thank you.â
âDo you think thereâs anything to the old womanâs demons and curses?â
âGood Lord, no.â
He sat on the edge of his bed. âI thought I knew you from somewhere, so I hope you donât mind that I asked that we bunk together?â
âNo, of course not. Please call me Lyon, or, in fact, anything you want as long as itâs not Baron Samedi.â
âSamedi?â
âA voodoo bad guy.â Lyon pulled on his drink. âThat oneâs not in my two-oh-one file.â
âTwo-oh-one file?â
Lyon detected the vague trace of an accent in his companionâs voice, but couldnât place the country of origin.
âWhat can I do for you?â
Collins extended a copy of Lyonâs book, The Wobbliesâ Revenge . âIâm going to stop and see my grandson in Springfield, and I bought it this morning. You are the author, arenât you?â
Lyon glanced at his photograph on the back of the dust jacket and smiled at Collins. âI plead guilty.â
âIf itâs not too much trouble, I wonder if youâd autograph it for me?â
âOf course.â Lyon accepted the pen and opened the book to the flyleaf to find there was already an inscription. He glanced at it hastily:
To my beloved grandson, Mark. May he understand the secret of the karst and why it was necessary. Your loving grandpops.
Beneath the message was a finely drawn series of minute symbols:
Lyon turned the page, uncapped the pen, wrote his own inscription, and returned the book.
âThank you. It will make the book more precious to my grandson. I glanced through it at the store; you canât be too careful what you place in the hands of children. It seems to be about some sort of monsters fighting other monsters.â
âThe Wobblies are the good guys.â
âYes, the Wobblies. And their village is attacked by the â¦â
âWaldoons. They had wings and two heads, as I recall.â
âYes, but not too frightening. I love the Wobblies and I think Mark will too. My only quarrel is that hole the Waldoons come from. You make it seem such a dark, dank place.â
âThatâs probably because Iâm a terrible claustrophobic, which is why I prefer hot air ballooning.â
âReally, how interesting. Iâd like to hear about that. Perhaps on the bus tomorrow?â
âI wonât be going with the rest of you. The police want to see me again tomorrow.â
âOh, thatâs disappointing. Somehow Iâd feel safer with you on the bus.â
âIâm sure thereâs nothing to worry about, and I doubt that I could help if there was.â
Collins tapped Lyonâs photograph on the book. âIâve also heard that you sometimes do things of an investigatory nature besides writing your books.â
âOnce or twice, accidentally.â
âThere are police in the hallway. Did you know that?â
âYes, I understand itâs purely precautionary and probably designed to calm our fears.â
âIt could be that the woman who talks about voodoo is right after all.â
âI wouldnât have thought you were superstitious, Mr. Collins.â
âDemons can take other forms than the strange names she calls them. Iâm an accountant by profession, and tend to believe more in the laws of probability and chance. Thereâs a rumor among the passengers that the gun you used this afternoon wasnât yours.â
âIt belonged to a man sitting behind me.â
âDid you know him? Is he here?â
âNo, he slipped away. I can hardly recall what he looked like except for his cap and beard.â
Collins looked out the window over the darkening city. âA strange set of circumstances.â
âYouâre from Yugoslavia, Mr. Collins.â
âSerbia. We used to make a distinction. I didnât realize it still showed after all these