The Sorcerer's House by Gene Wolfe

of that sorry charade. I have very little pride left, George, but the dregs remain. I could not do it.
    Instead I was reduced to asking Martha quite casually whether she often had occasion to visit Port Saint Jude.
    "Oh, that awful place! No, I go there only when I must, Bax. Have you seen it?"
    "No, I've never been there. But I collect coins, and I'm told there's a dealer there. I thought I might see what he has to offer."
    "How fascinating! I'd love to see your collection."
    I laughed. "You'd be disappointed, believe me. If--"
    At that moment there was an odd sort of noise outside, half moan and half whimper. I asked whether she owned a dog.
    "Not anymore." She sighed. "You have one, you grow attached to it, and then . . . Well, we are all mortal, but it breaks my heart each time. I don't want to go through that again."
    I stood up. "I'm going to look out. I'd swear I heard an animal out there."
    Outside, I saw nothing and heard nothing; but there was an odor--a faint, musty stench.
    You will wonder why I mention this at all, but I have a reason.
    Martha had left the table when I did, and when I returned she suggested coffee in the living room. Of course I acquiesced.
    "You said on the phone that you had questions about the house, Bax."
    "Yes, I did. Do you know how I might get into the cellar withoutleaving the house? There is an outside door, I realize, but that's bound to be inconvenient in winter."
    Martha shook her head, slowly at first, then more positively. "I've only been in the house once--no, twice, I think. I wasn't showing it you understand, just holding it for you. And then when the maintenance money ran out . . . Well, you can understand. What was the use of my knowing that something needed to be fixed when I had no money to fix it with?"
    "I do understand. But you were in the house twice. Do you have floor plans?"
    "No. I had a survey, showing the property lines. I gave that to you with the deed. Nothing else."
    "Did you go into the cellar?"
    "I don't believe I did."
    "What about the attic?"
    "I--this is embarrassing, Mr. Dunn. I meant to. I intended to and I tried to. But I couldn't find a way to get up there. I--I wanted to see if the roof was leaking. There had been some wind damage, shingles blown off, you know. Eventually I had the roof repaired without ever going up there. The roofers didn't need to get inside. They hardly ever do."
    "I've found two ways," I told her. "One is a stair off the butler's pantry. It's--"
    "Is there a butler's pantry?" Martha looked a trifle shocked.
    "That's what I call it. Quite possibly you would call it something else. It's a smallish room between the dining room and the kitchen."
    It was about then, George, that we heard the first siren. There was a screech of brakes, and the spinning red light of a police car filled Martha's picture window with a fitful glare. Another siren wailed in the distance.
    Martha hurried outside, doubtless fearing that one of the neighboring houses was on fire. After putting several small pieces of meat into my pockets and sternly ordering myself to fall flat in the event of shooting, I followed her.
    For my peace of mind, it proved a grave error; I saw the victim, and wish I had not. That she was dead was beyond question: a leg had been torn away, and there was a great deal of blood. I shall leave it at that.
    Martha became hysterical. I omit those details also; no doubt you have had some experience of hysteria. In the end, she was undressed by a female officer who put her to bed after administering a sedative she found in Martha's medicine cabinet.
    After quizzing me about my bruises, she said, "Do you have a car, sir?"
    I explained that Martha had picked me up at my home.
    "Is it far?"
    "Not really. Four or five miles, I suppose. Thirteen hundred River-path Road?"
    "That's more like seven. Want a ride home?"
    "Yes, indeed. It's very kind of you."
    In her squad car, I inquired about the dead woman, saying that she must surely have been a