The Gray House полностью

He called Pompey’s death a suicide. Pompey had dug a hole for himself and jumped into it, getting a stab wound. Doesn’t really sound like a suicide. Too circumspect. Allegorical. Not exactly wall verse, but close.

Noble is a whole other deal. Him and his mother. Who would never voluntarily take her much-too-mature son back home. So, not home, somewhere else. Where? Who knows?

And the most unpleasant one is, of course, Wolf. After mentioning his name Vulture didn’t let slip even a vague hint. And that was exactly the moment when his leg started hurting. Coincidence? From what little Ralph knew about Vulture, nothing was ever a coincidence with him. Bird was certainly capable of enduring sudden pain without batting an eye. And Wolf had been one of those who’d changed reality around them. One of the strongest in that regard. A potential challenger. Could this be the answer?

The dull lights cast a yellowish pall on the hallway. Sheriff was hobbling toward him—the Second’s sugar daddy and horror show. In a word—Rat, only older and bigger.

“Wow.” Sheriff winked from under the bill of his cap and dissolved in a big smile. “Why, hello, pardner! What the hey are you looking for in this stinkin’ swamp?”

Ralph momentarily faked surprise and joy upon meeting an esteemed colleague and effected a high-five.

“Guess I couldn’t stand being away from you.”

Sheriff burst out in a fit of laughter and disappeared behind the door of the Second, still giggling. The tail, thick as a rope, slithered in after him, and Rats stepped aside to make way for it . . . Rats giggled too, rubbing their hands.

When Ralph returned to the door of his room he found a note stuck to it with a pushpin: This is insulting. You could have dropped by. It wasn’t signed, but there was no mistaking Shark’s hand. Ralph teased the pushpin out, stuffed the note in his pocket, and went to see the principal.

Shark was waiting for him in the nonbusiness part of his office, sunk in a low armchair upholstered in cheery chintz with yellow-blue flowers. Knees above his chest, nose in the TV. He shot Ralph a sideways glance with his mottled eyes and gestured at the chair next to his.

“So you’re back.”

Ralph sat down and immediately sank in up to his chest as well. Shark’s countenance provided irrefutable evidence of the approaching end of the working day.

“I’m leaving soon,” Shark confirmed, as he sucked in the clear liquid sloshing in his glass without the help of the straw and stared at Ralph. “I don’t see any reason to be waiting here for the classes to end. No reason at all. Do you see any reason? Because I don’t. Nobody does. But that’s the deal, apparently. I’m supposed to sit here until I’m blue in the face, even though no one cares if I do or not. No one comes, no one knocks, no one asks anything. Ever. But here I sit. Performing what’s left of the principal’s duties. Chained here like a dog, from eight till four, and don’t even think of taking off the tie, because who knows what might happen! I have to be ready for whatever it is. If this looks like I have it easy, trust me, I don’t. It is far from easy. Welcome back, dear fellow. These past years have been kind to you. Still spry.”

“Six months is years now?” Ralph said, surprised.

“It is.” Shark nodded. “In combat situations each month counts as a year. So, all in all, you’ve been AWOL for six years, which means that you should’ve been terminated long ago. This is not to reprimand you in any way, mind. I’m just keeping score.”

“Thanks.”

Ralph looked at the screen.

Shark didn’t appreciate being ignored. He reached for the remote. The screen blinked off and Ralph turned the chair to face the principal. Shark’s finger was waving at the bridge of his nose.