The Family Tree

  The beavers were in the bottom cages. One of them craned forward, looking up at her. “Thith ith for real?”

  “As real as I can make it, friend.”

  “I am tho thick of wire…” said someone else.

  Muttered conversation ran down the lines of cages, growing gradually louder, culminating in the unmistakable merriment of onchiki speech.

  “Hush,” Dora commanded. “They’re coming back.”

  There was silence. Dora moved out to the middle of the room, where she was ostentatiously examining her nails when the double doors crashed open to the thrust of a long, low, cage-laden, powered truck driven by her old friend Joe.

  “Hey, Sergeant Henry,” he said, grinning at her. “How come you’re here?”

  “Mrs. Winston asked me to come along,” she said. “I met her when we were investigating…you know.”

  “Hey, what’s this I heard? Some nutcase named Gerber? Lived with his ma? Went crazy, killed a whole pile of Ph.D.s?”

  Dora looked at him closely. He was without guile and obviously didn’t know anything about her having been married to the nutcase.

  She murmured, “That’s what I hear, too.”

  “So, this guy McCord’s going to take the animals, huh? McGovern’s having a fit. Tell you the truth, I’ll miss them, but they’ll be better off. Dr. Winston, he never left them in these little cages this long.”

  “Dr. McGovern will, when he gets others.”

  Joe looked over his shoulder, hunching toward her in conspiratorial pose. “Tell the truth, Sergeant, he’s no good. If that guy ever had an idea, he’d faint from the shock.” He took a cage and positioned it next to a door where a beaver waited, suspiciously eager to depart.

  “How come Mr. McCord’s taking them?” Joe asked.

  “Well, Dr. Winston’s wife didn’t want his animals misused or hurt.”

  “Who would?” he remarked, heaving a thirty-pound beaver onto the truck. Dora positioned another cage. Even Joe looked slightly surprised at how amenable the animals were. They seemed almost to leap into the cages. When the truck was loaded, Joe drove it out, saying he’d be back. It took three trips, the last two assisted by Abby, who returned sans McGovern.

  “He’s in somebody’s office having a fit,” Abby murmured. “I didn’t get the feeling anyone was paying much attention.”

  “This is the guy who believes in UFOs,” said Dora. “We should be more sympathetic.”

  “Why? All that superstition—”

  “In the same category as talking animals and time travel and that stuff, right?”

  His lips twisted, acknowledging the jab. “That was the last load.”

  “Did they all fit in the vans?”

  “So far we’ve got them all into two vans. We got some of them to share cages. If it wouldn’t have attracted too much attention, we’d have done without the cages entirely. Anyhow, the two vans can go directly to the distribution point they set up without having to sort the critters out.”

  “That’s probably safer,” agreed Dora. She was rather sorry about it, actually. She had wanted to talk to the beavers. She fidgeted. “Did the otters manage to keep quiet?”

  “One boss beaver had to tell them to shut up.”

  “Before the van leaves, Abby, ask the creatures again if there are any other speaking critters out in the pens. I keep having this horrible feeling we’ve missed somebody.”

  “Will do.” He departed, leaving Dora with one lone parrot, the small gray one who had mentioned Rosa.

  “I can ride on your shoulder,” offered the parrot. “I don’t need a cage.”

  Dora opened the cage door and offered an arm, which the parrot walked sideways along, ending on the shoulder. “I won’t poop on you,” it said. “Daddy Eddy taught us that isn’t polite.”

  “Thank you,” murmured Dora. “Well, farewell to the old homestead, and all that.”

  “I could do a verse of ‘Home Sweet Home,’” the parrot offered. “My name’s Francis, by the way.”

  “You all have people names,” she commented as they went out the door and down the corridor.

  “Daddy Eddy thought it was smarter. It’s less suspicious to be overheard talking to someone named Francis than to someone named Spot or Fluffy. Most of us named ourselves. I rather like Francis. Of course, I found out later it could be either male or female.”

  “Hush,” breathed Dora, alert to several curious faces looking their way.

  “Cracker,” said Francis loudly. “Polly wants a cracker, awk.”

  The persons turned away, no longer interested.

  “Put a cork in it,” squawked Francis, feelingly. “Polly put a cork in it.”

  “Probably best,” murmured Dora, as several someones looked up from their desks, smiled and went back to business. “Definitely best.”

  When they came out of the building, the second van was already halfway to the gate.

  “You’ve missed your ride,” Dora said. “You’ll have to come with me.” They got into the third van, where Francis moved onto the back of the seat and teetered there, peering alternately through the windshield and side windows at Abby, who was signing some kind of paperwork on the dock. He lifted a hand in farewell and trotted over to the van.

  “Abby, this is Francis,” said Dora, as Abby slid behind the wheel. “Did we get them all?”

  Abby nodded, starting the van and driving slowly away from the dock. “According to the monkeys, yes. The only reason they’d been brought to the lab at all was to do some genetic tests on the babies.”

  “I was so afraid we’d miss somebody.” She heaved a deep sigh as they approached the gate, where a large panel truck was stopped, the driver arguing with the gate guard. Abby didn’t turn his head, but Dora, glancing sideways, recognized the driver.

  “That’s Mr. Calclough,” she breathed. “Abby. That’s one of the boarders!”

  “You want me to stop?”

  “Not where he’ll see us, no. Park somewhere we can see the truck. We’ll wait until he leaves the gate.”

  “Who is Mr. Calclough?” asked Francis.

  “Well, he may be the current Woput,” said Dora. “I can’t imagine why else he’d be here!”

  “Woput?”

  “The bad guy. The one who’s trying to do you in.”

  “Somebody’s trying to do us in? You mean, as in dead?”

  “Francis, it’s a long story, one I’ll let Blanche tell you when we get home. Right now I need to concentrate, so be very quiet, will you?”

  They parked around the nearest corner, the truck still in sight. After some time, it backed up to make the turn, then went off down the street. Dora got out and walked back to the gate.

  “The guy who was just here,” she said, showing her badge. “The one in the panel truck. What did he want?”

  “Said he was here to pick up some animals. He had a letter from Mrs. Winston, but I told him it was a mistake, Mrs. Winston’s animals were already gone.”

  Dora nodded thanks and jogged back the way she had come. “Winston’s place,” she said to Abby. “Quick as we can. When was Mrs. Winston leaving town?”

  “Yesterday, wasn’t it?”

  “I thought that’s what she said. We need to check.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “The guy had a letter purportedly from Mrs. Winston,” Dora answered. “I’m afraid he may have gotten it by…violence, maybe. She could be hurt.”

  “Damn, this gets worse and worse,” murmured Abby. “She could be dead.”

  Mrs. Winston, according to the housekeeper, was neither hurt nor dead, but had departed in a taxi the previous afternoon, on her way to the airport. The housekeeper had seen her go, had locked up the house and departed, returning this morning to pick up some dry cleaning. She had found the french doors onto the back terrace broken open, the desk in disorder, and Mrs. Winston’s stationery thrown around.

  “I just got here a few minutes ago,” the housekeeper cried. “I didn
’t even see that someone had broken in until just before you came.”

  Dora asked her to call the police and report the incident, then returned to the car where Francis still teetered, singing softly to himself. “Mid pleasures and palaces…”

  He interrupted his song as Abby got behind the wheel once more, “Now where?”

  “Home,” Dora said. “My home. The others went other places, because, unfortunately, the bad guy knows where I live.”

  “Into the jaws of death flew the six hundred,” caroled Francis. “Nice of you to include me.”

  “You’ll be company for Blanche.”

  “Blanche is?”

  “A cockatoo.”

  “Not exactly my class,” said Francis. “Cockatoos are too, too, don’t you know. They consider us common.”

  Abby interrupted. “Where did you all learn so much language? You have better vocabularies than nine-tenths of my college students!”

  “Books on tape, mostly,” said Francis. “British and Canadian films. Audio-visual courses. Daddy Eddy was determined we should have the best, and when we were at the cabin, we had lots of time to play Scrabble.”

  “Do you know where the others are, the ones he gave away?” Dora asked.

  “Placed,” said Francis stiffly, with a definite sniff. “He didn’t give us away, he placed us. Yes, I do know. Several of us know. It’s our job to know, so when we need to, we can get in touch with one another. We are, so to speak, psittacimemoranda.”

  “Can you remember an additional phone number?” Dora asked, repeating it twice.

  “Can I remember my own name?” the parrot remarked, rather snippily, repeating the number back to her “What’s this number for?”

  “Sheba and Dzilula are still with us, but the others who were in the pens outside have been placed among the local Korèsans. Rosa and her cubs. The pigs. The dogs. The goats. I’m sorry, I never learned their names; we were in too much of a hurry. That phone number can be used to get in touch with one of the Korèsans, who will get in touch with others. The code word is Niagara Falls McCord.”

  “Niagara…?” Francis cocked his head, questioningly.

  “Private joke,” said Abby. “Just remember it.”

  “And Korèsans are who?”

  Abby replied. “A local religious group who believe in the diversity of life. Friends. Allies. Headed by a man named Vorn Dionne.”

  Dora looked out the window for a moment, fretfully. “Actually, I’ll have to get in touch with Dionne. I’ve got to tell him we saw Calclough at the lab.”

  “Quit simmering,” Abby advised her, with a fond though slightly apprehensive glance. “We’ll be home in five minutes.”

  They turned down the swerving lane that led past Dora’s house, down the aisle of trees where leaves danced in the sun, past hillocks of greenery marking the presence of houses, through white-trunked groves, then green-trunked ones, through glades of flowers. They drove. They drove further. The lane turned. They drove through more groves and more glades and were back on the avenue.

  “What?” asked Francis.

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Dora muttered. “Try it again, Abby.”

  They tried it again, with the same result. The road did not lead where it was supposed to lead.

  Abby parked under the usual tree. “Do you suppose if we walked…?”

  Dora shook her head. “Phone.”

  “You don’t have a cellular phone.”

  “Too expensive. There’s one at the drugstore on the corner.”

  She stood in the booth, nervously shifting from foot to foot, listening to the repetitive ringing. At last the machine picked up, and she said loudly, “This is Dora. Someone please pick up the phone! This is Dora, I need to speak to someone. Please pick up the phone. Come on, somebody…”

  “Dora?” It wasn’t a voice she recognized.

  “May I speak with Izakar, please?” she asked.

  “Dora, are you alone?”

  “Abby’s here.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Pretty much, yes. Blanche?”

  “Yes. Izzy’s outside holding an enchantment on the woods to keep something nasty out. The nasty has been trying to get in here ever since you left.”

  “Can Izzy let us through?”

  “Just you and Abby?”

  “And a small, gray parrot. His name is Francis.”

  The phone thunked hollowly as Blanche set it down. Dora heard voices, the clatter of hooves on the stairs. After a time, a returning clatter, then a rustle. “Dora. Izzy says look at your watch, then walk down the lane for as many minutes as it usually takes you, then stop and watch the time. Exactly fifteen minutes from now, he’ll drop the spell for just a moment. You should be able to see your car. Use that as a landmark and come to the house, or where it ought to be. He’ll let you through.”

  “Fifteen minutes from now,” said Dora. “Are you looking at a clock?”

  “Now,” said Blanche, and hung up.

  Dora stopped at the van to collect Francis, then she and Abby walked down the lane. “How long does it usually take us?” she wondered, looking at her watch.

  “It takes me about ten minutes,” said Abby. “When I don’t hurry.”

  “Well, let’s not hurry.”

  They walked for ten minutes, seeing nothing that looked at all familiar. They stopped.

  “Five minutes to wait,” Dora remarked.

  “Something stinks,” said Abby. “Like something dead.”

  She looked up. The thing had never come in daylight, but the smell was unmistakable. She handed Francis to Abby and took her gun from its holster.

  “You always carry that?” Abby asked.

  “Well, I’m supposed to,” she said. “And lately, I’ve considered it sensible.”

  There was something up there in the trees. She could feel it. So could Francis, for he was looking where she was looking.

  “It’s up there,” the parrot whispered. “I can see it against the light. Like a shadow.”

  “How big?” asked Dora.

  “Too damned big,” said Francis feelingly. “I should have stayed in the lab.”

  “Calclough hasn’t had time to do this,” whispered Abby. “We didn’t take more than twenty minutes detouring to Mrs. Winston’s place.”

  Dora shook her head. “It isn’t Calclough. This has been going on all morning.”

  “A car has just appeared,” muttered Francis. “Behind you.”

  There was a car, Dora’s, facing the other way. They darted toward it, turned right and raced into absolutely uncharted territory. A hole opened. They plunged through in a cloud of nauseating stench, feeling the hole close around them. Something huge and terrible tried to come after them and hit an invisible barrier, screaming in rage.

  They were standing just outside Dora’s gate. Inside, Izzy was busy with three fires and three candles marking a six-pointed star, with lines and signs laid out on the ground, with the pouring and mixing of ingredients as he kept up a chanted though breathless encouragement of whatever power he had summoned. They didn’t interrupt him.

  The countess was waiting, and she led the way past the veebles and up the stairs to the living room, where Nassif and Blanche awaited them.

  Dora took time only to introduce Francis to Blanche, then went directly to the phone and called Harry Dionne. “Is your dad there, Harry?”

  “The archpriest is present, yes.” Harry was miffed about something. He and his father had probably been at it again.

  “Archpriest, whatever, tell him we’re under siege here. I need to talk to him.” She put her hand over the phone and asked, “Did Izzy say anything about where this is coming from or who’s doing it?”

  “The person, whoever, has to be close,” offered Nassif. “Since the nasty is in the direction of the street, Izzy thinks it’s out that way.”

  “Then we need to go out the back door, don’t we? Through the woods. Hello, Your Worthiness? List
en…”

  Across the room, Abby murmured, “What happened, exactly?”

  Nassif answered. “You had only been gone a little while when Izzy got very restless. He said he smelled trouble. Then we all smelled it, getting stronger and stronger. Izzy grabbed his kit and went outside. I helped him. We got the fires lit and he was making a barrier against the smelly thing when we heard it.”

  “Heard it?” asked Dora, turning from the phone. “On the roof?”

  “No. Heard it screaming. Should it have been on the roof?”

  “That’s where it’s been before.” She turned back to her conversation with the archpriest.

  “So you heard it screaming, like what?” asked Abby.

  “Like a huge bird. So then Izzy sent the onchiki and the armakfatidi out into the trees, to get wood, to keep the fires going. They’ve been going back and forth ever since.”

  “Why do the fires have to keep going?”

  “To keep the kettles steaming, because that’s what keeps the spell going.”

  “Why doesn’t he put it on the stove?” asked Abby.

  “Too techno,” said the countess. “Too many hightech parts.”

  “Where’s Sahir?”

  “He went out, early, before this happened. Soaz and Sheba and Oyk and Irk are looking for him. Inside the barrier, needless to say.”

  “How big is this barrier?”

  “Izzy says he’s got it out about a quarter mile.”

  “Can he take a break? I need to talk to him,” said Dora, hanging up. “Vorn Dionne is willing to help, but we’ll have to tell him what kind of help we need.”

  They clattered downstairs, where Izzy beckoned to Abby, showing him what to do, telling him what to say, then staggered over to Dora, shaking his head. “I told Lucy Low and Dzilobommo to find the others and bring them in. We’ll have to make a break for it pretty soon. I can’t keep this up.”

  “We may not have to. Can the person who’s doing this, that is, the Woput, can he be located? Is there some way that Vorn Dionne and his people can find him, and stop him, while he’s concentrated on us, here?”