His words acting like a trigger, the attention of the Outer Circle rats switched immediately to the heap of gulls sprawled between the Chamberlain and the handsome forms of White Muzzle and his two sons, Red Coat and Fire Eyes.
‘Yes, comrades, our Hunters plunder the nests of the white birds. But they do so sparingly. Because the kills are not excessive, the white birds remain on the world above, a constant source of tender young flesh for the Inner Circle.
‘So it is with the grey-furred swimmers who emerge from the waters during the Warm Cycle. Only the weakest and least defended of their young are carried off by the slaves. There is no alarm, no fear. The No-Legs always return to breed again.’
Long Snout paused now to regard the six Scavengers who had accompanied the hunting pack on its recent foray. Quivering, terror-stricken, surrounded by fierce Hunters, the slaves huddled together, seeking some solace from their closeness. They had been to the outside world, had learned its secret. They had sensed freedom there. Their fate was clear – and imminent.
‘Warriors of the Outer Circle!’ cried Long Snout. ‘Your source of food is also plentiful and controlled with care. The Scavengers are the slaves of our society. They carry for us and dig for us. They are also your sustenance. We allow them to breed freely and to infest their lair. They devour each other to still their hunger. But those who survive are strong and well-fed, their flesh well able to satisfy your own appetites.
‘However, we must never forget, comrades, that the Scavengers are warriors like us. There are many of them. They must be watched over constantly here in the dark world and on the world above. Remember, warriors, without vigilance there will be insurrection by the Scavengers! Without vigilance there will be discovery and destruction by the Two-Legs!’
Sensing that the Assembly had come to a close, many in the Outer Circle began to shift restlessly, eager for their share of slave meat.
‘Hold, comrades!’ screeched Long Snout, the sheer ferocity of his cry commanding renewed attention.
‘Recently, our Watchers have reported sightings of many Two-Legs – many more than usual – on the giant which steps over the waters and casts its shadow on our world. We sense danger. We fear the prying eyes of the Two-Legs. Until the danger passes, more Watchers will be posted on the outside world. Be vigilant, Watchers! Keep us informed of the Two-Legs’ movements.’
The Chamberlain paused, his eyes locking on Sharp Claws. The Chief Watcher bowed curtly, signifying his acknowledgement of this new command.
‘Now, comrades!’ Long Snout cried with a flourish. ‘The Assembly is over! Let the feasting begin!’
– o –
– Chapter Four –
Excitement spread through both Inner and Outer Circles, although the cause of the excitement in each case was quite different. On the platform, White Muzzle, as befitted his rank, was first to claim a gull, seizing the bird in his massive jaws and dragging its carcass closer to Red Coat and Fire Eyes. There, the King-rat and his princes proceeded to rip open the bird’s soft belly and then bury their muzzles deep in its exposed and spilling stomach. In similar fashion, some of the elders led by Long Snout claimed another of the gulls, while the last was snatched away and set upon by a group of lesser Rulers. Salivating freely, the remaining members of the Inner Circle waited eagerly, ready to pounce on the carcasses once the others had taken their fill. Later, the remnants of the carcasses would be carried through to the Inner Circle lair to be picked clean by the she-rats. The bones would be chewed on, and the feathers would be used to line the Rulers’ nests. Nothing would be wasted.
Events on the floor of the Common lair were no less exciting. As the Outer Circle rats looked on in anticipation, a band of Protectors closed in on the trembling Scavengers. At the head of the band were Jagged Fangs and Neck-Snapper, both skilled executioners. Once slain, three of the slaves would be claimed by the Protectors, whose lair numbered more than a hundred rats. The carcasses of the other slaves would be shared by the smaller lairs of the Hunters and Watchers.
Jagged Fangs was first to move. Jaws snapping, he leapt at the throat of the nearest slave. His victim struggled momentarily and then fell limp, blood gushing from its gaping neck. In the next instant, Neck-Snapper lunged towards another slave, but this time the intended victim was too quick. Side-stepping the attack, the slave sprang suddenly at the Protector’s eyes. A great shriek of pain erupted from Neck-Snapper. Just as unexpectedly, the slave sprang away from the line of Protectors, literally propelling its body into the startled crowd of Hunters and Watchers, and then flew past them towards the tunnel that led to the outside world.
Quick to recognise their route to salvation, the other slave-rats also leapt into the crowd. Desperately clawing and gouging any who blocked their way, they, too, broke free and sped towards the tunnel. In total uproar, almost two hundred Outer Circle warriors raced after them.
‘Wait!’ screamed Long Snout.
The power of his command seemed to bounce off the walls of the lair, overwhelming the din from the chase. The pursuit came to a sudden halt. ‘Fools!’ he roared, his muzzle still dripping blood. ‘By now, the Scavengers will have escaped to the outside world. It will be too light – and therefore too exposed – to hunt for them. We must wait until darkness.
‘One Eye,’ he turned to the Chief Hunter, ‘send your best warriors when darkness falls. Bring the slaves back to me!
‘Until then, more Watchers are needed above. Sharp Claws, make sure you send your best. I want reports of the slaves’ movements!’
With an angry snort, the Chamberlain returned to his carcass.
– o –
– Chapter Five –
Long Snout had been right. The return to the Common lair of the two entrance tunnel guards, bleeding and shamefaced, confirmed that the slaves had made good their escape. Now the worst was feared for Small Face. The tiny, unsuspecting Watcher would have stood little chance against the onslaught of five vicious and desperate Scavengers.
Sharp Claws chose three Watchers for the daylight duty. To mark the start of his period of punishment, Fat One would replace Small Face at the top of the entrance tunnel. The tasks assigned to Twisted Foot and Long Ears were more wide-ranging and dangerous. Their job was to scour the island, locate the escapees and observe their activities. Before nightfall came, they would return to the underworld to report on what they had seen. Quietly, efficiently, the Hunters would then move in for the capture.
Although he was deformed and still very young, Twisted Foot was noted for his keen intelligence and for his coolheadedness in the face of danger. These qualities had impressed Sharp Claws on more than one occasion. Like Twisted Foot, Long Ears was barely two full Cycles. Although on the small side, he was nimble and quick-witted. As his name implied, his ears were exceptionally large, rendering his appearance floppy and comical. His ears, though, were also his greatest attributes, providing him with a sense of hearing that was second to none in the Watchers’ lair.
Heaving and groaning, Fat One clambered up the long tunnel. He was tired and hungry, and certainly not relishing the prospect of this extra watch. Behind him, Twisted Foot and Long Ears were also apprehensive. The mission, they knew, was important to the underworld. It would be arduous and perilous. To succeed, they had to get close to the Scavengers. The slaves had already demonstrated their prowess, had tasted the blood of fellow warriors; discovery by them would spell certain death. Exposed in the brightness of day, the Watchers would have to exercise great caution and stealth.
With a final grunt, Fat One squeezed through the gap in the flagstones, emerging into the half-darkness created by the overhanging debris. Twisted Foot and Long Ears appeared moments later. Soon, all three were sniffing through the rubble in search of Small Face. A trail of fresh blood led them to a dark corner of the monastery and a narrow crack at the base of the stonework where the walls met.
Twisted Foot peered excitedly into the crack. ‘Small Face?’ he cried. ‘Are you there?’
‘I – I’m sorry,’ he whimpered. ‘I couldn’t stop them.’
Fat One nuzzled into Small Face. ‘You did well to stay alive, comrade,’ he consoled.
‘Return to the lair now,’ Twisted Foot said softly. ‘Tell Sharp Claws what happened. Rest up. We’ll take over here.’
As Small Face began his painful descent to the underworld and Fat One concealed himself beneath the rubble, Twisted Foot and Long Ears set off gingerly from the relative safety of the ruins. Needing a vantage point, they travelled in parallel paths up to the high ground on the east of Inchgarvie. From there, they would have a clear view of all sides of the island.
They climbed with their backs to the railway bridge, fearfully aware that their progress might be observed by any number of inquisitive Two-Legs. Fortunately, the terrain was strewn with rocks, which provided plenty of cover for the two Watchers. Darting from the shadow of one boulder to the next, each paused, listened, watched and then repeated the manoeuvre. It was some time, therefore, before they reached the top of the slope. Nervous, breathing heavily, they crouched side by side, Long Ears pointing to the west and Twisted Foot to the east. Now utterly exposed, they pressed their bodies flat to the ground.
Long Ears craned his neck to peer down the slope that he had just ascended. His gaze swept over the monastery and the jagged strip of rock that jutted into the sea behind it, and then shifted up to the immense orange-red superstructure of the Forth Bridge. Just as the Chamberlain had warned – indeed, as Long Ears himself had observed on previous watches – gangs of Two-Legs were active along the length of the bridge. Thankfully, the presence of the Watchers seemed to have gone unnoticed by those closest to Inchgarvie.
Long Ears resumed his search of this side of the island, scanning the craggy slopes to the north and south, examining and re-examining the ruins of the monastery. Except for the occasional flap of a white bird, there was no movement.
Twisted Foot’s scrutiny took in the steep rock-faces which dropped directly in front of him and to his left and right. This was where the white birds dwelt – and where the Hunters stalked in the dark of night. With gulls now taking off, wheeling and landing in rotation, there was a great deal of activity among the recesses and crannies, but so far no sign of the fugitive slaves. Further ahead of him, he could see the flat, moss-grown roof of the concrete gun emplacement which perched on the island’s promontory. Beyond that was the empty sea and the faint outline of another larger island on the horizon.
Patiently, as still as the ground beneath them, the Watchers waited for their quarry to emerge.
– o –
– Chapter Six –
Although not particularly cold, the day was a dull one. Oppressive grey clouds filled the sky. Rain was not far off. The sea was also dirty grey and sluggish, its surface barely ruffled by the light morning breeze. Familiar sounds vied with each other along the estuary: the monotonous growl of traffic on the road bridge, drowned suddenly by the rush of an express train over the nearby rail bridge; the distant, steady thrum of passing vessels, punctured by the shrieks of swooping gulls.
Crouched on the crest of the island, Twisted Foot and Long Ears attempted to block out the sounds of life around them, to concentrate on the terrain immediately below, straining to catch some unfamiliar noise or to glimpse some unusual activity. Both came in rapid succession. A flurry of movement at the foot of the eastern slope was followed by the raucous call of a gull in distress and then the sharp crack of wings beaten against rock. Hearing the gull’s cry in the same instant as his companion, Long Ears shifted round quickly to join Twisted Foot in his search of the lower slope.
Flapping and croaking, the gull tumbled out from the rocks. A slave-rat clung to its back, while another tugged furiously on the bird’s neck. Others danced around the melee, dodging the wing swipes, waiting to pounce. The struggle was over in seconds. Its gullet now torn open, the bird uttered a last wheezing rattle and then became still.
Another flurry of activity ensued as the five slaves proceeded to half-carry, half-drag their prey away from the rocks and across to the flatter, more defensible surface of the gun emplacement’s roof. Once there, the onslaught was violent and noisy. Growling incessantly, clawing and tearing through the feathers, greedily devouring great chunks of bird flesh, the Scavengers seemed totally unconcerned about any dangers that might lurk near them, only occasionally raising their heads to glance about or to regard with lazy indifference the circle of gulls which hovered high above, sending down screams of empty challenge.
Twisted Foot and Long Ears watched the slaves’ activities with considerable envy. Neither had eaten for some time, nor had they ever tasted the succulent flesh of the white birds; that pleasure was only enjoyed by the ruling Circle. In their eagerness to obtain a clearer view of the carnage, both stretched out over the ridge, but a casual glance up the slope by one of the Scavengers had them promptly shrinking back. Twisted Foot, his heart thudding, knew that their incaution might prove fatal. They were a long way from the underworld. The slaves were fast: if they gave chase, Long Ears might just make it to safety, but his own halting pace would not be enough. With growing dread, he peeked over the edge. The Scavengers were still on the roof, their attention completely absorbed in the gull’s entrails. Twisted Foot drew back again, this time breathing easier.
His relief was short-lived. Only moments later, Long Ears was prodding him urgently.
‘Look!’ his companion whispered. ‘Over there!’
Twisted Foot followed the direction of Long Ears’ gaze. Not far off, a small, brightly coloured Two-Legs vessel was cutting through the placid water at speed, the sound of its engine overpowered for the time being by the thunder of a passing train. The vessel was heading straight for the weather-stained wooden jetty on the south side of the island.
Twisted Foot had observed Two-Legs visitors on several occasions in the past, but never from a place so open and vulnerable as this one. His first impulse was to scuttle in panic down to the monastery, where he and Long Ears could join Fat One in the security of the shadowy ruins, but the impulse was denied by a superior power. Their orders from the underworld were to maintain vigilance over the fugitive slaves: that was what they must continue to do. If we keep as flat and as still as possible, Twisted Foot began to reason, we may not be seen by the Two-Legs. Besides, the visitors hardly ever ventured up to the high ground, usually keeping to the narrow footway which ran round the lower parts of the island. His panic subsided for the moment.
The two occupants of the lime-green dinghy stepped up on to the jetty’s greasy surface. Wearing bright orange lifesaving jackets on top of shiny yellow anoraks, their appearance matched the gaudiness of the dinghy. Both were bareheaded, clean-shaven and young. One carried a plastic box containing a powerful drill; the other a satchel full of short aluminium tubes. Theirs was no casual visit to Inchgarvie: they had business to perform.
Hardly glancing to their left or right, the two men set off immediately for the crest of the island. Regretting their earlier decision to stay put, the Watchers now sunk closer to the edge of the ridge, ready to slip down the steep face of the northern slope. The visitors had climbed only a few steps when a chorus of shouts and whistles from the direction of the bridge halted their progress – and at the same time sent Twisted Foot and Long Ears scrambling over the edge.
Attracted by the din of the hovering gulls, about a dozen workers on the bridge had gathered to watch the slave-rats’ feast. Except for the occasional murmur, they had observed this spectacle in silent fascination. The arrival of the two men on the island now provoked a more excited reaction from them. As the workers shouted, stamped and gesticulated, one of the visitors, mistaking these actions as signs of a jocular greet
ing, grinned and raised his arm to wave back.
‘No!’ cried a worker. ‘Over there!’ He pointed down to the gun emplacement and then cupped his hands round his mouth. ‘Rats!’ he boomed. ‘Hunners o’ them!’
The worker’s exaggeration ringing in their ears, the men moved round the slope with mixed feelings of curiosity and trepidation. In moments, they had a clear view of the oblong concrete building and the rat pack on its roof. They stood quite still, open-mouthed, not daring to get closer. Whoops and catcalls continued to rain down from the bridge.
Undeterred by the constant shrieks of the gulls high above them or by the clamour of the equally distant Two-Legs, the Scavengers had proceeded to gorge on the flesh of their victim. The freedom that had been snatched so recently from their captors; their daring escape from the very jaws of death; the excitement of the kill; the scent of fresh blood in their nostrils: all these sensations combined to intoxicate them. They felt strong, invincible. The sudden appearance only yards away of the brightly clad Two-Legs brought a swift challenge to this new-found confidence.
All five Scavengers stopped abruptly to watch the visitors. Like the visitors, they remained stock-still, unable to decide on their next action. The strange giants showed no outward sign of threat, but, instinctively, the Scavengers sensed immense danger from their presence. A loose rock dislodged by one of the visitors rolled noisily down the slope, breaking the stalemate. Each of the Scavengers flew off in a different direction, scurrying down from the roof and slipping through one of the emplacement’s high slit holes into the safety offered by the building’s dark interior. The men stared for some moments at the bloody mess of bones and feathers abandoned by the rats. Then they returned hastily to the jetty. To a fresh chorus of cheers and whistles from the bridge, the dinghy’s engine spurted into action. The two visitors left the island just as quickly as they had come.
The Island of Whispers Page 2