The Digging Leviathan Read Online Free Page B

peculiar one. Believe anything you like about this Doyle, about the filthy Pemblys for that matter, but watch Ashbless. That’s my advice to you.” And William poked his pipestem in Edward’s direction as a gesture of finality.
    “I’ve suspected Ashbless since I met him,” William continued, settling comfortably into his machinations. “Anyone who would purposely assume the name of a dead poet, just to add some sham value to his own scribbling, isn’t to be trusted. Not an inch. I won’t insist he’s not good. He’s certainly the best of the Cahuenga poets. But he’s fishy as a chowder. He reminds me of the King in
Huckleberry Finn
. I keep expecting him to take his hat off and announce, ‘I am the late dauphin.’”
    Edward was heating up and about to set in to defend Ashbless when William leaped up and darted across to his post by the drapes. Beyond the fence, Mrs. Pembly, her hair in curlers and dressed in a half-wit’s idea of an Oriental robe, poked among the weeds of her back yard. A big, scabrous Doberman Pinscher trailed along behind her. “She’s up to something,” said William. “For my money she throws that beast over the wall after dark to defecate on our lawn. There’s villainy afoot here.”
    Mrs. Pembly paused for a moment, peering up into the branches of the elm. “I’ve got it!” cried William, waving his left hand meaningfully. “It’s a simple business. Did they think they could fool me?”
    Edward could see that things were going awry. “What have you got?” he asked.
    “A block and tackle. They hoist that damned beast over the wall with a block and tackle, wait for him to commit his disgusting crimes, then jerk him back again like some sort of filthy marionette.”
    Before Edward could respond, William was through the back door. He hauled out a shovel from the tool shed, scooped up the offending debris, and sent it soaring across the top of thefence into the Pembly weeds. Mrs. Pembly flattened herself against the garage wail, clasping the lapels of her nightgown together with both hands when she saw who it was that threatened her. She seemed unable to speak.
    “Here are your cudgels!” cried William, flinging the spade to the ground triumphantly, and assuming, of course, that Mrs. Pembly had fully understood the transaction. He dusted his hands theatrically, turned, and strode into the house where Edward scratched his head, waiting for the storm to break. But nothing happened. William was apparently victorious. In the course of the morning he trimmed the obscuring hibiscus and spent a solid two hours arranging the drapes and the living room furniture in such a way that, when he stood at the window, a casual observer would take him for a floor lamp. He even went so far as to make Edward stroll back and forth across the rear yard with an air of affected nonchalance while he stood on one leg like a flamingo and perched a broad, conical, bamboo shade on his head in the fashion of a pole lamp or a coolie. Edward had known it would be bad from the moment he saw William creeping across the yard on all fours, but that it would escalate so quickly and thoroughly was a frightening surprise. What was of immediate necessity was to involve his poor brother in intellectual pursuits, to get his mind off imagined threats. There was Jim to think of. It was hard enough on him that his father had gone round the bend. He should be shielded from obvious lunacy. Somehow he’d have to talk William into removing the bottle caps he had clipped to his shirt with their own cork washers. That sort of thing was painful, to be sure. “There’s a meeting of the Society tomorrow night,” he said to William after the lampshade incident.
    “The Blake Society?”
    “The Newtonians,” said Edward. “Right here. Some of your old Mends will be here.”
    “Squires?”
    “Yes indeed. He’s working on modifications for the diving bell—something he calls an absolute gyro. It’s a steadying mechanism, I