“You did right. You can leave me alone for a little while now.”
He took his chair at the desk.
As the doors closed, he picked up the receiver, and pressed the tiny red button. “Samuel!” he whispered.
“Ashlar,” came the answer, clear as if his friend were truly at his ear. “You’ve kept me waiting fifteen minutes. How important you’ve become.”
“Samuel, where are you? Are you in New York?”
“Certainly not,” came the reply. “I’m in Donnelaith, Ash. I’m at the Inn.”
“Phones in the glen.” It was a low murmur. The voice was coming all the way from Scotland … from the glen.
“Yes, old friend, phones in the glen, and other things as well. A Taltos came here, Ash. I saw him. A full Taltos.”
“Wait a minute. It sounded as if you said—”
“I did say this. Don’t get too excited about it, Ash. He’s dead. He was an infant, blundering. It’s a long story. There’s a gypsy involved in it, a very clever gypsy named Yuri, from the Talamasca. The gypsy would be dead right now if it weren’t for me.”
“Are you sure the Taltos is dead?”
“The gypsy told me. Ash, the Talamasca is in a dark time. Something tragic has happened with the Order. They’ll kill this gypsy soon, perhaps, but he’s determined to go back to the Motherhouse. You must come as soon as you can.”
“Samuel, I’ll meet you in Edinburgh tomorrow.”
“No, London. Go directly to London. I promised the gypsy. But come quickly, Ash. If his brothers in London catch sight of him, he’ll be dead.”
“Samuel, this can’t be a correct story. The Talamasca wouldn’t do such things to anyone, let alone its own people. Are you sure this gypsy is saying true things?”
“Ash, it has to do with this Taltos. Can you leave now?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t fail me?”
“No.”
“Then there’s one more thing I must tell you right now. You’ll see it in the papers-in London as soon as you land. They’ve been digging here in Donnelaith, in the ruins of the cathedral.”
“I know this, Samuel. You and I have talked about this before.”
“Ash, they dug up the grave of St. Ashlar. They found the name engraved in the stone. You’ll see it in the papers, Ashlar. Scholars are here from Edinburgh. Ash, there are witches involved in this tale. But the gypsy will tell you. People are watching me. I have to go.”
“Samuel, people are always watching you, wait—”
“Your hair, Ash. I saw you in a magazine. Are those white streaks in your hair? Never mind.”
“Yes, my hair is turning white. But it’s happening slowly. I haven’t aged otherwise. There are no real shocks for you, except the hair.”
“You’ll live till the end of the world, Ash, and be the one to make it crumble.”
“No!”
“Claridge’s in London. We are leaving now ourselves. That’s a hotel where a man can make a big oak fire in the grate, and sleep in a big old cozy bedroom full of chintz and hunter-green velvet. I’ll be waiting for you there. And Ash. Pay the hotel, will you? I’ve been out here in the glen for two years.”
Samuel rang off.
“Maddening,” he whispered. He laid down the phone.
For long moments he looked at the bronze doors.
He didn’t blink or focus when the doors opened. He scarcely saw the blurred figure who came into the room. He was not thinking, he was merely repeating the words Taltos and Talamasca inside his head.
When he did look up, he saw only Remmick pouring chocolate from a small, heavy silver pitcher into a pretty china cup. The steam rose in Remmick’s patient and slightly weary face. Gray hair, now that was gray hair, an entire head of it. I do not have so much gray hair.
Indeed, he had only the two streaks flowing back from his temples, and a bit of white in his sideburns, as they were called. And yes, just a tiny touch of white in the dark hair of his chest. Fearfully he looked down at his wrist. There were white hairs there, mingled with the dark hair that had covered his arms now for so many years.
Taltos! Talamasca. The world will crumble ….
“Was it the right thing, sir, the phone call?” asked Remmick, in that wonderful, near-inaudible British murmur that his employer loved. Lots of people would have called it a mumble. And we are going now to England, we are going back among all the agreeable, gentle people…. England, the land of the bitter cold, seen from the coast of the lost