house packing a gun with a double load of
buckshot was a mere afterthought. I didn't stick around to see how the
show came out, but vanished and shot up in the general direction of the
main bam.
My amorphous form bounced unexpectedly against the vertical wall of
wood, nearly sending me solid with the shock. I clung there against the
wind and frantically felt around for an opening into the hayloft. It was
just above me; I thankfully dribbled over the edge to re-form--and
nearly rolled right off my perch. Instead of the loft, I'd shot too high
and was hanging onto the roof, and oh, God, I hate heights.
Far, far below, Old MacDonald was circling the yard stirring up the
geese and giving a lot of unexpected fun to his pack of semi-tame,
lop-eared wolves. They were tearing all over the place, heads down and
tails happily fanning, eager to show master how good they were at their
job. So what if they never found a thing and only ended up anointing
every likely projection turn in turn? It was a great break in the
routine.
Shutting my eyes against the dizzy drop, I vanished again and seeped
through the bam roof, inching down until I came in contact with a
horizontal surface. A second later I ascertained that it was the
straw-littered floor of the loft and fairly safe. I lay flat and rested
body and mind until the circus outside finally died away.
The bam wasn't much different from the one I'd played in as a kid. I was
aware of chickens and mice and another, much larger animal somewhere
below. I could have used a ladder, but didn't want to risk making more
noise and rousing the dogs again. Far better to disappear and float down
to the safe, sane ground.
It was closed up against the night, but seeing in the dark was no
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problem for me. Over in one partitioned-off corner was a drab white
draft horse only a little smaller than Escort's Nash. He was the
four-legged answer to a hungry vampire's prayer, and I trotted toward
him as though greeting a long-lost friend.
And stopped.
He moved restlessly, his head low and with his ears flat along the
skull. His near-hind hoof was raised a little, all set to kick me into
the next state as soon as I got in range. If his vocal cords had been
designed for it, he'd have been growling.
It just wasn't my night.
Escort was in the car and taking a short snooze. He woke with a slight
start when I crawled into the passenger side and flopped wearily back in
the seat. My fatigue was mental, not physical.
"Good heavens, where have you been?" he asked, his long nose wrinkling.
"E-i-e-i-o," I muttered darkly, daring him to comment. He read the signs
right and restrained himself.
It had been a struggle, but I finally persuaded Dobbin to part with some
of what he obviously had too much of. He was a reluctant bastard and
considered me to be no better than your average trespasser and thief.
When finished, I made a fast and invisible exit from his stall, very
mindful of his huge hooves. There was no point giving him a pat of
thanks, he'd have only tried to take my arm off at the roots.
Escott had also been drinking, but was showing less wear and tear. As
before, he had only a slight glaze to his eyes to indicate he was in no
pain.
"You learn anything?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Did you?"
I shook my head.
"Care to go to Bridgeport?" he asked.
During his alcoholic rambles, Escott encountered a man with a boat who
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was ready to take us across the sound no matter what the hour. He'd had
no similar requests five years ago from a lone lady and didn't know of
anyone else who had. For a fee, the low, fast launch left over from his
days as a rum runner was at our command.
I grimaced at the wide sweep of Long Island Sound. It was silver and
calm under the steel-colored sky, a beautiful enough sight from the
land. I hadn't always been afraid of water and could still slosh around
in a bathtub with the best, but since my change, huge bodies of the
open, free-flowing kind sent me into the sick miseries.
"I think I'd like to sit this one out," I finally answered.
"Really?" he asked, in a tone that wanted to know why.
Maybe it had to do with my basic need to be in contact with the earth,
or maybe it's because I'd been murdered over water. I'd had some recent
and very bad experiences occurring in or near water. Driving over it on
a bridge was one thing, but crossing all of that bleak expanse in a tiny
boat was quite another. I was hard put to suppress an involuntary
shudder at the thought of only a thin shell of wood holding back such
endless, smothering cold.
I tried to give him an explanation that made sense, but he waved me down
after the first few stumbling words.
"That's all right," he said. "I understand."
"I'm not running out on you, am I?"
"No." He sounded fairly amused. "Of course you aren't.
I know it's not easy for you at times--and I find that strangely
reassuring."
I waved once at him from the shore as the launch started to cut its way
across the sound. He was looking back, but didn't respond. Not having my
night vision, he couldn't see me. With an inward smile, I got back in
the car and drove off to one of the better hotels I'd found earlier that
evening.
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After some personal cleanup, I padded downstairs to find someone brave
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