Morrison stared at him, and then laughed. "Don't try to frighten
me with my own bogeyman. I took a story a thousand years old and
resurrected it and talked it up until it caught. But that's all it is,
a story."
"Are you sure? And what about the darkbirds? They seem to get around.
Won't they tell Jubb where we are?"
"He'd have a hard time proving it on the word of a shadow. Besides,
there are defenses against them. They won't interfere."
"I suppose," said Durham, taking the bottle into his hand as though to
pour again, "that it wouldn't bother you to know that one of them is in
here now."
Morrison did not take his eyes from Durham's face. "Hawtree made a
stinking choice in you. Put down that bottle."
Durham grinned. He raised the bottle higher and chanted, "Jubb, Jubb,
Jubb!"
Morrison said between his teeth, "This would have had to be done
anyway." Still watching Durham, he reached one swift hand into the belt
of his tunic. Susan made a muffled cry and started to get up. None
of the motions were finished. A shadow came out from the darkness of
a corner behind Morrison's chair. It flicked against him and he fell
across the table, quite still. The darkbird came and hung in the air in
front of Durham.
"Jubb," it said.
Durham put down the bottle and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He
looked at the darkbird, feeling cold and hollow.
"I want to go to him. You understand? To Jubb."
Up and down it bounced, like the nodding of a head.