Mossbelly MacFearsome and the Dwarves of Doom

by Alex Gardiner

  ‘Wh-wh-wh...’ Roger stared back at the wall. He looked at the piece of material in his hand and then at the wall again. ‘Wh-what happened? Who was that? What did he say?’

  ‘Ah, nothing, just a death curse.’

  ‘What?’ Roger dropped the bit of cloak and pointed at the empty wall. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Do not concern yourself with it. It’s a simple description of how he will kill you. How many days he will take and the variety of methods he would employ to ensure maximum suffering. That is all.’

  ‘I didn’t...’ Roger could barely speak. ‘I pulled it out–it just–I didn’t mean to–should I go and look for him?’

  ‘Ah, you want to go after him and kill him!’ said the dwarf. ‘Spoken like a true warrior. No, he is long gone. Come to me, I need your assistance.’

  Roger blinked his eyes several times and went over to the dwarf.

  He was sitting on the ground, unfolding a large red handkerchief. He wound it around his leg, pulled it tight and knotted it firmly. The dwarf stood up and stamped his foot, only to give a little shriek of pain and sit down again.

  Roger knelt beside him. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the dwarf, groaning and holding his leg. ‘Very sore leg. Must get away from here. Can you get a wheeled carriage to remove me?’

  ‘A what?’ asked Roger.

  ‘Wheeled carriage. A carriage with wheels, to put me in. I cannot walk far like this.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Roger, looking around. ‘Right, hang on, I’ll see what I can do.’

  CHAPTER

  Three

  Roger left the dwarf sitting on the ground and ran out of the lane. There was nothing on his side of the road but houses. Across the road was a general store with two empty pushchairs sitting outside the entrance.

  Roger crossed the road, grabbed the sturdier-looking of the two pushchairs and wheeled it back to the waiting dwarf.

  ‘Good, Roger,’ said the dwarf. ‘You steal the carriage?’

  ‘Um... borrowed,’ said Roger.

  ‘Help me in,’ said the dwarf, scooping up some small bits of gravel in his hand.

  Roger helped the surprisingly heavy little man get to his feet and then gently settled him into the pushchair.

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ said Roger. ‘My mum’s a nurse. She’ll know what to do with your leg.’

  ‘First,’ said the dwarf, ‘give this to the carriage owner.’ He held out his fist and dropped several small golden nuggets into Roger’s hand. ‘Then we must find the Witchwatcher of Auchterbolton.’

  ‘Is that... gold?’ asked Roger. ‘How did—?’

  ‘Go give, quickly,’ growled the dwarf. ‘We must leave.’

  Roger dodged traffic as he ran back across the road. A puzzled-looking woman holding a toddler by the hand was standing outside the shop; a large shopping bag lay at her feet.

  ‘You lost your pushchair?’ asked Roger.

  The woman nodded.

  ‘Me and a dwarf have borrowed it,’ said Roger, holding out his hand with the golden nuggets. ‘He’s been injured by a gorefiend stabbing him in the leg with a spear. We need to get away quickly. So we’re sorry, but you can buy another buggy with this.’

  The woman’s mouth fell open as Roger dropped the gold into her palm.

  ‘Oh,’ said Roger, looking into the woman’s eyes. ‘And he killed four gorefiends – they smell awful – and now he wants to find a... a Witchwatcher.’ He licked his lips as he thought about what he had just said. ‘What do you think I should do?’ he whispered, staring intently at the woman.

  There was no reply. The woman bit her bottom lip and pulled the toddler closer.

  ‘The gorefiends burn up all yellow,’ Roger continued. ‘And I-I did something really bad with a spear. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to...’

  The woman shook her head. Her mouth opened and closed silently. The toddler tugged at her hand, then kicked over the shopping bag, spilling its contents on the pavement.

  Roger took a deep breath, gave a little shudder, and turned to cross the road again. ‘OK, thanks anyway. Sorry about your pushchair. Nice wee boy you’ve got.’

  ‘She’s a girl,’ said the woman, finding her voice at last.

  ‘Right,’ said Roger, and he dashed back over the road, leaving the woman still standing in the same position.

  ‘Onwards, Roger,’ said the dwarf as Roger returned. ‘Now we go find the Witchwatcher Gwendolena Goodroom, and make our stand against the dark forces.’

  ‘No,’ said Roger, pulling out a tartan blanket lying folded in the bottom carry-tray of the pushchair. ‘We’re going to my house.’ He began to cover the dwarf’s head and body with the blanket.

  ‘What are you doing?’ grumbled the dwarf. ‘Waylay this frippery. We must go find Goodroom the Witchwatcher. It is urgent!’

  ‘Now, look!’ Roger shouted. ‘I’ve had enough. I don’t know who or what you are. You suddenly appear and nearly kill Hugh. You appear again and kill gore-things. And I do something... horrible. I’m not doing any more. I’m going home, and if you want to come with me, my mum will help you. If not, then just stay here. I’m off.’ Roger turned and began to walk away.

  The dwarf grunted. ‘Stay, Roger. Wait.’

  Roger looked back at the tartan-covered figure almost hidden in the pushchair.

  ‘We’ll go see your maternal human,’ said the dwarf. ‘I need to stop the bleeding and weaken the pain.’

  Roger walked back to the pushchair. He tucked away some beard hair sticking out of the blanket and then got behind the chair to push it out of the lane.

  ‘We’ll go this way,’ said Roger. ‘Keep that cover pulled up as far as you can so people can’t see your face, so they don’t see that you’re a... that you’re different. And tuck your beard in.’

  The dwarf grunted, but did as he was told.

  Roger tried to avoid people as he pushed the dwarf through the streets. Everything went well until he turned into the road where he lived and walked straight into two of his neighbours: Agnes McKeek and Anna Botting.

  ‘Well, well, Agnes,’ said Mrs Botting, breaking off her conversation. ‘Look what we have here. The Paxton boy has got himself a baby. Did your father bring that back from the oil rigs, or is he still away, working overtime, eh?’

  The two women giggled, snorting and pushing at each other.

  ‘No,’ said Roger quietly. ‘My dad’s not home just now.’

  ‘Whose is it?’ asked Mrs McKeek. ‘It’s too big to be very new.’

  Both women moved towards Roger. Roger took a couple of backward steps, pulling the pushchair with him.

  ‘Don’t move, Roger Paxton,’ snapped Mrs Botting.

  ‘Stay right where you are,’ said Mrs McKeek. ‘Let’s have a look at this child.’

  ‘I can explain,’ began Roger. ‘It’s not what it looks like.’

  Mrs Botting and Mrs McKeek leaned right into the pushchair and slowly pulled down the tartan cover.

  ‘Oh, in the name of... !’ Mrs Botting spoke in a shocked whisper.

  ‘It’s a monster!’ gasped Mrs McKeek.

  The dwarf pushed himself upright on his good leg and shook a gleaming axe at the women. ‘Kirkiemachough, you blob-tailed buttermilks!’ he bellowed at the top of his voice.

  Mrs McKeek screamed, dropped her shopping bag, and ran across the road, waving her arms in the air. She tripped over the edge of the pavement, pirouetted gracefully, and fell backwards through a small privet hedge. There was a loud ooof as she hit the ground. She lay on her back, gasping and whimpering, her legs sticking out of the hedge.

  Mrs Botting started running, both hands over her mouth to control a sudden attack of hiccups. She reached the pavement on the far side of the road, jumped over Mrs Botting in the hedge and, without a backward glance, ran across the front garden and disappeared round the side of the house.

  ‘Help, Anna, help,
’ gasped Mrs McKeek, as her friend vanished. ‘I can’t... hardly breathe.’

  At that very second a police car came hurtling round the corner. Two policemen were in the front, and in the back was a woman Roger recognised as Hugh Ball’s mother. The car pulled up outside Roger’s house and both policemen jumped out, ran up the path and started hammering on the front door.

  The door opened and Roger’s mother appeared, holding his little sister.

  Roger started to back away, but just then Mrs Ball spotted him. ‘That’s him there, the hooligan,’ she yelled, pointing at Roger and struggling to get out of the police car. ‘That’s the bully who nearly killed my poor wee Hughie.’

  ‘Rod-ger!’ Roger’s sister, Hannah, shouted and waved at her brother while his mother stood looking bewildered.

  ‘Come play with me, Rod-ger,’ yelled Hannah.

  The policemen left Mrs Paxton and began to sprint down the road towards Roger.

  At that moment Mrs Ball sprang out of the police car and staggered on to the pavement, waving a large handbag around her head. ‘Get him!’ she screamed. ‘Get the wee—’

  The running policemen collided with the screaming woman and her large handbag. All three crashed to the ground. One of the policemen was trapped under Mrs Ball; he appeared to be unconscious.

  The other policeman got to his feet and took a few wobbly steps before tripping over Mrs McKeek’s legs dangling from the hedge.

  Roger, on the other side of the road, looked at his mother and sister for a moment. Then he turned the pushchair round and began to run.

  CHAPTER

  Four

  ‘What’ve you done?’ howled Roger, as he ran. ‘Everyone’s after me. They’ll put me in jail.’

  ‘Move quickly,’ said the dwarf. ‘I think the protectors of your peace are annoyed. You may be taken captive.’

  Roger kept going. He was a good runner, but the pushchair was heavy and his arms and legs were beginning to ache. Just ahead was the entrance to a supermarket. Roger wrestled the pushchair round a corner and sideswiped a shopping trolley being pushed by an elderly couple. Some of the shopping on the elderly couple’s trolley fell off.

  Roger kept running.

  ‘You stupid eejit!’ yelled the old man.

  ‘Sorry,’ panted Roger, looking back just in time to see the old woman throwing a can at him.

  The can whizzed past his head and smashed through the side window of a car driving out of the car park. The old woman bent down and picked up a grapefruit. She swung it overarm and let fly. Roger ducked. The grapefruit hit the face of the driver who was getting out of the car with the broken window.

  ‘Oi, you!’

  Roger looked beyond the old woman and saw that one of the policemen had appeared.

  ‘You’re under arrest,’ roared the policeman, stabbing his finger at Roger in a furious manner.

  ‘What, me?’ The old woman stood up, turned round, and threw a small bulky bag at the policeman. ‘I’ll under-arrest-you. Go and catch some proper criminals.’

  The bag scored a direct hit on the policeman’s chest. Flour exploded everywhere.

  Roger shoved the pushchair off the pavement and ran through the car park, past the main supermarket entrance and round a corner. People shouted as he swerved around them, and several dogs tied up outside the automatic doors began to bark.

  He ran down the side of the supermarket until he reached an open gate with a notice that read: UNLOADING BAY – KEEP CLEAR. Beyond the gate was a closed roller-door with a white van parked beside it. He was in a dead end!

  The dwarf pulled back the tartan cover, threw it on the ground and then gingerly stepped out of the pushchair and limped over to the wall beside the roller-door. He stood with his back pressed against the wall.

  ‘Come,’ said the dwarf, fumbling in his satchel. ‘Hurry.’

  Roger let go of the chair and ran over. The dwarf grabbed Roger’s arms and turned him around.

  ‘Kneel down,’ said the dwarf.

  Roger did so. There was a moment’s pause and then the flimsy material of a cloak enveloped him.

  ‘Work,’ muttered the dwarf, pulling the hood over his head.

  Roger heard a click.

  ‘Do not move,’ said the dwarf, ‘and control noisy breathing.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Roger, trying to stop his panting.

  ‘Sheeesh!’ said the dwarf.

  Roger fell silent. His knees were sore now. He heard footsteps and voices.

  ‘I can see through this,’ whispered Roger. ‘I can see everything. Can they see me?’

  ‘I am not certain,’ answered the dwarf. Then he rapped his knuckles on Roger’s head. ‘You’ll have your answer soon. Now keep your mouth quiet.’

  A policeman, followed by two supermarket security guards, walked round the corner. The policeman was covered in flour, and Roger could see that the officer’s trousers were ripped at the side and his shirt was sticking through the tear.

  ‘There’s the pushchair,’ said a guard, pointing.

  ‘And what have we got here?’ said the policeman, looking at the crumpled tartan blanket lying on the ground.

  Roger tried to stand, but the dwarf pulled him down.

  ‘Got you!’ said the policeman, stretching out a hand.

  Roger closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER

  Five

  ‘Blast,’ said the policeman, holding up the tartan blanket. ‘I thought he was hiding under this.’ He threw the blanket on the ground beside the van and began to hammer on the roller-door with the side of his fist. ‘Open up, I know you’re in there. Open up, this is the law.’

  There was a muffled shout from inside and the door began to roll upwards. A thin, scruffy man with tattooed arms appeared, followed by two men wearing supermarket uniforms.

  ‘What’s all your noise?’ asked the tattooed man, beginning to grin as he looked at the policeman. ‘Have you been baking a cake, sonny?’

  ‘We’re looking for a boy and an... individual of restricted height. Did they come in here?’

  ‘Naw, just me and my boxes. There’s naebody else in here, not in the last twenty minutes anyhow.’ The tattooed man turned to the two men behind him. ‘Have they?’

  The men shook their heads. ‘What’s he done?’ asked one of the men. ‘This boy and... the individual of restricted height?’

  ‘Everything,’ said the policeman, looking around the inside of the building. ‘Serious assault, breaking toes, pushing women through hedges, damaging cars, you name it and he’s done it.’ He pointed to the rip in his trousers. ‘Police assault. My partner as well, knocked him out.’

  ‘Some boy,’ said the tattooed man. ‘And what’s this restricted-height individual person?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know,’ said the policeman, coming back out of the building. ‘It might be another boy, although from the hairiness, it could be a monkey or some sort of monster.’

  The men began to chortle.

  ‘Did this...’ the tattooed man spluttered, ‘monkey-monster tear yer trousers, mister, and throw powder at you?’

  ‘It’s not funny.’ The policeman glared at the tattooed man. ‘Any more of that and I’ll arrest you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ giggled the tattooed man, barely able to control himself.

  ‘Right, then...’ said the policeman. ‘Come on, you two.’ He pointed at the two security guards. ‘Let’s go back and sort out the two old numpties in the car park.’

  As the policeman and the guards reached the corner, Roger slowly stood up. ‘Follow me,’ he whispered to the dwarf.‘Don’t make a noise.’

  He and the dwarf shuffled silently towards the back of the van.

  The tattooed man, still laughing, shouted after the policeman. ‘Hope there’s no more monkey business, officer.’

  ‘Yer an awfy man, Wullie,’ laughed one of the supermarket men.

  ‘Ah hope he never heard you,’ said the o
ther.

  ‘I’m no caring,’ said Wullie. ‘I’m away on the rest of my deliveries. Fasten the back doors for me, will yuh?’

  Wullie climbed into the driver’s seat of his van and started the engine. He waited until there were two loud bangs from the back before driving off. Wullie waved at the men as his van turned the corner.

  When he’d gone, one of the supermarket men scratched his head. ‘That’s funny,’ he said.

  ‘What is?’ asked the other.

  ‘That blanket.’

  ‘Aye, what about it?’

  ‘It’s gone.’

  CHAPTER

  Six

  ‘That was good brain-thinking,’ said the dwarf, trying to steady himself in the back of the swaying van. ‘You are a quick-witter. But must this carriage pull and push?’

  ‘Sit down,’ said Roger. ‘Jam yourself against the boxes and you’ll be all right.’

  The dwarf carefully lowered himself to the floor of the van.

  Roger looked around. As far as he could see, the van was half full of cardboard boxes all containing the same brand of paper towels.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, as the dwarf gingerly stretched out his wounded leg on top of the tartan blanket.

  ‘Yes. Forget my leg limb. Where is this carriage taking us?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Roger. ‘I only got in here to get away from that policeman.’

  ‘Now hear me,’ said the dwarf. ‘We must proceed with all haste to Auchterbolton. No delay is acceptable.’

  ‘What do you mean, “we”?’ asked Roger. ‘I’m only here by accident. I don’t even know who you are.’

  The dwarf glared at Roger. ‘I am Mossbelly MacFearsome, Captain of the Royal Guard. Protector of Queen Gwri, the rightful heir to King Golmar, Ruler of the Innerland.’

  ‘I... don’t know what you are talking about,’ said Roger slowly. ‘You just suddenly appeared and started killing things.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea what’s happening, or what you’re talking about.’