‘I will treat her as if she were my own,’ he said, with a smile that tried to be reassuring – and failed miserably.
Bjarni noted the strained expression and wondered whether Anders might be suffering from indigestion. But wisely, he elected not to comment.
‘All right then,’ he said. ‘I’ll be on my way.’
Hal’s home, and the restaurant run by his mother, lay on the far side of Hallasholm. Rather than take the long, looping path home from the shipyard through the town, he chose a short cut that went up into the hills, cutting across a ridge, through the woodland above the town itself. It was peaceful and quiet in the woods and he enjoyed the patterns of light and shade thrown by the trees. This close to the coast, there was a mixture of growth, although pine trees predominated. As a result, there was a pleasant smell of pine needles in the air. He wondered what Erak wanted to see him about. He hoped there was some sort of mission in the offing. He and his crew were becoming stale and bored with short patrols.
Maybe we should go back to raiding, he thought, although he wasn’t serious.
For years, the Skandians had raided coastal settlements along the Stormwhite Sea and down into the Narrow and Constant Seas. Hal’s own mother had been captured in such a raid, in Araluen.
But the treaty Erak had struck some years back with King Duncan of Araluen had included a proviso that the Skandians should desist from that particular pastime, diverting as they might have found it. With their primary activity curtailed, Erak had searched for something else to occupy his restless men. It soon became evident that neighbouring countries would pay, and pay well, for ships and men who might protect their own trading and fishing fleets from predators. As a result, the Skandians had become a de facto naval police force, hiring out their ships to other countries to protect them from raiders and pirates from Sonderland and Magyara, among other less amenable countries. It had proven to be a good decision, with the revenue they received far exceeding the amount that they had made from raiding.
Of course, that had all happened when Hal was a mere child. But there were many older Skandians who remembered those old raiding days – some with a certain amount of nostalgia, it had to be admitted.
He spotted a bunch of yellow wildflowers growing beside the track and he paused, stooping to pick them for his mother. Karina loved having flowers in the house. As he stopped, he heard a rustling noise in the bushes behind him. He paused, his hand on the stems of the flowers.
‘Who’s there?’ he called. The thought occurred that it might be Stig or one of the other crew members, playing a joke on him. It was the sort of thing Jesper would do. The former thief loved to practise his old craft, sneaking around without being seen or heard.
Hal straightened up, half turning to look at the thick bushes where the sound had originated.
‘I can hear you, Jesper,’ he called, a trace of irritation in his voice.
The only answer was a rumbling growl from the shadows beneath the trees. The hairs on the back of Hal’s head stood on end. That definitely wasn’t Jesper, he thought. His hand dropped to the hilt of his saxe knife. As it did, he realised how insignificant that weapon would be if the sound was what he thought it was.
Namely, a bear’s snarl.
He had never heard a bear. But he assumed that a bear’s growl would be pretty much what he had just heard – deep, resonant and threatening. He began to back away along the path, stumbling on a protruding tree root and hastily regaining his balance, his heart in his mouth. Instinct told him that it would be best to move slowly. Yet every nerve in his body was screaming for him to run.
The bushes moved, as whatever was in there kept pace with him. Or was that why they moved, he wondered. It could be he was imagining things and it was simply the wind moving the branches.
Except there was no wind.
Kloof!
The sound was short, abrupt and threatening. He stopped, peering into the shadowy spaces between the thick bushes, trying to get some sight of what was following him. Nothing moved. He took another step backwards. Then another. Now fear was winning over instinct and he began to move faster, putting as much distance as possible between him and this growling, kloofing bear.
Kloof!
There it was again. Peremptory. Commanding. The bear obviously didn’t want him to get away. He stopped, and now he could see the bushes moving again. He could hear the passage of a heavy body shoving the undergrowth aside. It seemed to be moving at about waist height, and he estimated that a bear moving on all fours would be about that high.
He saw eyes glowing in the shadows beneath the bushes, then a face pushed through into the open.
Not a bear, he sighed with relief. A dog. But a dog bigger than any he had ever seen. So big, in fact, that it might well have been a small bear.
It was black, with a white muzzle and a white blaze that ran up between its eyes, so that it looked as if it were wearing a black mask. The body was black, with a white chest and a white underbody. The legs were black to about halfway down their length, where the black fur gave way to tan socks and white feet. There were tan markings on its jowls as well, and a tan spot above each eye. With its eyes evenly bisected by that white strip, and the two identical markings above them, there was a pleasing symmetry to the dog’s looks. Everything seemed to be just right, correctly in place. Its ears were floppy and black, again with tan highlights at the tips.
Kloof!
The dog spoke again and Hal sensed that it was hesitating about coming any closer. He dropped to one knee and held out his right hand, palm down and fingers loosely curled, towards the animal.
‘Kloof yourself,’ he said in a gentle, welcoming tone. ‘Come and say hello.’
The dog edged out from the bushes, then retreated half a pace, eyes fixed on Hal. He remained unmoving, still with his hand outstretched. The dog took another pace and emerged fully from the bushes. The big, heavy tail wagged tentatively. No, it didn’t wag, Hal corrected himself. It waved. Back and forth, back and forth, gaining conviction as it did so.
‘Don’t be frightened,’ he said, thinking how ironic that was. When he’d thought it was a bear, the dog had nearly caused him to lose control of his basic functions.
The dog shook its head. Kloof! it said again.
Hal nodded approvingly. ‘That’s quite a bark you have there,’ he told it. He wriggled his fingers and the dog moved a pace closer. Then two more.
It stopped just out of reach of his outstretched hand.
‘Don’t know what you’re scared of,’ he told it, speaking in a low voice. ‘You could bite my arm off at the elbow if you had a mind to.’
The dog moved closer still. He could feel its warm breath huffing onto his knuckles. Then the tongue came out and licked his fingers. The tail wagged more convincingly as the dog decided it couldn’t taste any threat on his hands.
‘You know,’ he said quietly, ‘my knees are killing me. I might have to stand up.’
He opened his fingers, touching the dog lightly under its chin, rubbing the soft hair there. Its eyes half closed and he reached further, to fondle it under the neck. The dog tilted its head to enjoy the touch.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’m going to stand up now.’
Slowly, he rose from his crouching position. As he began to move, the dog’s eyes snapped open and its ears pricked up in alarm as it reared back half a pace, both its forepaws coming off the ground as it did so. He kept his hand extended, and continued speaking softly to the dog as he stood.
‘Nothing to worry about. Nothing to be afraid of. It’s still just me.’
The dog eyed him warily, then its ears went down and it sidled forward again to be patted. It let out a low-pitched gurgle of pleasure as Hal fondled its ears, then turned and rammed its heavy body against his lower legs, nearly throwing him to the ground. It sat on Hal’s foot, trapping him, and held its chin up for more fondling. He obliged.
‘You’re a big one, aren’t you?’ he told it. ‘Wha
t’s your name?’ He put a little playful urgency in his tone as he repeated the question, ruffling the fur on its head and ears. ‘What’s your name, eh? What’s your name?’
The dog stood abruptly, tail lashing back and forth.
Kloof! it said. He considered the sound.
‘Well, I suppose that’s as good a name as any,’ he told it.
On closer inspection, Hal determined that Kloof, as he now called the dog, was a female. She led the way back to his house, or rather, she pranced ahead of him, turning back from time to time to make sure she was heading in the same direction he was, wagging her tail to encourage him to keep up.
They approached the side door to the restaurant kitchen, where Hal would normally expect to find his mother, preparing for the evening’s trade. He gestured to Kloof to sit and, somewhat to his surprise, she did.
‘Wait here,’ he told her. She thumped her tail once on the ground. Some instinct told him that it might be unwise to let such a large animal come into the restaurant – particularly the part where his mother did the cooking. He mounted the steps to the side door and pushed it open, peering inside.
‘Mam?’ he called tentatively, rehearsing his next words. He wasn’t sure whether to start with ‘Look what I found’ or ‘Can I keep it?’. Either choice was a risk. ‘Look what I found’ left itself open to a reply along the lines of, ‘Fascinating. Now go and lose it,’ while ‘Can I keep it?’ invited the terse rejoinder, ‘No.’
There was no answer, and he edged inside the kitchen, turning back to make sure that Kloof hadn’t come any further. She sat watching him. Her tail thumped once or twice on the ground.
‘Good girl,’ he said softly. ‘Stay.’
He held up a hand to reinforce the command, then moved through the kitchen to where he could peer into the restaurant itself.
‘Mam?’ he called softly.
There was no reply. He tried again, a little louder this time.
‘Mam? Are you there?’
‘She’s gone to the market.’
The voice was right behind him and he leapt in shock, spinning round to see Thorn standing only a metre away.
‘Orlog’s breath, Thorn! Don’t sneak up on me like that!’ he said, his voice rising to an undignified high register.
Thorn shrugged. ‘I didn’t sneak up. I just walked in here, while you were bellowing for Karina.’
‘Well, you might have let me know you were there!’ Hal said, regaining his composure and trying to cover his embarrassment with righteous indignation.
Again, the old warrior shrugged. ‘I did. I said, “She’s gone to the market.” You seem a little jumpy today,’ he added, eyeing the younger man curiously.
‘Jumpy? Not at all,’ Hal replied. He looked around the kitchen, moving to the bin where Karina threw meat offcuts. It was nearly full and he took a large handful of beef scraps out.
Thorn raised an eyebrow. ‘Your jumpiness wouldn’t have anything to do with that whacking great black and white horse you’ve got parked outside, would it? By the way,’ he added, gesturing to the meat in Hal’s hands, ‘last I heard, horses don’t eat beef. They eat grass and oats.’
‘It’s not a horse. It’s a dog,’ Hal told him.
‘Could have fooled me,’ Thorn replied. ‘Although the floppy ears have a doggy side to them.’
It occurred to Hal that Thorn must have come past the dog to enter the kitchen. ‘How come she didn’t bark when you came in?’ he asked.
‘Horses don’t bark. And besides, they like me. I have a way with horses.’
‘Is that right?’ Hal said. He stepped past Thorn to the door and elbowed it open. Kloof was still sitting where he had left her, eyeing the door and thumping the ground with her tail. ‘And I keep telling you, she’s not a horse.’
He descended the stairs, and held out the meat to Kloof. Her ears came up and she reared back off her forepaws with excitement, bringing them thudding back to the ground together.
‘Horses do that,’ Thorn observed.
Hal tossed the meat onto the grass in front of Kloof. She trembled expectantly, eyes riveted on him, until he gestured to the meat.
‘Go ahead,’ he said, and she immediately dropped her head, snuffling and whuffling as she gulped up the meat in great mouthfuls. He looked sidelong at Thorn. ‘Horses don’t do that,’ he pointed out.
Thorn tilted his head to one side in mock surprise. ‘Well, what do you know? Maybe it is a dog after all. Where did you find it?’
‘She found me, up on the mountain track. Came out of the bushes and frightened three years’ growth out of me. I thought she was a bear.’
‘Bears don’t grow that big,’ Thorn said. ‘Any idea who might own her?’
Hal shook his head. ‘Haven’t seen her around the town,’ he said. ‘And she’d be a bit hard to miss. My guess is she got lost in the mountains and wandered over the ridge.’
‘She’s pretty scruffy,’ Thorn said and Hal nodded.
‘Needs a brushing. I’ll get onto that.’
Kloof had finished the meat and was sniffing around experimentally, hoping that another piece might have materialised out of thin air. Hal clicked his fingers and she looked up instantly.
‘Come on, Kloof,’ he said and started to walk towards the back of the building, where he and Karina had their living quarters. Thorn, of course, still lived in his small lean-to against the side of the building.
‘What did you call her?’ Thorn asked, tagging along with Hal and the dog.
‘Kloof,’ Hal said.
Thorn frowned. ‘Kloof?’
The dog reared her forepaws off the ground again. Kloof! she barked.
Thorn made a moue with his mouth. ‘Forget I asked. Well, I’ve got work to do. I was varnishing some benches when you came in and started bellowing for your mam. Better get back to it. Oh, and good luck with Karina,’ he added, as he turned away.
‘Why would I need good luck?’ Hal asked. He had a vague feeling that pretending not to know what Thorn was alluding to would make it less likely to happen.
‘You’ll need it when you ask her if you can keep Choof there,’ Thorn said.
Kloof! said the dog.
Thorn bowed in her direction. ‘I stand corrected.’
‘I don’t need to ask my mam if I can keep her. I don’t need anyone’s permission. I’m a skirl. I have my own ship and my own crew. I don’t ask permission. I give it. And I hereby give it to myself. I may keep the dog.’
Thorn grinned. ‘Let me run a few possible reactions past you,’ he said. He thought for a few seconds, then quoted, in a reasonably accurate imitation of Karina’s voice:
‘I won’t have it here. It’ll get hair all over the place. And it’ll smell. And it’s too big. It’ll eat us out of house and home. Take it back where you found it.’ He paused. ‘How’s that for starters?’
‘She’ll be a great watchdog,’ Hal said in reply. ‘She’ll keep thieves away from the house and the restaurant. And she’ll keep pests away too.’
‘All excellent arguments,’ Thorn said, turning to go.
Hal caught his sleeve, betraying his underlying anxiety about Karina’s reaction to the dog. ‘Do you think they’ll convince her?’
‘Not for a second.’
Hal pursed his lips as his friend strolled back to the front of the building, where he had been working. He looked critically at Kloof.
‘Maybe I should tidy you up. If you’re brushed and shining, she’ll see what a good dog you are.’
He went into their living quarters, looking for something to brush the dog with. Needless to say, he found nothing in his own room, but in Karina’s dressing room he came upon an old hairbrush and a carved wooden comb. He nodded to himself.
‘She’s had these for ages,’ he said. ‘She won’t mind my borrowing them.’
He went back outside and set to work on Kloof’s coat, dragging the comb and brush through her matted fur, gradually clearing the tangles and brambles that she had c
ollected, and stripping out the old, dead hair. She grunted with pleasure at the touch of the brush, only complaining when he attacked the thick tangles around her ears, pulling her head sideways as he did. Being an alpine dog, she had a double coat, and there was twice as much work to do. But after a good hour of brushing and combing, when his arms were aching from the effort, her black coat was shining and lustrous. He looked at the pile of loose hair growing around her, marvelling at the sheer volume.
‘I’ve nearly got enough for another dog here,’ he muttered.
Kloof grunted at him.
‘Where in the name of Boh-Raka did you find that? And what is it?’
Karina’s voice cracked like a whip. Hal turned nervously and rose from the low stool where he had been sitting. His mother was a diminutive woman by Skandian standards, and she was still beautiful by any standards. She could also be extremely intimidating when she chose to be.
She was choosing to be now.
‘It’s a dog,’ he said, trying for an ingratiating smile. He gestured with the hairbrush. ‘Look how shiny her coat is.’
Karina’s eyes widened with rage as she saw the brush in his hand. ‘What have you got there? Have you been brushing that . . . cow . . . with my hairbrush?’
He looked at the brush as if noticing it for the first time. ‘It’s an old one,’ he said. ‘You’ve had it for years. I knew you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Does it occur to you that I’ve had it for years because it is my favourite hairbrush?’ she said icily.
Hal actually backed away. Kloof looked worried.
‘Your favourite?’ he said, desperately tugging at the thick wads of dog hair caught in its bristles. ‘I’m sure it’s all right.’
‘It’s ruined.’
‘No, no,’ he said, discarding huge handfuls of dog hair, tossing them behind him as if that would prevent her seeing them. ‘It’ll be good as new, I promise. I’ll clean it up in a jiffy. See?’ He held it out to her, realised that it was still heavily laden with dog hair, and snatched it back again, tugging more tufts of black and white fur out of it.
Slaves of Socorro Page 3