The Various (42 page)

‘I’ll sithee suffer for this,’ growled Scurl, baring his teeth in a snarl as Grissel – committed now – roughly pulled the Ickri captain’s dripping wet hands behind his back and bound them. ‘I’ll bring ’ee to sorrow, Grissel, I can promise ’ee that.’ And Scurl spat into the dirty puddle he was sitting in.

George ran past the doorway, checked himself, and skipped back a few paces. He looked in wonderingly. ‘What’s going on – hey! – who said you could borrow my WaterBlaster, Katie?’

Katie rolled her eyes. ‘Well, under the
circumstances
 . . .’ she said, witheringly. George looked around and said, ‘Oh. Yeah. OK.’ He began to get a clearer idea of the situation and said, ‘Blimey! How many have you
got
in here? And what’s . . . is that Tojo? Who’re those two up there? And look at all this glass and stuff. It’s like there’s been a
war
in here or something.’

‘There has,’ said Katie. ‘We won.’

Chapter Twenty-six

PHOEBE, HAVING BEEN
left to guard the struggling occupants of the lagoon, was becoming increasingly disenchanted with the whole business. She didn’t like the lagoon, for a start. It was obviously unsafe out there. She had crept cautiously around the outer rim, alternately barking at the strange intruders, and then looking worried as she felt the tremors of the less than solid surface beneath her paws.

She had vague memories of other times – times when she had leapt into the rhynes to retrieve waterfowl, splashed and paddled across the flooded fields for whatever it was that needed fetching (‘Fetch, Phoebe! Fetch! Good girl!’) In recent years a quiet stroll on firmer ground – to the jolly place where they all made a fuss of her and fed her titbits – was more to her liking. Nowadays she might fetch a crisp, if it was thrown within reach, but little more. She certainly didn’t fancy trying to retrieve whatever it was that was squelching and shrieking and floundering about in the middle of the lagoon.

There was a tree she knew of, a shady place,
peaceful
and not far away, where she could be happy. She gave a final woof, and padded off, half guiltily, towards the gate at the far end of the stables.

Maglin’s eyes were not what they were, perhaps, but from the forest, he could still see sharply enough to track the distant speck of the black Gorji hound as it disappeared within the settlement once more. He sighed. This was against his judgement – and his will. It was madness indeed. He looked down through the branches at Pegs, who stood waiting on the hillside at the edge of the wood.

‘I be ready then, Pegs,’ he called down, resignedly, ‘though I never looked for this day, I’ll tell ’ee that.’ He spread his wings and dived out over the hillside, the bunch of feathers on his spear fluttering noisily as he picked up speed. The white horse took a few short steps, and then leapt forward, beating hard.

Pegs landed at the back of the stables, and waited for Maglin – who came to earth rather heavily, cursing as he dropped his spear. They quickly moved closer to the shelter of the stable wall, glanced around warily, and then stood regarding the commotion going on in the centre of the lagoon. Maglin took a few deep breaths through his flared nostrils. He wasn’t used to such sustained exertion – moreover, he felt exposed and uncomfortable so far from his own territory, unconvinced, also, of the wisdom of this venture.

‘Hemmed fools,’ he muttered, looking at the struggling bodies in the lagoon – unrecognizable
almost
, so pitiable a state were they in. ‘Though no more so than we, I reckon. There ain’t a one of us has any business being here.’

Perhaps. Although we may do good, even yet
.

‘Well, we shan’t do
they
much good. There’ll be no easy way out o’ that lot. And
I
shan’t be going in after them, that I
do
know. Well, let ’em rot then – I care not – we’d be better to find what’s become of t’others. If I can get my own hide back to the forest safe, along with Tadgemole’s maid and the Woodpecker, then maybe ’twill have been worth the toil – though they may wish they’d drownded along with that band o’ cut-throats by the time I’ve finished with ’em. And as for
Scurl
– well he might reckon ’twould be better to cut his
own
throat, than let me get a hold of it.’

They shrank back against the wall at that moment, for there was a sound of approaching voices.

‘There they are!’ A Gorji youth jumped over the fence at the barn end of the stables and walked over to the lagoon. He was followed by a strange procession of woodlanders and more of the Gorji.

Scurl and Snerk, dripping wet, their hands bound behind their backs, stumbled through the docks and thistles, apparently under the direction of a tall Gorji maid, who bore some desperate-looking weapon. Grissel also, astonishingly, seemed to be assisting the Gorji in keeping his fellow archers under guard. Maglin recognized the second maid to appear: it was the girl, Midge. She followed, carrying bows and quivers and a skein of twine – brightly hued stuff – slung over her arm. Finally, the Woodpecker and the
Tinkler
maid – safe, it would seem, and unbound. This unlikely company gathered at the edge of the lagoon, their backs toward the stable wall – none had yet noticed Pegs and Maglin, all their attention being on the three dismal figures trapped in the stinking mire.

George said, ‘Here, let me see if I can throw them a line.’

Midge put the bows and arrows down and handed the binder twine to George – feeling that while she would have been just as capable of throwing a line as he, she would rather not be attached by a bit of string to the likes of Benzo if she could avoid it.

It took a minute or two to unravel the twine and rewind it into a loose coil. Then George shouted, ‘Hoy, see if you can grab hold of this!’ and slung the coil out over the lagoon. It wasn’t a bad throw, landing as it did within reach of the tangle of limbs that thrashed around in the ooze – and frantic hands instantly battled with each other to grasp the twine. Shouts and spluttered curses rang out on the still morning air, each of the archers prepared to trample the others into a horrible grave if only their own wretched skin could be saved.

‘This is no good,’ gasped George, unable to make headway, and he shouted, ‘One at a time! Take it in turns!’ He might as well have tried to get a pack of starving jackals to form an orderly queuing system. The struggle deepened, with more murderous curses, and it was apparent that none would give up whatever hold they had on the lifeline.

‘Benzo! Leave go of it. And you, Flitch! Let it be, if you value your hides. Leave go, the pair of ’ee!’ Maglin had walked quietly forward and appeared as if by magic among the group – standing next to Grissel (who jumped sideways in surprise) and giving orders in his familiar rough bark. He looked up at George, who was staring at him in amazement, and said, ‘Now, young’un, haul away, and see what ’ee do fish out o’ there.’

Katie had hesitantly turned the WaterBlaster in the direction of the newcomer, but Midge touched her on the arm and shook her head.

‘It’s their leader,’ she said, quietly, ‘Maglin. Don’t know where
he’s
come from though.’ She glanced around, and her eyes widened as she saw Pegs, standing motionless, half-hidden among the tall thistles by the stable wall. He was obviously in no hurry to make himself known, so Midge just gave him a smile – pleased that he had come – and turned back to face the lagoon once more.

Maglin was indeed their leader, and it was evidence of his authority that Benzo and Flitch immediately let go of the binder twine, thus allowing Dregg to be first out of the mire. It proved heavy going, however, and Midge had to help George after all, wrapping the twine around her hands and heaving on a count of three. Bit by bit, and with many squelching and sucking noises, Dregg was hauled from the black ooze. On reaching firmer ground, the wretched little being struggled to his knees and tried to rise, but Maglin stepped forward and pushed against him with his foot,
growling
, ‘Stay down,’ so Dregg slumped into a miserable and smelly heap at the edge of the lagoon.

Flitch and Benzo were dragged from the pit in a similar fashion, until at last the noisome trio were sprawling, covered from head to toe in ancient manure, on more or less dry land. Maglin looked at them in disgust, and then spoke to Midge, resting the butt of his spear on the ground and standing before her, square on.

‘So then, maid, we’m face to face once more – and the sooner than I should have liked. What shall we say of this? Here’s half my company near drownded in muck, others bound in thy power, and one,’ he looked accusingly at Grissel, ‘ready to do thy bidding, it seems. And what that hemmed Woodpecker and Tadgemole’s maid be doing here’s a puzzlement beyond my ravelling. Perhaps thee’d care to make a beginning, then – for I be all ears.’

‘Oh!’ Katie gasped. She had just seen the white horse. All eyes followed the direction of her astonished gaze, and Pegs, seeing himself to be discovered, stepped into the open, gracefully picking his way among the tall clumps of dock and thistle – a thing of shining and unutterable beauty against the ugly contrast of scrub and weed. He tossed his head as he approached, the sunlight catching on his long silver mane and the white velvety folds of his wings. Midge glanced at George and Katie, who stood open-mouthed in wonder, and she thought her heart would burst with pride as the magical creature walked slowly up to her and nuzzled her hand.

‘Hallo, Pegs,’ she whispered, ‘how are you?’

She had expected that her friend might reply – that the word-colours might enter her consciousness and of those about her, so that her cousins might see how truly extraordinary the animal was – but Pegs just whinnied softly and looked about him. He doesn’t want them to know, thought Midge, and somehow this pleased her too.

Maglin looked at Pegs, and also understood. He would be careful.

‘Come, maid,’ he said, gruffly, ‘I be listening.’

‘I don’t
know
what’s going on,’ said Midge, turning away from Pegs towards Maglin once more. ‘Honestly. They broke in,’ she pointed at Scurl, ‘
him
, and all the rest of them. They
want
something, some metal thing, a . . . a touchstone? Something to do with a touchstone?
I
don’t know what it is.
I
haven’t got it. Henty gave me a little bowl, but that’s all. And they’ve been trying to
kill
us – shooting at us . . .’

‘ ’Tis a lie!’ broke in Scurl. ‘Don’t ’ee believe her, Maglin. She lies, as all the Gorji do lie. We were but hunting, trying our luck on Gorji land as do the Wisp. Trying to bring a bit o’ good to our hungry tribespeople. ’Twas no more ’n that! Trapped and tricked, we’ve been, by these hemmed giants, till we’m near run to death. ‘Tis right good to see thee, General, and now I hopes we can all return safe to our own.’

Maglin turned on Scurl and said, ‘Don’t speak to me,
captain
, for I ain’t begun with
thee
yet. Nor thee, Benzo, nor any of ’ee. And when I do, thee s’ll know it – for ’twill be look out all! Here’s trouble this day as
shall
lay heavy on thy broken heads for many a moon to come – I can promise ’ee that.’ The irate Ickri leader looked thoughtfully at Grissel. ‘Now, what be your tale, I wonder, to turn you against your own? For that’s as ’twould seem, that you be with the Gorji in this. Speak.’

‘What the maid says is true,’ said Grissel, quietly. ‘We did come here – not to hunt, as Scurl claims – but to find some precious thing, some part o’ the Touchstone that Benzo heard ’ee talking ’bout . . .’

‘Lickspittle!’ roared Scurl. ‘Turncoat! What bist fooling at, Grissel?’

Maglin brandished his spear at Scurl. ‘Be silent! If I find an open mouth on ’ee again, then
you’ll
find
this
sticking out of it! The Touchstone,’ he said to Grissel, ‘What do ’ee know of it?’

‘Only that there be some part o’ it gone – stolen by the Gorji maid, ’cording to Benzo – and that if we was to get it back then it might have some witchi-pocus that could be used to our good.’

Maglin threw Pegs a puzzled glance as he continued to quiz Grissel. ‘Stolen by the
Gorji
maid?’ he said. ‘
This
Gorji maid, thought you?’

‘ ’Cording to Benzo – for he and Flitch saw her put some tinsy thing in her roundabout when she were leaving the forest.’

‘But that was just a little bowl!’ broke in Midge. ‘Henty
gave
it to me. I haven’t stolen anything.’

Maglin thought that he began to see daylight. It was obvious that Scurl had somehow got wind of his conversation with Pegs about the missing part of the
Touchstone
– although he couldn’t see how, as yet. No matter. They must have heard mention that a Gorji maid had taken it – and assumed that it was Midge, rather than Celandine. Then they had seen Midge with some trinket that the Tinkler chi’ had given her . . .

‘This thing, this . . . bowl,’ he said to Midge. ‘Where is it?’

Midge looked at George. ‘Did you pick it up?’ she said.

‘No,’ George looked puzzled, remembering. ‘I went back, but it had gone.’