Dark Benediction

“Stick where you are,” he muttered, and a moment later regretted it. The headlights stopped in front. The beam of a powerful flashlight played over the porch, found the house-number, winked out. The driver cut the engine. Norris strode to the living room.

“Play bouncey!” he growled at Peony.

“Don’t want to,” she grumbled back.

“There’s a man coming, and you’d better play bouncey if you ever want to see your Dadda again!” he hissed.

Peony yeeped and backed away from him, whimpering. “Terry! What’re you talking about? You should be ashamed!”

“Shut up…. Peony, play bouncey.”

Peony chattered and leaped to the back of the sofa with monkey-like grace.

“She’s frightened! She’s acting like a common newt!”

“That’s bouncey,” he grunted. “That’s good.”

The car door slammed. Norris went to put on the porch light and watch the visitor come up the steps—a husky, bald gentleman in a black suit and Roman collar. He blinked and shook his head. Clergyman? The fellow must have the wrong house.

“Good evening.”

“Uh—yeah.”

“I’m Father Mulreany. Norris residence?” The priest had a slight brogue; it stirred a vague hunch in Norris’ mind, but failed to clear it.

“I’m Norris. What’s up?”

“Uh, well, one of my parishioners—I think you’ve met him—”

“Countryman of yours?”

“Mmm.”

“O’Reilley?”

“Yes.”

“What’d he do, hang himself?”

“Nothing that bad. May I come in?”

“I doubt it. What do you want?”

“Information.”

“Personal or official?”

The priest paused, studied Norris’s silhouette through the screen. He seemed not taken aback by the inspector’s brusqueness, perhaps accepting it as normal in an era that had little regard for the cloth.

“O’Reilley’s in bad shape, Inspector,” Mulreany said quietly. “I don’t know whether to call a doctor, a psychiatrist, or a cop.” Norris stiffened. “A cop?”

“May I come in?”

Norris hesitated, feeling a vague hostility, and a less vague suspicion. He opened the screen, let the priest in, led him to the living room. Anne muttered half-politely, excused herself, snatched Peony, and headed for the rear of the house. The priest’s eyes followed the neutroid intently.

“So O’Reilley did something?”

“Mmm.”

“What’s it to you?”

Mulreany frowned. “In addition to things you wouldn’t understand—he was my sister’s husband.”

Norris waved him into a chair. “Okay, so—?”

“He called me tonight. He was loaded. Just a senseless babble, but I knew something was wrong. So I went over to the shop.” Mulreany stopped to light a cigaret and frown at the floor. He looked up suddenly. “You see him today?”

Norris could think of no reason not to admit it. He nodded irritably.

Mulreany leaned forward curiously. “Was he sober?”

“Yeah.”

“Sane?”

“How should I know?”

“Did he impress you as the sort of man who would suddenly decide to take a joint of pipe and a meat cleaver and mass-slaughter about sixty helpless animals?”

Norris felt slightly dazed. He sank back, shaking his head and blinking. There was a long silence. Mulreany was watching him carefully.

“I can’t help you,” Norris muttered. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Look, Inspector, forget this, will you?” He touched his collar. Norris shook his head, managed a sour smile. “I can’t help you.”

“All right,” Mulreany sighed, starting to his feet. “I’m just trying to find out if what he says…”

“Men talking about Dadda?” came a piping voice from the kitchen.

Mulreany shot a quick glance toward it. “… is true,” he finished softly.

There was a sudden hush. He could hear Anne whispering in the kitchen, saw her steal a glance through the door. “So it is true,” Mulreany murmured.

Face frozen, Norris came to his feet. “Anne,” he called in a bitter voice. “Bouncey’s off.”

She came in carrying Peony and looking murderous. “Why did you ask him in?” she demanded in a hiss.

Mulreany stared at the small creature. Anne stared at the priest.

“It’s poison to you, isn’t it!” she snapped, then held Peony up toward him. “Here! Look at your enemy. Offends your humanocentrism, doesn’t she?”

“Not at all,” he said rather wistfully.

“You condemn them.”

He shook his head. “Not them. Only what they’re used for by society.” He looked at Norris, a bit puzzled. “I’d better leave.”

“Maybe not. Better spill it. What do you want?”

“I told you. O’Reilley went berserk, made a butcher shop out of his place. When I got there, he was babbling about a talking neutroid—‘his baby’—said you took it to the pound to destroy it. Threatened to kill you. I got a friend to stay with him, came over to see if I could find out what it’s all about.”

“The newt’s a deviant. You’ve heard of the Delmont case?”

“Rumors.”

“She’s it.”

“I see.” Mulreany looked glum, grim, gloomy. “Nothing more I need to know I guess. Well—”

Norris grabbed his arm as he turned. “Sit a spell,” he grunted ominously.

The priest looked puzzled, let himself be guided back to the chair. Norris stood looking down at him.

“What’s the matter with Dadda?” Peony chirped. “I wanna go see Dadda.”

“Well?” Norris growled. “What about her?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You people are down on Anthropos, aren’t you?”