Amberville - By Tim Davys Page 0,42

he knew that this was the exact same water that had been there a million years before. The cycle of nature functioned like that. Eternity was no more terrifying than the water gurgling under the pier, time was just as inexorably sluggish. The sound of the rippling sea was unexpectedly reminiscent of Nicholas Dove’s voice.

“It would be stupid to tear you apart now,” Eric heard the water say, “but time is running out. And I thought that if you’re having a hard time finding the proper feeling for this assignment, there are a few small things I should be able to use your rabbit for even now. What do you think? Shall we take her to the casino this evening already? Think about it.”

If Dove said anything more before he left Sam Gazelle’s apartment, Eric never knew it. The bear disappeared back down into his unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 12

Snake Marek returned a few hours after Dove had taken off. He acted as if nothing special had happened. Eric was sitting, bandaged, at the kitchen table; Sam was fixing the dinner that Crow had bought.

“Snake,” said Crow, “you know what, I…”

But Eric silenced him. He invited Snake to take a seat at the table. All four ate in silence and, over coffee, began discussing how they should go from there. After an hour or two they were in agreement. Snake’s theory was simple. If the Chauffeurs didn’t operate arbitrarily, there must be some form of communication between them and their employer. Instead of searching for the list, which demonstrably didn’t exist, the snake, bear, gazelle, and crow should try to find out how this information reached Hotel Esplanade.

Sam had no difficulty arranging a wiretap. Technology was one of his foremost interests and in the cellar at Yiala’s Arch he had an entire workshop. Exactly how the gazelle made use of his tools and equipment in his “work” remained unclear. Without difficulty he located the telephone cables which led to Hotel Esplanade, and in a childishly simple way he jury-rigged them so that calls to and from the hotel were routed to a tape recorder up in Sam’s apartment.

It seemed unlikely, however, that anyone gave the Chauffeurs orders over the telephone. The risk of misunderstandings and eavesdropping would be far too great. And because there was no longer any postal delivery in Yok, the stuffed animals felt the possibility that the list was delivered by a courier most likely. This led to a decision to intensify the surveillance of the hotel. If the precision of their approach had been a little slapdash before, Eric now created a schedule without gaps. No one was particularly happy about the increased guard duty, but they all understood that it was needed. During the lonely hours of the night, Sam Gazelle used pills in a way that took a heavy toll on his hiding places and supplies. Eric brooded and agonized, thinking about—longing for—Emma Rabbit. Snake devoted the time to intellectual nonsense and soul-searching; a soul-searching which in the aftermath of the night appeared even more nonsensical than the nonsense itself. Tom-Tom Crow was, however, the one who was most tormented by sitting hour after hour, staring at the hotel’s dark brick façade where nothing happened from the time the red pickup left the building a few minutes after sundown until it returned a few minutes before dawn.

Tom-Tom was a simple soul, but he didn’t like being alone. He didn’t like it at all.

Over the years he had learned to distract the loneliness through a series of empty rituals. He cooked, cleaned, even watched TV according to certain definite patterns. Patterns that demanded discipline. The ambitious handiwork projects were part of that. It was a matter of taming the silence and the loneliness. When evening was over, sleep came as quickly as a sharp right hook.

And he never needed to recall what had happened.

But in the gray Volga, he remembered. There was nothing else to do.

He recalled how cramped it was. How it rubbed against his wings, and how the light filtered down through the cracks in the floor.

He remembered the pain. The terror.

Tom-Tom stared intensely at the façade across the way, at Hotel Esplanade, trying to blot out the unpleasant thoughts by looking even more intensely.

But he was a simple soul.

He needed distractions.

And nothing was happening outside Hotel Esplanade.

He believed that the attacks were for real, all the way up to school age. It was only Papa who could hear the warning sirens, and certainly that was