The Various (39 page)

‘What . . . what’s that, then?’ said Midge, recovering
her
senses a little, and realizing that if she ran she would be immediately pursued. She kept her hand on the banister, and desperately tried to appear calm. Play for time and think.
Think
. Hide, or escape – those were her options.
Where
could she hide, though?
How
could she escape?

‘Zummat that ain’t yourn,’ said Scurl. ‘Zummat you took from the forest. ’Twas no blame to thee, we knows that.’ He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and sniffed.

‘I haven’t taken anything,’ said Midge. Could she get out of a window? Yes, she could get
out
all right – but was unlikely to survive the drop unhurt. She could lock herself in the bathroom, but then she really
would
be trapped. Think of something else.

‘Honestly, I didn’t take anything.’

The three hunters looked tense and uncertain, completely at odds with their surroundings. Their small glittering eyes shone up at her, wild and strange and foreign in the homely familiarity of the hallway. There was a faint smell about them, the odour of hunting animals in a confined space – earthy, nervous, and dangerous. She could hear their breathing.

Scurl edged towards the stairs, placing one dusty brown foot on Phoebe’s old mat. There wasn’t much time. Midge mentally ran around the upstairs rooms, searching in her mind for a hiding place. In her wardrobe? Linen cupboard? No – anywhere that was
in
something was ultimately a prison, a trap.

More time. She needed more time.

‘Tell me what it is you’re looking for,’ she said. ‘Just
tell
me. I don’t understand what you mean.’ The expression on Scurl’s face had changed. The smile had gone and something like a snarl had taken its place. He wasn’t a talker, a negotiator. He was used to getting his own way, without parley. He was about to make a move.

‘Listen,’ said Midge (height, she needed height. Not
in
something, nor
under
something, but
on
something. High up, where they couldn’t see her), ‘I think I know what you mean. Yes,
now
I know what it is you want. It isn’t up here, though, it’s . . . down there. But I’m scared to come down.’ The wardrobe in the middle room. It was huge. Maybe she could get up there and hide on top of it. Then at least if she was discovered, there may still be a chance of jumping down and escaping. But
how
could she get up there?

Scurl had backed off a little. The ingratiating expression, sickening to her, had returned to his ugly little face. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘now we’m more like to strike a bargain, now that you knows what we wants. And I knows what
you
wants, maidy. You wants to forget all these troubles o’ yourn, and go decent and peaceful ’bout your . . . whatever ’tis you do. Just like we. Now that’s easy done. Just you come down yurr, and I do make a proper vow that there’s none shall harm ’ee. Then you may lead us to where ’tis to.’

There was a card table, a little octagonal thing with thin legs – not tall enough by itself, though perhaps if she put a chair on top of it . . . but then they would see. Maybe she could drag the chair up after her . . .

‘All right. But . . . but you’ve got to . . . you’ve got to
 . . .
close your eyes first . . .’ Her reasoning had started to go. What a
stupid
thing to say. She’d blown it.

She saw the shadow of puzzlement as it crossed Scurl’s face – and then the look of decision. He’d had enough. He glanced at the other two and flicked his head in her direction. Midge fled.

There wasn’t enough time – there would never be enough time. She ran straight along the corridor to the bedroom next to Uncle Brian’s and grabbed the cane chair next to the bed. She lifted it up and managed, with a struggle, to place it on top of the card table next to the huge walnut wardrobe, wedging it right back into the corner between the wardrobe and the wall. Shouts and curses echoed up from the stairwell, and she felt as though she wanted to scream with panic. But they hadn’t reached the landing yet. It was a miracle that the table didn’t topple over as she clambered up onto it, yet somehow the wobbly construction stayed upright. She knelt on the chair, gripped the top of the wardrobe, straightened her legs, and heaved herself up over the raised lip. There wasn’t room to pull the chair onto the wardrobe as well. In desperation, she leaned over the edge, caught hold of the back of the chair and lifted the thing up. Swinging it with all her might, she managed to clumsily throw it onto the unmade bed. The chair hung over the edge of the mattress, almost balanced, and then slid gently down until the back legs rested on the floor. It seemed obvious, to her, what she’d done and where she was. But she could do no more. The voices had almost reached the top of the stairs now.
She
curled up into the smallest space she could – and waited.

She was lucky. The Ickri hunters, so adept at moving from branch to branch, gliding, floating and swooping through the airy foliage of the forest, were not so good with narrow staircases. Vertical take-off – in fact any sort of take-off – was not their strong point. They needed space, and a good long run up, in order to get airborne. Their hunting strategy was to climb, and then swoop. So whereas Midge had imagined that they would fly up the stairs in a trice, the reality was far from that. The stairs were high obstacles to them, and their wings only an encumbrance. That, coupled with the fact that the three of them were trying to negotiate these obstacles simultaneously, had given Midge more than enough time to reach her goal. It got to the point where she wondered what was keeping them.

But now they were coming. Unfamiliar with the interiors of Gorji dwellings, the footsteps and actions of the hunters were hesitant. Midge could hear their confusion as they ran up and down the corridor and in and out of the end rooms, bare feet slapping on the lino like those of small children. She heard them struggling with various doors – kicking and pushing at those that opened outwards, tugging at those that opened inwards. But they were making progress, and they were beginning to think.

‘Snerk!’ The voice of Scurl: ‘You bide there – and make sure she don’t come back down that gurt ladder again. Grissel – you make a beginning up that end, and I’ll make a beginning up yurr. Best we start again.’

Snerk was thinking too. ‘I reckon she’ve gone,’ he said. ‘Looksee how this be open.’ Midge gathered that he must be talking about the corridor window, for she heard Scurl hurry back down from the bathroom end and scrabble up onto the window seat. His voice became muffled as he leant out, and then louder as he drew back inside.

‘She ain’t got no wings,’ he said. ‘And she wouldn’t have no legs, either, if she’d gone out o’ there. No, I reckon she’m still yurr. Back to it.’

Eventually the bumps and scuffles of doors being opened and furniture being moved, or overturned, drew closer, and Midge was aware that someone had entered the room she was in – someone breathing heavily from exertion. She squeezed her eyes tight shut and prayed and prayed for her safe delivery from all this. Don’t let them find me, please don’t let them find me, don’t don’t don’t.

Immediately she heard, and felt, the tremor of small strong fingers, prying at the wardrobe door. Too short to reach the handles, whoever it was had got hold of the beaded wooden edge and was tugging on it. There was a slight ping, as the catch gave way, and the door opened with a shudder and a squeak. Midge could hear the faint musical clang of wire coat hangers beneath her. Once again, the harsh dry voice of Scurl. ‘Not there, Grissel? Well, she ain’t up t’other end neither. So she must be in yurr. Come out maidy!’ he shouted. ‘ ’Twill only make it hotter for ’ee when we do grab a hold on ’ee.’

Midge stifled a whimper, and pushed her fists against
her
mouth. They would see the chair, and the table – and surely they would figure it out. It seemed so obvious.

‘I reckon Snerk was right,’ came the voice of Grissel. ‘She’s long gone.’

‘No!’ snapped Scurl. ‘She’m still yurr. I knows it. And when I finds her—’ there was a horrible guttural sound, as of a throat being slit.

But then came a long silence. This was even harder for Midge to bear than the rummaging and blundering about that had preceded it. Now she could hear nothing.

After a while, Scurl said, more calmly, ‘Ah, p’raps thee’m right, Grissel. Maybe she’ve gone arter all.’ The hunters moved out into the corridor, and Scurl shouted, ‘Snerk! Come on out o’ it. Reckon she’ve gone, like ’ee said. We’ll jump out o’ here, and take a looksee round the byres.’

Snerk’s footsteps came padding along the corridor. The three of them seemed to be by the open window once more. ‘Out you go then, Grissel,’ said Scurl, loudly. ‘And we’ll follow ’ee. ’Tis quicker’n climbing back down that gurt old ladder.’

Midge could hear scuffling, and then a quick flap of wings. One of them, at least, appeared to have jumped out of the window. Then more scuffling, Scurl’s voice shouting, ‘We’m right behind ’ee, Grissel!’ and a faint muffled reply. Then silence.

It was a very amateur piece, and Midge wasn’t fooled for a second. Scurl, at least, was still up here – and maybe the other one, Snerk, as well.

So it was to be a waiting game. It gave her time to
think
, if nothing else. Why were they here? What did they want? She’d taken nothing from the forest, apart from the curious bowl – which she still hadn’t looked at properly – and which was a gift from Henty. Could
that
be what they were after? Why?

The minutes ticked by, and the silence grew. Maybe they had gone, after all. Or maybe, worse, they were up to something else – like setting the place on fire. They
could
be. What would she do then?

She risked a quick look, raising her head very gently, and peering over the top of the wardrobe. There was nobody in the room, and she ducked down again. Then the tiniest of sounds caught her ear. A brief
pfft
. It came from the bathroom, and she recognized it as being an aerosol – a can of deodorant or something – accidentally touched. They were up at the bathroom end, so the route to the top of the stairs was clear. If she went
now
, before they moved, she may have a chance of getting out. But clambering down from the wardrobe would make too much noise, and would take too much time. Could she jump? Could she jump down onto the bed – and then run? Do it. Don’t think about it, just
do
it.

She sat up and swung her legs over the front of the wardrobe – the old piece of furniture creaking horribly – lifted herself up onto the lip of the frame, and launched herself into space, realizing even as she did so that she had made a terrible mistake. The sound from the bathroom had only meant that
one
of the hunters was there for sure. The other might be anywhere. She bounced off the bed, stumbled, righted
herself
, and dashed out of the room. Swinging round the door frame, she catapulted herself along the corridor – reaching the top of the stairs just as Snerk appeared from the little room at the far end of the landing. An arrow clattered off the banister post as she leaped down the stairs, two at a time, squealing now in terror. The arrow must have been fired by Scurl, because Snerk was still struggling with his bow, unable to shoot over the top of the banister, and so trying to aim between the rails instead. Down she went, as another arrow hit the plastered wall of the stairwell with a sharp crack, like a cap pistol going off. A bit of plaster grit stung her eyelid, as she jumped the last three steps and flung herself at the front door. She yanked the thing open – wrenching her shoulder muscles, and feeling instant pain. Then more pain – something tearing the hair from her scalp – as she turned to heave the door closed behind her. A glimpse she caught, in that fraction of a second, of Scurl, mid-flight as he jumped from the landing with painted wings outstretched – bow and arrow in his grasp. He reminded Midge of a cupid, a terrible, evil kind of cupid.

Down the front path she fled, aware, suddenly, of a dreadful howling sound coming from the direction of the cider barn – the same screeching siren wail that had given her nightmares ever since she’d first heard it. Tojo.

She ran towards the awful noise – and could never later explain why she had done so. The flustered rattle of the cat flap sounded somewhere behind her – she
knew
that Scurl and Snerk were in close pursuit of her – and all instinct should have told her to run away from further danger, rather than towards it; yet towards the sound of Tojo she ran. Something may have told her that the great tom cat might act as a deterrent, or at least a distraction, to her pursuers, but it was certainly not a conscious piece of reasoning. It was simply what she did.

Flying down the length of the yard, feeling as though her heart would burst, she was enveloped in the jagged screeching sounds which grew louder as she came hurtling towards the barn doors, but which then ceased, abruptly, cut to strangulated silence the instant her reaching fingers made contact with the peeling wood. It was as if, in touching the door, she had pressed a switch.