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fill of him； until every ambiguity was scoured away。
He went on staring at the painting while he turned this option over。 What would it take to find the assassin？ An interrogation of Estabrook； for one。 That wouldn't be too onerous a duty。 Then a search of the city； to find the place Estabrook bad claimed he couldn't recall。 Again； no great hardship。 Better than sour milk and sourer dreams。
Knowing that in the light of morning he might lose his present clarity of mind； and he was best to close off at least one route of retreat； he went to the paints； squeezed onto his palm a fat worm of cadmium yellow； and worked it into the still…wet canvas。 It obliterated the lovers immediately； but he wasn't satisfied until he'd covered the canvas from edge to edge。 The color fought for its brilliance； but it soon deteriorated； tainted by the darkness it was trying to obscure。 By the time he'd finished； it was as if his attempt to capture Pie 'oh' pah had never been made。
Satisfied； he stood back and belched again。 The nausea had gone from him。 He felt strangely buoyant。 Maybe sour milk suited him。
Pie 'oh' pah sat on the step of his trailer and stared up at the night sky。 In their beds behind him； his adopted wife and children slept。 In the heavens above him； the stars were burning behind a blanket of sodium…tinted cloud。 He had seldom felt more alone in his long life than now。 Since returning from New York he had been in a state of constant anticipation。 Something was going to happen to him and his world； but he didn't know what。 His ignorance pained him； not simply because he was helpless in the face of this imminent event； but because his inability to grasp its nature was testament to how his skills had deteriorated。 The days when he could read futurities off the air had gone。 He was more and more a prisoner of the here and now。 That here； the body he occupied； was also less than its former glory。 It was so long since he'd corresponded the way he had with Gentle； taking the will of another as the gospel of his flesh； that he'd almost lost the trick of it。 But Gentle's desire had been potent enough to remind him； and his body still reverberated with echoes of their time together。 Though it had ended badly he didn't regret snatching those minutes。 Another such encounter might never e。
He wandered from his trailer towards the perimeter of the encampment。 The first light of dawn was beginning to eat at the murk。 One of the camp mongrels； back from a night of adventuring； squeezed between two sheets of corrugated iron and came wagging to his side。 He stroked the dog's snout and tickled behind its battle…ravaged ears； wishing he could find his way back to his home and master so easily。
It was the oft…stated belief of Esmond Bloom Godolphin； the late father of Oscar and Charles； that a man could never have too many bolt holes； and of E。B。G。's countless saws this was the only one Oscar had been significantly influenced by。 He had not less than four places of occupation in London。 The house in Primrose Hill was his chief residence； but there was also a pied…a…terre in Maida Vale； a smallish flat in Notting Hill； and the location he was presently occupying： a windowless warehouse concealed in a maze of derelict and near…derelict properties near the river。
It was not a place he was particularly happy to frequent； especially not on the day after Christmas； but over the years it had proved a secure haven for Dowd's two associates； the voiders； and it now served as a Chapel of Rest for Dowd himself。 His naked corpse lay beneath a shroud on the cold concrete； with aromatic herbs； picked and dried on the slopes of the Jokalaylau； smoldering in bowls at his head and feet； after the rituals proscribed in that region。 The voiders had shown little interest in the arrival of their leader's body。 They were functionaries； incapable of anything but the most rudimentary thought processes。 They had no physical appetites： no desire； no hunger or thirst； no ambition。 They simply sat out the days and nights in the darkness of the warehouse and waited for Dowd to instruct them。 Oscar was less than fortable in their pany； but could not bring himself to leave until this business was finished。 He'd brought a book to read： a cricket almanac that he found soothing to peruse。 Every now and then he'd get up and refuel the bowls。 Otherwise there was little to do but wait。
It had already been a day and a half since he'd made such a show of taking Dowd's life： a performance of which he was justly proud。 But the casualty that lay before him was a real loss。 Dowd had been passed down the line of Godolphins for two centuries； bound to them until the end of time or of Joshua's line； whichever came first。 And he had been a fine manservant。 Who else could mix a whisky and soda so well？ Who else knew to dry and powder between Oscar's toes with special care； because he was prone to fungal infections there？ Dowd was irreplaceable； and it had pained Oscar considerably to take the brutal measures circumstance had demanded。 But he'd done so knowing that while there was a slim possibility that he would lose his servant forever； an entity such as Dowd could survive a disemboweling as long as the rituals of Resurrection were readily and precisely followed。 Oscar was not in ignorance of those rituals。 He'd spent many lazy Yzordderrexian evenings on the roof of Peccable's house； watching the tail of the et disappear behind the towers of the Autarch's palace； talking about the theory and practice of Imajical feits； writs； pneumas； uredos； and the rest。 He knew the oils to pour into Dowd's carcass； and what blossoms to burn around the body。 He even had in his treasure room a phonetic version of the ritual； set down by Peccable himself； in case Dowd was ever harmed。 He had no idea how long the process would take； but he knew better than to peer beneath the sheet to see if the bread of life was rising。 He could only bide his time and hope he'd done all that was necessary。
At four minutes past four； he had proof of his precision。 A choking breath was drawn beneath the sheet； and a second later Dowd sat up。 The motion was so sudden； and… after such a time…so unexpected； Oscar panicked； his chair tipping over as he rose； the almanac flying from his hand。 He'd seen much in his time that the people of the Fifth would call miraculous； but not in a dismal room like this； with the monplace world grinding on its way outside the door。 posing himself； he searched for a word of wele； but his mouth was so dry he could have blotted a letter with his tongue。 He simply stared； gaping and amazed。
Dowd had pulled the sheet off his face and was studying the hand with which he'd done so； his face as empty as the eyes of the voiders sitting against the opposite wall。
I've made a terrible error； Oscar thought。 I've brought back the body； but the soul's gone out of him： Oh； Christ； what now？
Dowd stared on； blankly。 Then； like a puppet into which a hand has been inserted； bringing the illusion of life and independent purpose to senseless stuff； he raised his head； and his face filled with expression。 It was all anger。 He narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth as he spoke。
〃You did me a great wrong；〃 he said。 〃A terrible wrong。〃
Oscar worked up some spittle； thick as mud。 〃I did what I deemed necessary；〃 he replied； determined not to be cowed by the creature。 It had been bound by Joshua never to do a Godolphin harm； much as it might presently wish to。
〃What have I ever done to you that you humiliate me that way？〃 Dowd said。
〃I had to prove my allegiance to the Tabula Rasa。 You understand why。〃
〃And must I continue to be humiliated？〃 he said。 〃Can I not at least have something to wear？〃
〃Your suit's stained。〃
〃It's better than nothing；〃 Dowd replied。
The garments lay on the floor a few feet from where Dowd sat； but he made no move to pick them up。 Aware that Dowd was testing the limits of his master's remorse； but willing to play the game for a while at least； Oscar picked up the clothes and laid them within Dowd's reach。
〃I knew a knife wasn't going to kill you；〃 he said。
〃It's more than I did；〃 Dowd replied。 〃But that's not the point。 I would have entered the gam