The Various (13 page)

Midge was still anxious to look at the wounds in the horse’s wing. She had the iodine aerosol in her carrier bag, and knew that it would probably be good idea to use this as a guard against germs and infection – but also knew that it was likely to sting. How would she explain? To the horse she said, ‘Listen. I have some medicine in my bag. Do you know what medicine is? It’s to make you better – to help heal your wounds. And I think it
would
help them to heal, but
it’ll
probably hurt a bit when I put it on. I think we should try it though.’

The horse raised its head with an effort, and tried to look over its shoulder, as if to see the wounds for itself.
I am not able to open my wing
. The horse painfully lowered its head again.
But if you have some physic . . . then I am willing that you use it
.

Midge found the little blue and white aerosol, pulled off the white plastic cap, and knelt by the horse’s side once more, shaking the canister. With her free hand she very gently opened out the damaged wing. The horse groaned slightly. Where the velvety membrane had been pierced and torn by the metal spikes, there was angry-looking bruising and quite a lot of congealed blood. Midge wondered whether to try and bandage the wing somehow, but she couldn’t really see what good it would do – neither could she see how she would go about such a task. She also wondered about trying to close the wound with sticking plaster – but again decided against it, for fear of doing more harm than good. Her first instinct – of trying to keep the wound from becoming infected, and letting nature do the healing – still seemed the safest way to go.

She shook the canister once more and said, ‘I’m going to spray this on to your wing now. Be brave.’ She pressed the little button and the horse immediately flinched at the sharp hiss of the aerosol. The wing muscles contracted instinctively, but Midge held on firmly, feeling the strange texture, the ridges of bone beneath the delicate membrane, warm between her
fingers
. She kept the aerosol button pressed down until the wound was obliterated by the orange colour of the iodine spray. The wing jerked in her grasp and the horse looked at her with panic in its eyes.

‘Sh, sh,’ said Midge, soothingly. ‘That’s it. All done.’ She gently allowed the wing to fold once more, and leaned back, stroking the horse’s neck as the animal gradually relaxed. ‘I’m sorry to have frightened you,’ she said. ‘I know it stings at first, but I think it will help your wing to heal – it’s happened to me lots of times.’

And your wings were healed?

‘Well, no . . .’ Midge began – then realized, with a little jolt of surprise, that the horse had been joking. It wasn’t something that she had been prepared for. But then she hadn’t been prepared for any of this. She laughed, and continued to stroke the animal’s slim neck.

‘Who
are
you?’ she said. ‘And . . .
what
are you? And how did you get here?’

The horse looked at her for a long time. The dark brown eyes – which were weighing her up, she felt – became troubled once again. Eventually, the words came through to her.

I am Pegs. And I am in your debt, maid – to the worth of my life. For I shall live, who would have surely died, were’t not for the hands of a Gorji child. As to your other questions, I must hear more of you before I answer. Who are
you?
And what will you now do? Who of your kind knows of me?

‘Nobody knows,’ said Midge earnestly. ‘I wouldn’t tell. And I don’t know what to do now – whatever you want me to do, I suppose. I just want to help you. My
name
is Midge, and I’m staying here for a few weeks, with my uncle – and my cousins, when they arrive.’

Midge. And these others – they are of your tribe?

‘Well, I don’t know that they would be called a
tribe
exactly. They’re part of my . . . family, I suppose. My uncle – that’s my mother’s brother – he owns this land. And my cousins are his children. But they’re not here yet.’

The one who has charge of this land . . .your . . .?

‘Uncle.’

Your kinsman . . . uncle. He knows nothing of this?

‘No. Nobody knows.’

It would be better, for me, that they did not. And I would ask you that favour. Tell no one of me
. Pegs sighed and half closed his eyes.
Let me rest now, child . . . Midge . . . and let me think. There is much – much – to think on
.

‘You live in the Royal Forest, don’t you?’ Midge blurted out, reluctant to go. The horse’s eyes opened again with a startled look in them.

What do you know of the Royal Forest?

‘Well,
I
call it the Royal Forest,’ said Midge. ‘It’s just a name. I made it up.’ She felt puzzled. ‘Do you call it the Royal Forest too?’ she said.

Pegs regarded her once more, and Midge thought that he might finally trust her, and tell her what she wanted to know.
You must ask me no more questions. Leave me now, to think
.

Midge got up, rather sadly, and collected together all her things – the bucket and sponge, the canister of iodine, her carrier bag. She stood, feeling aimless now, by the grey tractor near the entrance to the barn.
‘Shall
I come back later?’ she said.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, maid, we may speak again
.

Tomorrow you may be gone, thought Midge, stepping from the dark humid barn and into the bright afternoon sunshine. You may be gone and this will all seem like a dream, and I shall never be able to tell anyone about it. Ever.

Uncle Brian was already back at the farm when Midge wandered in. She had seen his car in the yard, and had half-hidden the bucket and the sponge beside the old milk churn – thinking to avoid any awkward questions about what she had been doing. Her uncle was in the kitchen making a late lunch for himself – some cheese on toast and a pot of tea.

‘Hullo, old thing,’ he said as Midge dumped her carrier bag, the top casually folded over, onto a kitchen chair. ‘What have you been up to? Want something to eat?’

‘No, I’ve got a sandwich here, thanks,’ said Midge. ‘I made myself a picnic again, but I haven’t eaten it yet.’ She avoided the question of what she’d been doing by saying, ‘How was Taunton? Did you meet your friend?’

‘Frankie? Yes, we went to Clarke’s for coffee and a bun. Good to see her again and catch up a bit. Doing pretty well for herself, I think. Tea? No? Well, this is about ready – shall we have lunch together?’

They sat at the big old table and Uncle Brian talked a little about the antiques business, and how he’d dabbled in it a few years ago. Midge gathered that
his
dabblings had not resulted in any lasting success. She found herself gazing at the photograph of the child, which hung on the kitchen wall, and wondered who she was. She was about to ask, when another thought that had been nagging at her suddenly surfaced.

‘Uncle Brian,’ she said, ‘you know you were saying that you were selling some land? Which land is it? I mean which bit?’

‘Oh, a couple of fields,’ said Uncle Brian. ‘As agricultural land it’s not worth all that much – I’ve been letting it out as grass keep for years now to a neighbouring farm. But as
building
land of course, it’s worth much more. Especially when you’re looking at a whole new housing development – maybe sixty or seventy houses. I’ve had a very good offer from the building firm. We’re just waiting for final planning permission – and then it’ll be all systems go. It’s the land – can’t see it from here – at the far end of the woods up on the hill. The Wild Wood, remember? Plus the wood itself, of course. Most of it anyway.’

‘You’re selling the Royal – I mean the
wood
?’ said Midge, horrified.

‘Yes,’ said Uncle Brian, catching a piece of melted cheese as it dripped from his toast, ‘and then, as they say, our troubles will be over. Good eh?’

Chapter Nine

AS THE EVENING
sky grew dark above the Royal Forest, Maglin met once again with the five he had chosen to send out into the Gorji lands. He still had deep misgivings about the wisdom of such an action, but could see no way out of it. The vote had been taken before the entire Muster, and at his own instigation. He had gambled that the vote would be against searching for the Naiad horse, and he had lost. The chosen ones had been informed at sunrise, had then been briefed as to what their course of action should be, in his opinion, and given the day in order to make their preparations. Now the five were met, as had been arranged, beneath the Rowdy-Dow tree.

Maglin left his pod, and walked across the dark clearing towards the dead beech. He had spent some sleepless hours the previous night deciding upon who should go from the volunteers. After much reflection, he had decided to pick the best of those who were unwed. From the Ickri, he had chosen Grissel – a good archer, wild perhaps, as all of Scurl’s followers were apt to be, but steadier than Benzo and the rest. Tod of
the
Wisp he had chosen as being the only volunteer of that tribe who was without wife or family. Spindra, the Naiad who had bred Pegs would have been hard to gainsay, and, besides, who knew the horse better than he? From the Tinklers he had chosen Pank, largely because the little tinsy-smith was one of the few of that tribe whose name he knew, and from the Troggles, after private consultation with Tadgemole, he had picked Lumst – a miner of reliable character and some intelligence, according to his tribe leader. Grissel, Tod, Spindra, Pank and Lumst. He hoped that their names would not need to be remembered in sorrow.

It was an awkward group who waited beneath the Rowdy-Dow tree, watching Maglin as he approached through the deepening gloom. Grissel stood alone, annoyed that none of his companions had been chosen for this venture. What was he, an Ickri archer, doing in the company of Tinklers and Troggles? He had imagined a bold and daring foray into Gorji lands with his brothers at his side. If he had known that
this
was to be the outcome of his spirited gesture, then he would have kept his hand on his bow, like Aken and his crew of poltroons, and let the horse go hang.

Tod and Spindra stood and conversed softly together. They both felt that neither the Ickri, nor the cave-dwellers should have been chosen for this task. Whilst not friends exactly, they each respected the other’s right to be here – Spindra as knowing the horse better than any, and Tod as one who ventured into the Gorji lands almost nightly, albeit close to the safety of the forest. Lumst and Pank, the Troggle and
the
Tinkler, were long acquainted and therefore stood comfortably with one another – each glad to have a friend for company, but neither used to being at close quarters with members of the upper tribes.

Maglin, with his experienced eye, saw how things were as he approached, and wondered whether his decision to send a member of each tribe had been a wise one. The alternative would have been to pick five of his own Ickri archers, and neither he nor the Various could readily afford to lose such providers. He tackled the problem, as he tackled most problems, instantly and directly.

‘Come now,’ he said. ‘If you would be a company, then a company you must decide to be. ’Tis no good, Grissel, to stand alone and sulk for the want of better fellows. What would ’ee? That I should send five archers that never set foot from the forest? Who understands the Naiad horse better than Spindra? Who more used to being out after moonrise than Lumst and Pank? Who more familiar with the ways of the Gorji than Tod o’ the Wisp? You’ll find, all of ‘ee, that I have chosen fairly, and as well as I know how. Put faith in each other then, and know that you be all here to a purpose. Come, draw close together, and listen to me.’ Four out of the five looked at each other, shyly, and shuffled in a little closer, but Grissel still kept slightly aloof.

‘We know,’ said Maglin, ‘that Pegs was bound for the Far Woods on t’other side of this vale. I see no reason why he would have done other than fly there direct – over that Gorji settlement that lies between. If we reckon that he were able to explore that forest and
make
his return, then he would have flown back direct in that line. Do ’ee agree, Spindra?’

‘I do,’ said Spindra. ‘ ’E were a good flyer, but ’e ’ad no more strength than ’e would’ve needed – none to throw away, thass for certain. I take it ’tis a good long way, there and back, and I don’t believe ’e could ’ave done it in one go. If ’e’d reached t’other side, then ’e would stop a bit for sure, in the Gorji forest, before trying journey home – and would surely have flew the shortest line ’e could.’

‘Then lost, dead or captured, we can but reckon Pegs to be somewhere along that line,’ said Maglin. ‘You must follow that line as you seek for him – and that means passing through, and searching, the Gorji settlement – and especially the storehouses, or “barns” as the Gorji do call them. ’Tis a dangerous task, be in no doubt of it. There may be hounds, or any manner of beasts there – and in the Far Woods, should ’ee get so far, there may be brocks and renards. Stay close together, learn what may be learned, and come back alive. Grissel has his bow, but what do the rest carry for arms?’