by Jenny Colgan
‘This …’ She peered out over the glacier. ‘This isn’t urban, Arthur.’
‘No.’ He could feel the fear in her voice.
‘Where’s that bastard cabbie?’ said Sven. ‘They’re all the same – no, I won’t take you south of the river … no, I won’t take you through the wolf-infested forest …’
‘Oh God!’ said Gwyneth. ‘It’s a WOLF?’
‘Whooo!’ came the sound again, as if in confirmation.
‘Well, what are we waiting for? We’re going back to hammer on the door.’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Sven. ‘Northern people are very superstitious about their wolves. They believe a lot of the old stories.’
‘What old stories? Like … werewolves?’
Gwyneth had intended this to come out as sneering and sarcastic, but at the last moment she absolutely couldn’t pull it off.
‘Ja,’ said Sven. ‘He probably wouldn’t let you in, in case you’d been bitten. Or he might just blast you away with a silver bullet.’
‘He wouldn’t.’
The howling came again.
‘Look,’ said Arthur. ‘The sleigh driver can’t be far. We’ll do better going to have a look for him than just standing around freezing our arses to death. Okay?’ He looked at his phone. ‘I’ve still got some power left in my battery. So if we can’t find him you, Sven, can phone the Danish wilderness equivalent of Yellow Pages and get us out of here.’
‘Yeah, in lots of little pieces,’ said Sven sullenly.
‘None of that, please. You’re scaring Gwyneth.’
‘Uh huh!’ said Gwyneth.
‘Me, I mean. You’re scaring me.’
‘No, me too,’ said Gwyneth.
‘Okay,’ said Sven, ‘it’s just, I’m the one that has to drag this with me, that’s all.’
Sandwiches was lying perfectly still on his back in the snow, with his legs pointing straight up in the air.
‘Stop playing dead, Sandwiches,’ said Sven. ‘It’s not going to help, you know.’
But Sandwiches point-blank refused to open his eyes, so Sven had to pick him up and put him round his neck like a snake.
‘Actually, it’s quite warming,’ he said, patting the dog’s ears. Sandwiches continued to refuse to react in any way.
‘Amazing,’ said Arthur. ‘Okay. Off we go. CHAUFFØR!’
And they marched forward under the eerie-coloured starlight, and into the park of ice sculptures beyond.
The howling was definitely closer now. There was still no sign of the driver or the sleigh. They were huddling together underneath the Viking ship, some hundred yards or so ahead of where the house had now vanished into the darkness.
‘Oh crap,’ Gwyneth was saying.
‘Ssh,’ said Arthur. ‘Just keep moving on. We’ll find them.’
‘Or die horribly!’
‘No, I’m sure that won’t happen.’
‘I’m just going to play dead here like Sandwiches,’ said Sven.
‘Oh no you’re not,’ said Arthur. ‘I am not hauling your carcass through the snow.’
The howling came again.
‘Are there more than one of them?’ said Gwyneth, feeling her heart jump.
‘God, I hope not. Because if there’s only one, then it’ll get tired after the first throat …’ Sven trailed off.
Arthur shut his eyes. What was coming? It was getting rapidly colder. They were going to have to go back to the old man, they had to. Sven was being ridiculous. But where the hell was the cabbie? Had he not understood and just up and left them? More than anything, Arthur wanted him and the horse to be standing round the next corner, looking relieved and asking them where they’d been.
Round the next corner was an odd sculpture which resembled a desert scene in ice – there was a cactus, and a palm tree, and a coyote.
It wasn’t a coyote.
Arthur felt as if an enormous hand was squeezing his windpipe. The cold air he’d sucked in burned its way down his throat. It was every time he’d ever woken up in the night thinking he’d heard a burglar; every time he’d nearly walked in front of a moving vehicle. Simultaneously, it felt like he was being punched in the chest.
Gwyneth hadn’t meant to punch him in the chest but – look!
‘Look!’ Her voice had petered out to a petrified squeak.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Arthur, whispering. The wolf was about twenty feet away, casually regarding them in the moonlight. The wind was gently ruffling its fur, and it was staring straight at them with ice-blue eyes, looking completely unperturbed. Its entire body gave off a power: heavily contained muscles under tight control.
Arthur’s brain was working overtime. He couldn’t think straight. Could they scramble up the side of the ship? Could wolves climb? Anyway, how could they climb up the side of something made of ice? Could they make it back to the cottage? Almost certainly not: the creature could outrun anything and it would definitely grab the one nearest the back. He glanced at Sven, who was carrying at least three extra stone in weight, not to mention a cowardly dog round his neck.
‘If only we had a weapon or something,’ he moaned.
‘It’s all in the sleigh,’ said Sven mournfully. ‘They have a plan for times like this. Flares and things.’
‘Well, that would have been great,’ said Arthur, ‘if it hadn’t eaten the sleigh.’
Slowly, as if relishing its status, the wolf started to pad from side to side, moving almost imperceptibly closer.
‘Oh, Christ,’ said Gwyneth. ‘It’s coming for us. I can’t … I mean, we’re not going to die, are we? I mean, on a business trip. It seems so stupid.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Arthur. ‘And deprive Marcus of his expenses claims? It would be against all natural laws.’
The wolf moved forward, slowly. It sniffed the air. The others backed away, pointlessly. The wall of ice that was the side of the ship was right behind them. There was nowhere to bolt.
In the full light of the moon, the wolf arched its back again and howled. In a shot Arthur saw why wolves had always been part of folklore, despite usually looking like grumpy oversized dogs. This was no dog. This was a pure wild animal, that could smell them from a mile away and wanted warm fresh meat. Its insides were as cold as the ice around them.
And still the creature advanced. Its eyes reflected the moon, and seemed to shine out of its head. It still took its time.
‘Oh …’ Gwyneth, Arthur vaguely realized through the iron grip of fear that had taken control of his own head, was sobbing. He put his arm round her and patted her ineffectually on the shoulder.
‘I can’t believe … This is just so stupid.’
Sven was staring straight ahead, absolutely frozen to the spot. Arthur went through his possible options and couldn’t for the life of him think of one. Sweat broke out on his forehead as the wolf stepped forward yet again. His hands, anxiously struggling in his pockets, hit against something. He drew it out. It was the bore ice Johann had given him. It was the nearest thing to a weapon he had.
‘Oh God,’ said Arthur. He darted a look at the others. ‘Stay here.’
‘What? What! What are you doing!’ said Gwyneth hysterically. Sven remained in his catatonic state.
‘Just stay here, okay? I think we might have one shot.’
‘You’ve got a gun?’
‘No. Look, I’m going to distract it, and you two have to run back to Johann’s hut, okay?’
‘But … but he’ll chase us.’
‘Not if I’m there.’
Arthur’s face was grim, reflected Gwyneth, and his jaw was incredibly set.
‘Get ready to run, okay? Sven?’
‘Uh?’
‘Run. With Gwyneth. When you hear me shout.’
‘But …’ Gwyneth held onto his arm. ‘This is madness.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘This is – we’ve got one shot at this, okay? You understand? There’s nothing else to do.’
She nodded mutely. Sven st
ood there, not moving at all.
Arthur turned back again to face the beast, motioning the others to get behind him.
The animal turned its full attention to Arthur now. It seemed to know, somehow, that this was where the battle would be joined.
Arthur steeled himself and kept on walking forward. Part of his brain was screaming at him, ‘What are you doing! What are you DOING!!!!!’ But part of him was almost calm, accepting his fate. It was saying, ‘Ah, almost certain death. So this is what it’s like?’
When there were only ten feet between him and the wolf, he stopped and they eyed each other for five … ten seconds. It felt like forever under the freezing endless sky.
Arthur took a deep breath. ‘OKAY,’ he shouted suddenly. ‘Run NOW!!!!! NOW!!!!!! AIIIIEEEE-EEEEEEE!’
And he screeched at the top of his lungs.
He’d expected the beast to be quick, but not this quick. The next thing he saw was the animal, seemingly far too high in the air, bearing down on him from nowhere with a blood-curdling howl.
As fast as he could, he raised the hard resin of the bore ice, remembering what you were supposed to do with dogs – grab their forepaws and move them as wide apart as you could. He had personally doubted his ability to ever perform such a grotesque act on an animal, but right at this moment …
Almost without thinking about it, he rammed the ice bore as hard as he could at the animal’s head. With a whinnying shriek, the wolf wobbled slightly to the side, but was only deflected momentarily from its course, and its paws still knocked Arthur backwards onto the ice.
He could smell the creature’s hot breath. For a second, Arthur and the wolf were eye to eye. Then the animal opened its enormous jaws, sparkling with saliva.
‘HnNNurggh!’
Arthur didn’t know where he found the strength, but he pushed himself up, unbalancing the wolf, who staggered backwards, growling.
Arthur thought … but before he had time to do anything, the wolf tackled him again, this time from his left side, and both of them were crashing down on the snow once more.
This at least gave him a chance to drag his right hand free from the wolf’s paws. He was still clutching the ice bore. Scarcely thinking about it, he plunged it as far as he could into the wolf’s ear.
‘Grraaaa!’ The wolf shook its head furiously and twisted out of Arthur’s reach. The ice bore skittered away across the ice. Both their heads shot round to follow its progress. It was certainly too far away for Arthur to grab it. The wolf refocused its attention.
‘Oh God,’ Arthur breathed to himself dully. He tried to raise the strength for another almighty push, but there was no purchase on the ground beneath him. His fingers desperately scrabbled at nothing. And once again, the slavering jaws were moving down, ever closer. He closed his eyes …
He opened them again a second later, at a high-pitched yelping noise.
The wolf was buzzing in consternation, although his front paws were still firmly planted on Arthur’s chest and arm.
Behind him, barking madly, and skittering along the hard-packed snow towards the ice bore, was Sandwiches.
‘Sandwiches!’ shrieked Arthur. The wolf could scoop him up in one gulp, then come back to Arthur as a main course.
The dog picked up the bore and shuffled joyously up towards Arthur.
‘NO, no, that’s not what I meant!’ said Arthur, cursing himself. ‘Don’t bring the stick to me. Don’t fetch! Sandwiches, don’t fetch!’
But the little dog trotted on towards him. The growls from the wolf came from deep down in his belly.
In the distance, he could hear Gwyneth and Sven screaming. So much for the brilliant running-away-to-get-help plan.
With a grunt, as Sandwiches dropped the bore at Arthur’s hand, the wolf stretched out one paw and took a swipe at him. And blindly, instinctively, without even thinking, Arthur grabbed the ice bore and thrust it as hard as he could, deep as a sword, into the animal’s chest.
A terrible groaning tore across the plain. It was a horrible, horrible sound: an animal in pain. Or, to be more correct, two animals in pain, as Sandwiches had taken a nasty clap to the head from an errant paw, and had skittered backwards, bouncing his head off the hard-packed snow. Arthur watched, dumbfounded, as the terrible weight came off his hand and chest, and the great creature arched up, roaring its agony.
Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a huge boulder came crashing out of the sky and hit the wolf square in the forehead. Immediately the howling stopped and the creature sank to the ground. Everything was still. Arthur found he was blinking rapidly.
‘For fanden!’
The sleigh driver stepped out from the woods.
Arthur turned round in amazement to where Sven had dashed forward to cradle Sandwiches in the snow.
The driver came forward, gesticulating.
‘Sven, what’s he saying?’
Sven looked up, his face pale and strained.
‘Um, he’s saying, sorry, but he had to hide up a tree because … um … because a big wolf came.’
‘Right,’ said Arthur. ‘Okay.’
And he wandered back to Gwyneth who was standing trembling violently, and enfolded her in his arms.
Chapter Nine
‘Hey,’ said the temp. ‘Good trip?’
‘Um … it was very interesting,’ said Arthur. ‘Actually, you won’t believe what happened …’
‘Yeah,’ said the temp, chewing. ‘Anyway. There’s lots of messages for you. Ooh, is the dog wearing a new hat?’
Sandwiches stalked in proudly wearing his enormous white bandages. Sven followed him, still watching his every step nervously.
‘Morning!’ said Arthur cheerily. There really was nothing, he thought, quite as likely to buck you up as cheating death, fighting a wolf and getting to save a gorgeous woman you really fancied. She had held onto him all the way home. He was definitely getting somewhere. It didn’t do to rush these things. Deep down, he was a bit worried. He hadn’t felt like this about someone in … God, years. Fay had just been – well, he wasn’t thinking about Fay any more. But she certainly hadn’t been as calm and attractive and … Oh, yes. He wasn’t going to move too quickly. That was best.
What did she have to do? Gwyneth was thinking mutinously. Strip naked and spreadeagle herself on his desk? All the way home he’d put his arm round her like a brother. Well, that was enough. She couldn’t be bothered with all this. She decided to take a walk before going into work, to settle herself. After all, he wasn’t the only bloody man in the office.
‘Hey,’ said Sven. He looked grey.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes.’
He didn’t look it, though. He looked like he’d stayed up all night worrying about a dog who, even now, was jauntily approaching the rubbish bin with an expectant look in his eye.
Oh, well. Everything was fine. Arthur buzzed on through to the boardroom. There was a chunky, badly-dressed man standing there in a cheap suit. He looked vaguely familiar.
‘Hello?’
‘Yeah, hi …’
The man stuck out one hand and used the other to scratch his nose. ‘Hi – I’m Howard Phillips?’
‘Howard?’
‘I wrote the piece in the Herald?’
Now Arthur recognized the little snotrag. He’d broken the story Ross had leaked to him, and he was the journalist who’d approached Arthur in the park.
‘Get out of my office, shithead.’
‘No, no!’ As the man moved towards him, Arthur noticed he had a slight limp. ‘You don’t understand! I have to get this story. I’m going to lose my job if I don’t.’
The man sat down without being invited, heavily. Arthur noticed he was sweating and sticky strands of hair clung to his bald head.
‘Yeah, sit down,’ said Arthur sarcastically.
‘Look, I’m sorry, but it’s just my job, okay?’
‘It’s just your job to try and lose me my job. Right, yes, I sympathize. Coffee?’
<
br /> ‘Yeah, that would be …’
‘No! You’re not having any coffee!’
‘Oh.’ The man looked mournfully at the floor, and rubbed his hand on his bald spot, which looked agitated and red. ‘Can I have a glass of water, then?’
‘No. Oh, yes okay, you can have a glass of water.’
Arthur cursed himself for getting up and betraying the weaker hand, but if he had a heart attack …
‘Thank you,’ said the man. ‘I get a bit sweaty on assignments.’
‘Thanks for sharing.’
‘Look,’ said the man. ‘I just want to put your side of the story.’
‘No, you don’t. You want to dredge up evil insights into the spendthrifts at the planning office.’
‘Yeah, yeah I do, yeah,’ said the man sadly.
‘Ooh, you gave in quickly.’
‘I’m not a very good journalist.’
‘Okay,’ said Arthur. ‘Go somewhere else please.’
‘I can’t,’ said the man. ‘I have to stay here and find out about Denmark or my boss is going to fire me.’
‘What do you know about Denmark? Oh, bugger it.’
The man smiled greasily.
‘Yes, I’m very naïve,’ said Arthur. ‘Was that actually a secret journalist trick, to make me cough by looking pathetic?’
There was a pause.
‘No,’ said the man. ‘I got lucky.’
They walked out past the open-plan. Arthur noticed with half an eye that Sven had covered the area with ‘I visited Denmark’s Best Ice Shop 2002!’ posters and made a mental note to have a quiet word about project confidentiality. He didn’t notice Howard very quickly reading his post tray upside down, and extracting an envelope from it, sweating even harder as he slipped it into his pocket.
Arthur invited the journalist out for a walk, figuring if he was going to have this snivelling wretch following him around, it was probably best to do it in the open air.
‘Why do you limp?’ he asked him, curious, as they made their way across the car park and under the hideous piss-stained underpass, past the Big Issue sellers they no longer noticed.
‘Huh,’ said Howard. ‘I dunno. For the last three weeks there’s this bloody little sausage dog or something that comes past my house every day exactly when I’m leaving for work and bites me on the leg.’