The Various (15 page)

‘Ah, but ’twas Tod who had ’un on the go!’ said Spindra in admiration. ‘Old Renard didn’t much like the look of thy gurt fork, Tod – and thass the truth.’

‘Well, perhaps so,’ said Tod, modestly, ‘but I reckon
thy
gurt stick whizzing past ’is old lug’oles didn’t make ’un feel too bold neither.’

‘But what happened to thee, Grissel?’ said Spindra. ‘Did ’ee get stuck?’

‘Caught a wing in that hemmed wall,’ muttered Grissel, shamefacedly, ‘otherwise I’d have had ’un.’

‘Ah, that’s right,’ said Lumst. ‘A couple arrows would’ve just about finished him off, I believe.’

‘Well, I reckon we’ve survived about the worst that could happen,’ said Tod. ‘If we can best a renard then I ain’t too worried about much else. Only thing that frightens me more’n a renard is a gurt pike – and we shan’t be seeing many of they tonight. Let’s move on.’

They climbed through the bars of the sheep gate and began to make their way across the misty field, walking in the same formation as before, their confidence and trust in one another grown mightily.

Grissel was feeling rather humbled as he walked at the rear, his bow now at the ready. The bravery of Tod and Spindra had impressed him – and even the cave-dwellers had more than stood their ground. They could have easily scattered in all directions, leaving him, still struggling, to face the renard alone. He was supposed to be their protector, not they his. He resolved to be more alert from now on.

They had reached the gate, at the far end of the thistle field, which led into the cobbled yard of Mill Farm. None of them had ever been so close to a Gorji dwelling before. They crept among the thistles and clumps of camomile that grew around the gateposts,
and
peeped fearfully through the lower bars of the gate at the silent yard beyond. Directly opposite them loomed the dark bulk of the main building, fronted by a balustrade wall. An ancient rusty plough stood, abandoned and overgrown with nettles and coarse grass, close to the other side of the gate. After some whispered consultations, the five woodlanders crawled beneath the gate and scuttled over the deeply rutted ground, to hide themselves in the tangle of weeds beneath the plough.

‘Spick it!’ muttered Lumst. ‘Hemmed nettles.’ He sucked the inside of his wrist. Peering through the rusted spokes of one of the plough’s iron wheels, they now had a clear view down the length of the untidy farmyard – the line of rickety outbuildings being to their left, and the old farmhouse rising high above them on their right.

The first of the outbuildings was open-sided, and seemed to be crammed with more derelict machinery. There was no reason to suppose that Pegs might be in there – but what reason was there to suppose that Pegs was anywhere here at all? Spindra, for one, was beginning to have doubts about this whole expedition. He had been eager to come, just to be doing something other than waiting – but now, knowing the horse as he did . . . well, it seemed so unlikely that the animal could be behind one of these doors. It didn’t feel right.

Tod didn’t hold out any great hope of finding Pegs in this fearful place either, but he felt that Maglin had been right in supposing that the Naiad horse would be
somewhere
along
the line between the Royal Forest and the Gorji woods on the other side of the wetland, and if he wasn’t here, then so much the better. He would far rather be searching the wetlands and the forests than a Gorji settlement. The quicker they were away from here the happier he would be – but in the meantime there was work to do. Tod looked up at the darkened farmhouse, wondering if they could get in there.

‘Bide here, a bit,’ he whispered to the others, laying his eel spear aside. ‘I’ll take a glim.’ He crept out from under the plough, waited a few moments, then, crouching low, he scuttled over to the balustrade wall in front of the house. He moved softly along the moonlit shadow of the wall, turned the corner where the front path to the house began, and disappeared from view.

The others watched and waited. Grissel was once again struck by the fearlessness of the little fisher. He himself was feeling far from confident. The knot in his stomach was a sensation he had never known before – for in the Royal Forest there was nothing for an Ickri hunter to fear. He also felt, for the first time, encumbered by his wings. He wasn’t built for crouching beneath rot-metal Gorji contraptions, confined and hindered in a place where sudden danger might present itself.

Lumst and Pank were both caught up in the moment, straining their eyes for the reappearance of Tod – nervous, certainly, but alert and excited also. They had believed the fisher when he had said that
the
fox would probably be the worst thing that could happen to them – his experience of the outside world was far greater than theirs. And hadn’t they seen that old devil off?

All had their eyes fixed on the place where Tod had disappeared, and so they didn’t notice him as he returned by a different route, slipping between the balustrade pillars and dropping into the shadows. Consequently he was almost upon them before they saw him, and his arrival made them jump.

‘Here’s a strange business,’ Tod said softly, as he squeezed in amongst the others. ‘There’s two doors in one. See . . .’ he looked for words to describe what he had seen ‘ . . . there’s a gurt
big
door, big black ’un, made o’ wood, as ’d seem about right for a Gorji giant to get through, and then, right at the bottom, there’s a
little
door – made o’ some other stuff, I dunno what – that don’t make no sense at all. A Gorji newborn couldn’t hardly get through there – but
we
could. ’Tis most puzzling – almost like it were put there for us. I gave it a push, and it swung open right enough, so I reckon ’tis best I go and have a proper look inside. You bide here – no sense in us all trying to get in – and I’ll go back.’

‘No, hold,’ said Grissel. He was beginning to feel that his role as supposed guardian of the group was looking like a sham. What was he to say to his captain upon his return? ‘Tod did all the work, whilst I kept in hiding’? He could picture the sneer on Benzo’s face. It was time to show some mettle. ‘I’ll come with ’ee,’ he said. ‘Thee doesn’t know what might lurk in there.’

Tod regarded Grissel doubtfully. ‘I ain’t so sure thee’d get through the door, wi’ those wings,’ he said.

‘Well, you casn’t go alone,’ said Spindra. ‘What if you didn’t come back? How long should us wait? ’Tis safer you have company.’

‘Tell ’ee what, then,’ said Tod. ‘Let’s get this over and done. I’ll take smallest with me – that’s Pank here – and us two’ll look round the inside. The rest of ’ee can search these byres, or whatever they be, and we’ll meet back here when we’ve done. How’s that?’ All were agreed. The sooner they could move on, the better. ‘Right then, Pank, you come wi’ me,’ said Tod, and the two small figures ran softly over to the shadow of the balustrade wall and quickly rounded the corner.

Grissel, Spindra and Lumst looked across at the line of moonlit outbuildings which were to be their responsibility. ‘We’d as well start this end and work along ’em,’ said Grissel.

‘Perhaps I should run along to the furthest one and search there,’ said Lumst. ‘Then we’d meet in the middle. ’Twould be quicker.’

This seemed a good idea, so it was agreed upon. The three crept cautiously from their hiding place and moved quickly over the weed-strewn yard to the corner of the open-sided barn. From here Lumst ran past the row of stable doors until he reached the last one, a shambling affair, the bottom half of which hung partly open on its sagging hinges. He peered nervously into the dark interior and whispered, ‘Pegs?’

In the meantime, Tod was already on the other side of
the
‘little door’ he had found – a redundant cat flap – and was holding it open for Pank to climb through. All was black as pitch in the hallway of the farmhouse, and the two stood listening for a few moments, taking in the strange smell of the Gorji dwelling, and wondering where to begin. A sudden groan, deep and horribly loud, caused them to shrink back in fright against the foot of the heavy oak front door. There was something there, in the darkness, just ahead of them! Motionless, with thumping hearts, they waited for whatever evil was about to befall them. The low breathy sound of some great animal seemed to fill the cavernous space around them. Another deep rattling groan caused the two intruders to press their backs even harder against the door. But gradually their horrified eyes grew a little more accustomed to the dark, and, although the strange noises continued, they could sense that there was no immediate danger of attack. Whatever this monster was, it appeared to be asleep. Creeping forward very slowly, Tod was gradually able to identify the dark shape. It was a Gorji hound, as he might have guessed, lying on its side, lost in dreams at the foot of some steeply rising wooden construction.

Backing away again, Tod leaned towards Pank and whispered, ‘ ’Tis a gurt black hound. Sleeping.’

Pank was horribly frightened and began to lose heart. ‘Let’s be gone,’ he said, shivering. ‘Pegs ain’t here.’

But Tod was determined to make sure. ‘We’ll just have a glim,’ he said. ‘ ’Twon’t take us long.’ He
moved
to his left and pushed gently at a large painted door which swung silently open. Here was a great chamber, full of looming shapes and shadows, but helpfully illuminated, in part at least, by the moon which shone through an uncovered window.

They had found their way into the giants’ kitchen, and although they had no word for this, or indeed for most of the objects that surrounded them, they were able to make some inward guesses as to purpose. The warmth of the Rayburn, with its unmistakable smell of ash and wood-smoke, spoke of cooking – and the forest of chair and table legs, through which they crept, were presumably things for the giants to sit upon. The vegetable rack seemed self-explanatory, if underemployed, containing as it did but a single potato. It was less easy to fathom the purpose of the waste-bin, however, as this appeared to be filled with a mixture of both the edible and inedible. The only sound to disturb the heavy warmth of the atmosphere was a fast unfamiliar ticking, and they tracked the source of this to a luminous object, perched upon a high shelf. They found its yellowy-green glow curious and attractive, but as to its possible use they were defeated.

Beneath the strange bulk of the chipped porcelain sink, they discovered a small curtain – vaguely reminiscent of the oilcloths used by the Ickri to cover the entranceways of their pods. Tod lifted the hem of this – more out of curiosity than with any conscious notion of searching for Pegs – and lowered his head to see what might be under there. Pank looked on nervously.

* * *

In the farmyard, the other three woodlanders were making steady, though fruitless, progress. Grissel and Spindra had clambered over, and peered under, the piled up machinery in the open sided barn, and were now stumbling around amongst the broken bales of musty hay that half filled the first of the stables. The dust made Grissel sneeze, and Spindra was inclined to tell the Ickri to wait outside. He was frightened that Grissel’s muffled snorts might wake someone – or something.

Lumst had poked around in the stable at the furthest end of the row. It stank of oily liquids – black and greasy substances – and he was glad enough to leave. He had then managed to gain entrance to the next building by crawling under a damaged bottom section of the bolted door. Here were sacks of reeking white powders, long abandoned, together with a variety of coloured metal drums, tangled rolls of unfathomable tubing, and tarry wooden posts. A rickety wicker basket, close to collapse, stood in the middle of the gently sloping stone floor. It contained a shabby coverlet, thickly coated with animal hair, and there was a strong, musky smell about it – unfamiliar and unpleasant. Pegs was not in this place, and never had been. It was time to move on.

Lumst was used to foraging around in the darkness – albeit under less trying circumstances. His eyes were sharp, and he could see well enough for his purpose. But there was one abroad that night whose eyes, and ears, were sharper still. As the Troggle crawled back
under
the broken door of the stable, thinking to move on to the next, he caught a whiff of the same musky smell that had lingered around the basket. He looked up, and his breath was instantly snatched away from him – chills of terror tightening his scalp. He was face to face with a huge animal, a frightful, shock-haired, unearthly thing, whose ferocious gaze made his insides quake and churn beyond all control. The creature seemed to swell up to an impossible size, blotting out the entire world, its coarse fur standing on end like the spines on a hotchi-witchi.

He was aware of the sinister flexing movement of the great sable paws – and of the deadly claws, curved and vicious, testing their grip on the rough cobbles. He was aware of the tension in the broad shoulder muscles, and of the massive broom of a tail flicking and lashing as the beast gathered itself into a crouch – aware also of the scars on the flat ugly head that sank slowly toward the earth, lower and lower, till the bristling grey muzzle was almost touching the paws. But it was the eyes of the beast that petrified him, that held him to the spot – those deep yellow eyes, malicious and horrifying. He was paralysed completely – fixed in amber. There could be no turning away from that fearful glare. And then from somewhere deep within the belly of the monster, he heard a chilling sound, a low winding moan. Rising up as from a dark pit it came, louder and closer, until at last the great jaws split apart and a terrible shriek burst upon the still night air, harsh and raw and final. There was no escape.

Tojo – the Assassin – the scourge of all living things
that
dared cross his path, burned with fury. The brutish and murderous farm cat was returning from a visit to the cider barn where he had thought to call upon his harem of queens. Tonight the doors had been barred, however, and his purpose had been thwarted. His vicious temperament was consequently at its worst. In outrage, he had retreated to his sanctum, only to find that his right of way here was also obstructed – not by a heavy door, against which even he was impotent, but by some crawling creature, a two-legged rat, occupying and defiling his jealously guarded domain.