Not knowing what to say, Grimshaw pointed to the game. “Have you figured out anything from that?”
“I figured out that the reason I had so much trouble playing this game in the past is because the game board represented a place without being a place. So I was trying to sense something that didn’t have enough markers—like trying to breathe in the scent of a rose by smelling a photograph of one. But this?” Julian waved a hand over the board with its additional woods and blue-paper lake. “That’s close enough to act like a model for The Jumble.”
“Do you think the same thing would happen with a model of a place you didn’t know?” Could an Intuit look at a model of a village and sense a coming storm or a human-made problem like a bank robbery? Considering the story Julian had just told him, convincing Intuits to participate in such an experiment would take a lot of persuasion.
“I don’t know,” Julian replied. “We usually have a feel for the place where we live and the people around us. And unlike the blood prophets, who can see the future, what Intuits sense is immediate most of the time.”
A thought for another day. “So what have you figured out about The Jumble?” He noticed a figure that could be teeny Julian standing two squares into the water and several other figures in the space between the “lake” and the house. “You’re okay with your piece being in the water now?”
Julian paled, making the dark smudges under his eyes more pronounced, but he nodded. “If Vicki is around The Jumble, the water feels safe.”
“And if she’s not around?” Grimshaw picked up teeny Vicki and set her beyond the playing area.
Julian seemed to be fighting some impulse, but after a few seconds, he grabbed teeny Julian and placed him in the kitchen on the game board. His breathing sounded labored.
Worried that Julian would need an emergency trip to the doctor’s, Grimshaw set teeny Vicki in one of the wooded areas near a bear that was twice her size.
Julian’s breathing returned to normal. “Sorry. I’ve been working through scenarios since yesterday. Guess I need a break.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” He looked at the little figures that were scattered around the board and the few that were out-of-bounds. “Last question.” He picked up the businessman who had been out-of-bounds and set it right in front of teeny Vicki.
Julian’s reaction was instantaneous. He jerked away from the table and shouted, “No!”
Grimshaw took the businessman off the board. “That’s the trigger, isn’t it? That’s what set you off when we played the game the other night.” Concerned about his friend, he moved around the table but stopped when Julian stumbled away from him, blind panic in the gray eyes.
“It’s all right,” Grimshaw said quietly. “Julian? It’s Wayne. You’re safe here. We’re safe here.” He pulled a chair away from the table. “Come on. Sit down before you fall down. You can’t help them if you can’t think clearly. Come on, Julian. Sit down.”
Julian reached for the chair and fell into it. Grimshaw slipped the businessman figure into his pocket, poured glasses of water, and handed one to Julian.
“Yeah,” Julian said after drinking the water. “That’s the trigger.”
“How many times did you test that while you were here alone?”
Julian hesitated. “I got used to working alone.”
“Well, wrap your mind around the idea of working as part of a team,” Grimshaw snapped. Coming from him, that was almost funny, but he didn’t remember Julian being this spooked when he sensed something during their time at the academy or when they were working the streets together at the beginning of their careers. Then again, he didn’t know how many times Julian had played out this scenario and had to work through his reaction on his own.
Wanting to think about something else, he focused on the sock and cocked a thumb in its direction. “The Crow did a better job.”
Julian made a hand gesture that expressed his opinion quite clearly, then said, “Did you bring anything good for lunch?”
“I did.” He fetched the covered plates and placed them on the two narrow strips of table that weren’t covered by the game. He concentrated on eating for several minutes, glad to have the silence. As they finished the meal, he asked, “You still coming out for the trail ride and beach thing tomorrow?”
Julian nodded. “I did the trail ride wine tour when I first came to Sproing. It was . . . interesting.”
“I’ll bet.”
Grimshaw collected the dishes and put them back in the carry bag. “I’ll walk these over to the diner. See you tomorrow.”
As he turned to go, Julian said, “Wayne? I think you still have a piece from the game.”
“Yes, I do. I’m going to keep it for a while.” He walked out, too aware of the teeny businessman in his pocket.
CHAPTER 40
Vicki
Thaisday, Juin 29
The morning of the trail ride beach party, I walked out of the laundry room and found a pony in the kitchen. To be precise, I found a pony with his head in the fridge, rummaging around. I wasn’t sure if he was really looking for something or just enjoying the cold air that was wafting out of the fridge, but I realized the tried-and-true phrase “Were you born in a barn?” wasn’t going to convey what I wanted it to convey.
I hurried around the table, giving myself plenty of distance from his back end, then skidded a little on some water. Gods, I hadn’t been out of the kitchen long enough for the fridge to start defrosting from the heat, but where else could the water have come from?
Looking at the pony’s tail, I chose not to contemplate the alternate answer to that question.
“Hey,” I said sharply.
The pony pulled his head out of the fridge, a bunch of carrots dangling from his mouth.
He was a small white pony with a barrel-shaped body and chubby legs, and clompy hooves the size of dinner plates. Okay, they weren’t that big, but I was wearing sandals and felt a little nervous about anyone who could stomp on my toes, intentionally or otherwise. Once I got over the surprise of finding a pony in the kitchen and stopped wondering if Hector or Horace had brought him over early for some reason, I started to wonder about the color of the pony’s mane and tail. They were aquamarine, a lovely shade of greenish blue, with streaks of stormy gray. I wanted to believe there was some colored glass in the kitchen somewhere that was coloring those bits of him, but I knew there wasn’t any colored glass. Maybe someone dyed the mane and tail? Not likely.
Which meant that whatever he was, he wasn’t quite what he seemed. Which meant I should do the neighborly thing and let him have a carrot.