Walker

by Shoo Rayner

  ‘Okay,’ Mr Bonus nodded. ‘This is what you do. Think how much you do job for, then double the price. He no like the price, you no do the job. He like the price, at least you get paid good!’

  A little light went on in Walker’s brain and he smiled. It was so simple when Mr Bonus explained it.

  ‘Ha!’ Mr Bonus patted him on the back. ‘You make good businessman!’

  ‘Who’s the Boss?’ Walker whispered, quietly, as he stepped lightly past the gate at the side of the shop.

  On the other side of the gate Boss growled, ‘Me! I’m the Boss!’ Walker laughed, leaving Boss wagging his tail, feeling happier than he had for a long time.

  The words, Foxley Manor, were carved into the stone gateway to Arlington’s estate. A small, hand-painted sign beneath announced that it was PRIVATE.

  Walker felt that the whole village must be watching, as he walked up the long, winding drive.

  The imposing stone building rose up in front of him. Roses rambled across the facade. The porch was a mess of walking boots and umbrellas. Walker couldn’t see a bell anywhere. A brass lion’s head glared at him. It held a heavy brass ring in its mouth. Walker reached up and knocked three times.

  He heard a voice inside call over the yapping of a tiny dog, ‘It’s okay, darling. I’ve got it!’ The heavy door opened on squeaking hinges. Arlington stared down at Walker.

  ‘Ah! It’s you. Come along!’ Arlington closed the door briskly behind him and strode off, leading Walker round to a courtyard at the back of the house. ‘The kennels are round here.’

  The kennels were at the end of a stable block, built in the same style as the main house. Walker heard horses whinnying somewhere inside. Arlington took a key from his pocket and gave it to him.

  ‘Here, you’d better have this. Don’t lose it. Now, let’s see what they make of you!’

  Arlington stood to one side, and leaned casually against the wall.

  Walker realised it was a test. He spoke soothingly to the dogs, as he slipped the key into the lock, opened the gate and entered the kennel yard.

  Arlington’s pair of pointers immediately wagged their tails and bounced around him, licking his hands and snuffing their greetings.

  ‘Good Lord!’ Arlington exclaimed. ‘You really do have a way with dogs, don’t you? Sit!’ he ordered in a firm voice.

  The dogs obeyed at once. They bowed their heads, ashamed. For a moment they’d forgotten they were gun dogs, not pets!

  ‘These are Thor and Loki,’ Arlington said.

  ‘Cool!’ said Walker. ‘Like the Marvel heroes?’

  ‘What?’ Arlington looked confused. ‘They’re named after the Viking gods! I have Viking heritage, you know?’

  Walker remembered doing something about Vikings at school.

  ‘You’ll need to come and walk them once a day for at least an hour. Don’t go off the estate, I don’t want them mixing with village dogs. They know their way around. Stick to the path and you can’t get lost. If they get wet or dirty, you can rub them down with a towel in the tack room.’ He led Walker into the building next door.

  The tack room smelled of leather and sweet hay. It was full of horsey things – saddles, bridles, brushes and blankets. Horses were a world he knew little about. He could see inside the stable and hear them shifting in their boxes.

  ‘Here are their leads, said Arlington. ‘I never take them, but you’d better carry them just in case.’ Arlington puffed his cheeks out. ‘Okay. To business. How much? We’ll be away for four days.’

  Walker had calculated and recalculated how much to charge, then he’d doubled it, but that sounded too much, so he halved it again. ‘Ten pounds!’ he blurted out.

  ‘Ha!’ Arlington laughed. ‘You’ve got a nerve! Ten pounds a day? That’s daylight robbery. I’ll pay you five pounds a day. Start tomorrow and we’ll be home on Thursday evening.’

  Walker was shocked. There was no spitting and shaking hands with Arlington, you just did as you were told. Did he say five pounds a day?

  Arlington escorted Walker back to the drive. ‘Mrs Scowles, my housekeeper, will be looking after the place and feeding the boys. I’ll let Mr Scowles know you are coming. Osmo is my gamekeeper. He looks after the estate, so don’t go upsetting him.’

  As Walker turned to go, he hesitated. ‘Today is the last day of the holidays,’ Walker explained. ‘After today, I can only come after school, so is it okay to bring Stella with me? I walk her every day.’

  Arlington screwed up his eyes and studied the boy closely. Was this a deal breaker?

  ‘Oh. All right,’ he nodded, ‘but make sure she behaves herself.’

  ‘We knew you could talk to us!’ Loki said, excitedly.

  It was Monday afternoon, and Walker was introducing the dogs to each other at Foxley Manor. ‘Stella … this is Thor and Loki.’

  ‘Well, hello!’ said Thor, sniffing Stella’s neck.

  ‘Stop it! That tickles!’ Stella giggled.

  Walker took the leads off a hook on the wall.

  ‘We don’t need those,’ Thor laughed. ‘We’ll look after you. Come on!’

  The pointers bounced across the courtyard. They stood proud and tall by the side gate, full of restrained energy, waiting to get going.

  Stella watched them. ‘I promise I’ll behave too,’ she said.

  ‘Okay,’ Walked laughed. He unclipped her lead and opened the gate. ‘Let’s go.’

  The three dogs raced across the enormous lawn in front of the house, leaping on top of each other, chasing each other’s tails, barking for joy!

  ‘No-o-o-o!’ Walker shouted. It was too late. All three dogs ran straight for the lake and plunged in, barking and splashing. Sunlight glittered on the water.

  ‘No-o-o-o!’ Walker shouted again! Again it was too late. All three dogs ran straight up to him, stopped, tensed their shoulders and shook a cascade of water into the air, soaking him and creating miniature rainbows that danced in front of him.

  ‘Wait till I get you!’ Walker ran after the trio, who bounced off towards the woods, barking with laughter and joy.

  ‘Don’t go too far ahead!’ Walker called. The dogs bounded back, running around him in circles, jumping up and licking his face.

  ‘Come on, slowcoach!’ Loki laughed. Then they were off again.

  Stella tipped her head. ‘Boys!’ she giggled. ‘What do you expect?’ Then, with a gleeful bark, she ran off to join them in a new game.

  Thor and Loki led the way around the estate, running ahead and returning to urge Walker not be such a slowcoach. They went past the rocky spot where they and Arlington had first met.

  ‘We knew you were different, even then,’ said Thor.

  ‘Yes, there was something about the way you were with Stella,’ Loki agreed, before they bounced off again in search of smells and small creatures to chase.

  Walker followed the path, all the way through the woods on the estate, right around the top of the house and back again.

  He could see the house up ahead and waited for the dogs to catch him up. It was so peaceful. He let the sun warm his back, drying the last of the dampness from the soaking he’d had by the lake. Birds whistled and twittered. He could just hear the rumble of traffic in the distance. And … what was that other noise?

  A warm, gentle breeze blew through the woods, carrying with it the faintest sound. A soft, gentle sound, like a dandelion seed floating effortlessly on the air.

  So faint. So weak. So plaintive! He couldn’t think what it was, but he understood the message in it. No, not a message … a feeling … an emotion…

  A plea for help!

  Then he heard something else. Hairs prickled on the back of his neck. Walker spun round.

  ‘What’re you doing nosin’ round here?’ Osmo Scowles, the gamekeeper, stood there, glaring, holding a shot gun. His Jack Russell, Bolt, growled. Osmo pointed his gun right at Walker’s chest.

  Not far away, a tiny baby pug crawled towards its mother. It wasn’t well. Th
e mother licked it all over, trying to force health back into the mewling pup. It was weak, not like its brothers and sisters, who were struggling and clambering over each other to get the best position for more milk. This pup hadn’t fed for hours. A runny mess of sticky tears ringed its enormous, baleful eyes.

  Once, the mother had had a name, but that was long ago, from a time she could barely remember. She sighed. Another nameless mother, in a crate across the room, watched her through the bars with sad, defeated eyes.

  ‘I-I’m not nosing around.’ Walker stumbled over his words. His eyes were glued to the shotgun. A shaky, quivery feeling gripped and twisted his insides.

  Loki, Thor and Stella ran back along the path behind Walker. Taking in the situation, they raced to his aid, mustering in front of their friend, protecting him from Osmo.

  ‘Don’t trust him,’ Loki told Walker. ‘Or Bolt, he’s only interested in rats and fighting.’

  Bolt growled. Osmo narrowed his eyes and dropped the gun to his side. ‘Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Mister Wherewithal said you’d be coming by to walk the dogs. You make sure you stick to the path, and don’t go nosin’ round this side of the estate.’

  ‘Yes, sir! I-I mean no, sir. I shan’t.’ Walker backed away towards the courtyard and the kennels. ‘Come on, let’s get you boys cleaned up,’ he called, but the dogs held their ground, watching Osmo melt away into the trees.

  On the fading breeze again were those faint, eerie, mournful cries.

  Loki turned his head towards the sound. ‘Can you hear it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Walker. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Thor, ‘but I’d like to find out. Those sounds haunt us when the winds blows in this direction.’

  Loki looked thoughtful as Walker brushed the mud off their sleek coats. ‘Can you smell it?’

  Walker stopped brushing. ‘What?’

  ‘Chemicals,’ Loki sniffed. ‘It smells of bleach and cleaning fluids. But it doesn’t quite mask the scent of fear.’

  Behind the church, at the end of the path that connected the village green to Foxley Fields, the man who had been surveying Jenny Little’s garden with Arlington Wherewithal all those weeks before hammered a stake into the ground and stapled a notice to it.

  Underneath was a map of Foxley Fields with plans for twenty-three houses and three paragraphs of tiny writing that explained that if anyone was not happy about the situation, they should lodge a complaint at the council offices.

  The man, Crispin Lightfoot, moved on. Silently, he opened the gate to Number 34 the High Street. He’d waited till Walker was walking the dogs, so that Stella wasn’t there to bark a warning. The man stepped lightly to the front door and pushed a thick envelope through the letterbox.

  Jenny heard it drop onto the mat, but by the time she reached the door and picked up the letter, the man had gone.

  Time for him to put the notices up around the village and plan the next phase of the operation.

  When he brought Stella back, Jenny was in tears. Stella ran to her and nuzzled her hands.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Walker felt awkward. It was unsettling to see grown-ups cry.

  She held a letter in her hand. ‘That man!’ she wailed, tossing the letter on the kitchen table.

  Walker couldn’t help seeing the heading that was printed in bold, red letters.

  Notice of Eviction

  He felt useless. ‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asked.

  She smiled and dropped her shoulders, a gesture of helplessness. ‘I don’t think you can,’ she said. ‘Not unless you know how to get rid of Arlington Wherewithal! He claims that my house is built on his property and I have to be out by the end of the month!’

  ‘But…’ Walker didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense.

  ‘And then,’ Jenny continued, ‘he’s going to knock it down so he can build a load of houses all over Foxley Fields!’

  ‘He can’t do that!’ Walker looked at the clock. ‘I’d better get home,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell my mum, she’s on the council, she might be able to help.’

  ‘It looks like the council have agreed to it already.’ Tears welled up in Jenny’s eyes again. ‘The council will do anything that Arlington tells them.’

  Walker sidled towards the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Look after her, Stella.’

  Stella nodded.

  His mum had sent him a message to pick up some ketchup from the shop on his way home. Walker got a bottle of ketchup off the shelf and took it to the counter to pay.

  ‘Hey, Walker! This bad business for you, eh?’ Mr Bonus pointed to a poster that had been sellotaped to the door.

  ‘Look, here’s a leaflet about it.’

  Walker paid for the ketchup and read the leaflet as he ambled along the pavement. Boss huffed a greeting as he walked past the side gate. Walker looked up. Anje was standing in the yard.

  ‘Hi, there,’ she said. ‘Have you done your homework?’

  She saw the leaflet in Walker’s hand. ‘Oh! Everyone has been going on about that in the shop today. That Mister Arlington Wherewithal has really got everyone fired up.’

  ‘That Mister Arlington Wherewithal is a bad man!’ Walker mumbled.

  Boss narrowed his eyes. The sound of the words, ‘bad man,’ made him growl.

  ‘See ya.’ Walker needed to get home.

  ‘See ya!’ Anje peered through the gate, watching Walker cross the road and disappear around the corner.

  ‘We need to go to this!’ Walker said, slamming the leaflet on the kitchen table. ‘It’s important!’

  As Mum read, her eyebrows tightened into a frown.

  Walker felt helpless. Words came tumbling out of his mouth. ‘Arlington Wherewithal wants to knock down Jenny’s house and build a huge load of houses. That can’t be right, can it? He can’t do that!’

  He had to try to do something. Going to the meeting was a start.

  ‘He’ll build on Foxley Fields over my dead body!’ Mum snarled, when she finished reading. As they ate supper, Walker told her about the letter Jenny had received – how Arlington was going to pull her house down.

  ‘He can’t!’ said Mum. ‘There’s a preservation order on her house. It’s of historical importance!’

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Dad, ‘There’s a programme of historical importance I wanted to watch on TV. It’s about World War One,’ he explained, as he picked up Lucy Lou and sidled out of the kitchen.

  ‘Wait for the meeting,’ his mum told him. ‘Nothing is final yet.’

  For the next three days, Walker took the dogs out after school. With the giant lawn to play on, he took his ball launcher too. They loved it, racing across the grass to try to catch the ball before it bounced. Even though the pointers had longer legs, Stella was so fast she often beat them to it.

  Thor and Loki loved it best when Walker threw the ball high into the air over the lake. A small, wooden fishing jetty jutted out into the reeds. Leaping off the end of it, they launched themselves skyward, crashing into the water, creating fountains of spray and turbulent waves, as the ball plummeted into the lake.

  Of course Stella joined in the fun too. Each day, the dogs would end up covered in leaves, their fur caked in stinking, slimy mud from the lake. Walker had to hose them down in the courtyard and rub them dry with towels.

  Stella returned home a little damp each day. Jenny didn’t mind. She liked to see Stella happy with new friends, even if the pointers did belong to Arlington Wherewithal. Anyway, her mind was on other things.

  On Thursday afternoon, as Walker and Stella were arriving up the drive, Osmo passed them in his old, battered Land Rover. Bolt sat up, with his paws on the dashboard, staring out of the windscreen. Osmo’s cruel eyes narrowed, studying Walker, as he stood to one side, letting the vehicle pass.

  The vaguest hint of autumn tinged the air, sweet, apply aromas from the fallen fruit in the orchard. Damp, fungal smells filtered through the woods and strong gusts
of wind blew the first, yellowing leaves from the trees.

  As they neared the end of their walk, a fierce blast of wind rustled through the trees, carrying with it the distinct howl of a dog in pain. Not physical pain, but the pain of loss and desperation.

  A look passed between the dogs. The pointers faced into the wind, smelling both the chemical reek and the animal scent of fear and something even more dreadful. They turned to Walker.

  ‘Someone needs help!’ growled Thor. ‘Let’s go!’

  Close by, the mother pug, the one with no name, nudged her sixth puppy with her nose, trying to warm its lifeless body, urging it to wake up. It was no use. It was her desperate cry of pain and bewilderment that Walker and the dogs had heard. And the cry of all the other mothers in their crates, howling for the litters they had borne and lost over the years.

  Crashing through the undergrowth, Walker ignored the signs tacked onto the trees: Private! Trespassers will be prosecuted! It was okay, Osmo wasn’t about.

  A clearing opened up in the woods. A thin wisp of smoke drifted from the chimney of a small cottage. The sign on the gate read: Keeper’s Cottage.

  This must be where Osmo and Mrs Scowles live, Walker thought.

  At the bottom of the vegetable garden, a ramshackle arrangement of sheds hung together like rotting teeth. They were surrounded by a high fence that crackled with electricity.

  This was the source of the heart-rending cries. Now Walker could smell what the dogs had too – that smell of the boys’ toilets after school, when the cleaners had just been in and the floors were still wet with bleach. And something else – a dirty, unwashed, uncared-for smell, mixed with stale dog wee and poo.