The Various

by Steve Augarde

  Gorji voices could now be heard, and heavy feet began to descend the wooden staircase. A child’s voice – ‘What is it Uncle Brian? What’s happening?’ Then the deeper tones of a man, angry and loud – ‘I’ll tell you what’s happening – it’s that damn cat, again. Tojo is what’s happening – and if he has got hold of another of my bantams, then he may catch a brick behind the ear. Where’s the torch? Any idea?’ The heavy footsteps had reached the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Under the sink.’

  ‘Under the sink? What the devil’s it doing there? All right, Phoebe! Shut up! See if you can find it, will you, Midge, while I get my wellies on.’

  The kitchen was suddenly flooded with light and the sound of bare feet came padding across the red brick floor. Beneath the sink, Tod and Pank crouched fearfully among the strange-smelling containers. The small curtain was lifted and a great pale arm reached in, fumbling around their hiding place. Pank, head low, shivering with fright, flinched as the groping fingers of the Gorji chi’ touched his shoulder. He was discovered! The hand brushed the outside of his cloth jerkin – he could feel the slight pressure of knuckles against his ribs.

  ‘Got it!’ said the child’s voice – and the curtain was lowered once again. The light footsteps crossed the room once more, and the man spoke again from the hallway.

  ‘Well done. Let’s see what’s going on.’

  Grissel and Spindra raised their heads from the musty smelling hay and tried to interpret what was happening outside from the noises they could hear. The booted footsteps of the giant had disappeared at the far end of the buildings. Presently they heard his voice shouting as he returned.

  ‘Well, Tojo’s gone. Lord knows where. No point in running around in the dark looking for him, that’s for certain. Come on, Phoebe. Phoebe! Come on! There’s nothing down there for you. Now what’s she up to? Oh, all right then, let’s have a look.’

  Phoebe was snuffling her way along the line of stables. The old spaniel may have been going deaf, but her nose was as good as ever – and it was picking up all sorts of strange signals. Grissel and Spindra buried themselves in the hay once more as the click and scratch of the hound’s claws on the exposed cobbles drew closer, and the insistent snuffling grew louder. Presently the dog entered the stable where they lay. They could hear it sniffing the floor where they had lately been standing. Grissel’s eyes were streaming. He held his nose and fought back the sneeze rising within him. The resonant clump of rubber boots, and the searching beam of light, told the fugitives that the Gorji had now arrived.

  ‘See?’ said the loud voice, letting the light play around the mildewed walls. ‘Nothing here. It’s empty, you daft old thing. Come on then, daftie. Let’s go.’ His voice boomed in the shadowy confines of the stable.

  Phoebe was unconvinced. She had been a half-decent gun dog in her day, and she still knew a thing or two. Raising her head towards the mess of hay piled high at the back of the stable, she approached it, snuffling softly. She paused, moved slightly to her right, then returned to her original position. Another snuffle. Yes, she knew. She pushed her head deep into the hay.

  The soft muzzle came thrusting unerringly towards where Grissel lay hidden. The shock was so great that the Ickri let go of his nose in an attempt to defend himself – and instantly sneezed. Phoebe opened her mouth to give a triumphant bark, but then she sneezed as well. And again. And again. She withdrew her head from the dusty hay, sneezed once more, and looked up at Uncle Brian, expectantly. The man laughed.

  ‘You silly old sausage,’ he said. ‘Now look at the state of you. Come on, then. Told you there was nothing there.’

  Grissel and Spindra were lucky. There was little of the fox’s predatory instinct in Phoebe – and none of Tojo’s malevolence. She was simply curious – and she had been right. There was something there. The fact that her master had chosen to let it be was of no consequence. She had done her job. She looked towards the pile of hay once more, gave a low woof, and then followed the man contentedly as he clumped back across the yard towards the farmhouse doorway where the girl still waited, framed in the light and shivering slightly in the cool night air.

  An hour later, when all seemed quiet and their beating hearts had calmed a little, Grissel and Spindra emerged from their hiding place and crept once more to the stable door. The two were horribly shocked at the fate of poor Lumst, and stood uncertainly in the doorway, wondering what they should do.

  ‘We must look for him,’ said Grissel. ‘He may yet be alive.’

  But the words sounded hollow and hopeless, and Spindra replied, ‘No. Lumst has gone. ’Tis no use to go after him. We should end up the same way.’

  ‘Then we must wait for the others, as we planned,’ said Grissel. There seemed little else they could do, and so, having quickly glanced about the farmyard, they ran across the cobbles to the plough once more and crawled beneath it. Here, to their surprise, they found Tod and Pank already hiding amongst the weeds. The Wisp and the Tinkler had waited in the farmhouse kitchen until they judged the hound to be asleep once more – which hadn’t taken all that long – and then exited by the little door as quickly and quietly as they could, their nerves in tatters. To add to their troubles, Pank had then twisted his ankle as he dropped from the balustrade wall onto the cobbles. A loose stone had shifted treacherously as he landed upon it, and though fear had propelled him onwards to the relative safety of their hiding place, it became clear that he would not be able go much further – this night at least.

  Now he sat nursing the rapidly swelling joint, rocking gently back and forth, and biting his lip with pain.

  ‘Where’s Lumst?’ he whispered shakily, almost before Grissel and Spindra had manoeuvred themselves into the space beneath the plough. Grissel and Spindra, still wide eyed with the horror of what they had seen, shook their heads in silence.

  ‘What’s befallen him?’ said Tod. ‘Did you see?’

  ‘We did,’ said Spindra, quietly. ‘And I hopes never to see such a thing again. ’Twas . . . dretful. Dretful. Some gurt thing – I don’t know what ’twas . . .’ He took a deep breath. ‘Some . . . beast . . . with eyes like . . . aach.’ He groaned and covered his face with his hands, unable to go on.

  ‘ ’Twas a felix, wasn’t it?’ said Tod. ‘What the Gorji calls a cat. I knew it – guessed it right enough – though I never saw one close to, before. I’ve heard ’em spoken of.’

  ‘A felix?’ breathed Pank, still clasping his ankle. ‘Be there such things, then?’ He had some distant memory of the mention of these mythical creatures, for that was what they were to the Tinklers – ancient myths, tales handed down from their ancestors, stories from the almanacs. Tales of beasts who lived in strange dwellings – pirrymids? – who could see in the dark, and had teeth and claws like huge tinsy-knives . . . a felix. He had not heard the word since childhood. And now they had left their pirrymids, apparently, to live among the Gorji, who called them . . . cat. What other terrible things might not the Gorji harbour among them? And Lumst, his poor friend Lumst, was dead? Killed by a felix?

  ‘No!’ he shouted, distraught, ‘No! No!’

  Tod grasped Pank firmly by the shoulders. ‘Shh!’ he hissed. ‘Do you mean to bring the thing upon us all?’

  ‘No,’ said Pank, more quietly, and then dropped his head in desolation. The pain of his injury, and the shock of the night’s events were making him feel sick. ‘No. But my friend. My friend . . .’ He raised his face, now streaming with tears, and turned on Grissel. ‘Where were you,’ he hissed, ‘when this happened? Where were you?’

  ‘We were in the near barns,’ said Spindra. ‘Grissel and me. Lumst had gone to the further barns, alone. We thought ’twould be quicker to divide. When we heard the noise, we ran to see – Grissel were ready to follow, but then the Gorji came running too, and we had to hide again. ’Twere too late by then, anyhow,’ he said sadly. ‘ ’Twere all over in a few moments. But,’ he added, quietly, ‘ ’twere our blame right enough. We should never
have divided.’

  ‘My blame,’ said Grissel. ‘For though ’twere Lumst who made suggestion that we separate, I should never have agreed to it. I should never have agreed.’ He grasped the well-worn centre grip of his bow, and continued, his voice rising in anger. ‘And I be willing to hunt down this felix even now. Precious little good it would do our companion, but I s’d dearly love to put an arrow through that evil eye, and bring him to agony. Just let me find him, and give him pain for pain – and ’twould be worth the risking.’

  ‘No,’ said Tod. ‘ ’Twould not. For you’d risk us all – and discovery by the Gorji to boot.’ He thought for a few moments, then said, ‘We stuck our heads up for this task, and we all knew ’twere likely to be a dangerous one. ’Tis no one’s fault that Lumst is gone. But gone he is, and now here’s Pank with a crock foot. Aye, that’s right,’ he said, seeing that Grissel and Spindra had not even noticed this latest complication, ‘sprung his ankle. So what do us do now? Do us try to carry on across the wetlands to the Far Woods, or do us go back to the Royal Forest?’ He looked up at the sky. ‘ ’Tis moon-wax, and we’ve lost ground. I don’t believe we could reach the Gorji woods by sunrise, even if Pank were walking straight, and after sunrise it’d be too late. We don’t want to be caught on open land by day. I reckon we must bide in these byres till tomorrow night, and then go on, or go back. Thass if the felix don’t get us all first.’ This last thought brought a listening silence upon the little group, but all they could hear was the tick of a lone bat, high above them, as it wheeled and patrolled the moonlit yard, hunting for insects.

  Chapter Ten

  MIDGE HAD FOUND it difficult to get back to sleep after the excitement was over. She wondered what Tojo had caught. The cat was just horrible, and she half wished that Uncle Brian had found the wretched thing and bounced a brick off its head, as he had threatened to do.

  Then more important considerations entered her mind. The Royal Forest, and what was about to happen there, seemed more urgent than Tojo’s antics. She felt sure that the winged horse was connected to the forest somehow. And now the woods were to be cut down! Tomorrow she must speak to Pegs, and learn more.

  Something else niggled at her. So much was happening that it was hard to keep track of her own thoughts. The sink – yes, that was a strange thing. She had meant to go back there and look again, but had forgotten about it. Her hand had touched something when she was searching for the torch. A bundle of rags, or dusters maybe – but it had felt . . . odd. And the strange thing was that she had been looking under there earlier that morning, when she was deciding what to use to clean Pegs up – that was how she remembered the whereabouts of the torch. There were no rags or cloths there then. So what was that beneath the sink? She shivered slightly. Maybe it was best not to know. No, that was silly. The more she thought about it, the more she felt she had to know. It was no good. There would be no sleep until she had put her mind at rest.

  Midge put on her dressing gown once more and tiptoed from her room. Now that she was out of bed she wasn’t so sure that this was a good idea. The dim landing light had been left on, and that was a comfort, but standing at the top of the stairs and peering down into the dark hallway made her feel a bit nervous. It looked creepy down there. Don’t be silly, she thought, Phoebe would be snoring away at the foot of the stairs and everything was as it should be. She remembered her mum telling her something when she was little: ‘There’s nothing there in the darkness that isn’t there in the daylight.’ And Mum would briefly switch on her bedside lamp and say, ‘See? There are your books, there are your toys, here’s Bobs, and I’m just next door.’ Bobs was her toy rabbit. She still had him – most of him anyway, for he had been loved to bits.

  She gingerly put a bare foot onto the first stair, and instantly jumped. There had been a slight noise down in there in the darkness – a faint double click. Not the sort of noise that Phoebe would make, it was more metallic, or mechanical. Right by the front door. Maybe it was the front door. No, that wasn’t it. She suddenly realized what it was – the cat flap. Definitely the cat flap. And that was very strange because no cat ever used the cat flap. She knew this was so because she had tried to help the Favoured One through it one day, and Uncle Brian had said, ‘Sorry, Midge. No cats in the house. The flap was put there when Katie was younger, against my better judgement. She wanted to keep one of the kittens as a house pet but Phoebe just wouldn’t have it, I’m afraid. Can’t say I blame her. It was never used in the end, and I’m not going to upset the old girl now. Play with the kitten outside if you like, but don’t encourage her to come in. I keep meaning to unscrew the thing – spoils a good oak door.’

  But now something had gone out through the cat flap – or come in. Maybe it was Tojo. At that thought, her nerve finally broke. She scuttled back to her room and shut herself in. Whatever it was, it could wait till morning.

  She had slept in later than she had intended. Uncle Brian was already in the kitchen, talking to someone on the phone – or rather he was listening to someone talking at the other end while he munched a piece of toast and marmalade. He waved the toast cheerily at Midge as she entered, and rolled his eyes. Midge gathered that whoever was on the phone to him was a bit of a talker. ‘Mm . . . fine,’ said Uncle Brian. A long pause. ‘Excellent . . . couldn’t be better. No, no, it’s no prob . . .’

  Midge took a cereal bowl down from the dresser, and noticed the heavy red and black rubber torch standing on the main shelf.

  ‘Absolutely . . .’ said Uncle Brian. ‘Really . . . it’s . . .’ He bit off another piece of toast, and looked around to see where he had left his coffee.

  Midge put down her cereal bowl and picked up the torch. Glancing surreptitiously at her uncle and seeing that he was preoccupied, she took the torch and casually walked over to the sink. She lifted the little curtain, and replaced the torch beneath the sink, pretending to tidy up a few of the things in order to make room for it. Her eyes scanned the clutter of objects quickly and thoroughly. There were no rags or bundles of cloths there – nothing but the same few bottles and boxes that had been there yesterday morning. Midge straightened up, the curtain still raised in her hand, and gazed thoughtfully at the confined space.

  ‘Don’t give it another thought,’ said Uncle Brian. ‘Four thirty. Yes . . . yes . . . OK. OK, Pat. I’ll be there. Don’t . . . don’t worry. Yup. OK. Bye.’ He put the phone down, and grasped the table as though for support. ‘Ye Gods, can that woman talk. Sheesh! Gets it from her mother of course. Now there was a woman with a tongue. Miss Whiplash, I used to call her. Morning, Midge – all well? What are you looking for – cornflakes? We keep ’em in the cupboard, sweetheart, not under the sink.’

  ‘Oh . . . no, it’s OK,’ murmured Midge, absently. ‘Just putting the torch back.’ She let the curtain fall and walked over to the food cupboard. ‘Who was that?’ she said, more to distract her uncle than anything else.

  ‘Well, it was . . . actually, no, perhaps it can wait till later,’ said Uncle Brian. ‘Bit of a surprise.’ He had intended to sound slightly mysterious, but Midge had hardly heard him. ‘You all right?’ he said, looking at her solemn little face. She forced a half smile, and brightened up a bit.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Didn’t sleep very well, that’s all.’

  ‘No surprises there,’ said Uncle Brian. ‘Which reminds me – I think I’ll round up the bantams and count heads. And if there’s so much as a feather out of place . . .’ he gulped down the last of his coffee, ‘ . . . I’ll be reaching for the twelve-bore, swear to God I will. See you later.’

  Pegs was looking much better. His head was already raised as Midge sidled in through the doorway of the pig-barn, and his eyes had lost much of their former pain.

  ‘I’ve brought water,’ said the girl, kneeling beside him on the sheet, ‘and you really ought to try to eat something.’ As an afterthought she added, ‘What do you eat?’

  What do Gorji horses eat? Again there was humour in the voice that moved
, so strangely, through the colours she saw in her mind.

  ‘Well, grass, I suppose,’ Midge replied. ‘Um . . . hay. Oats, I think. I live in a city. I . . . don’t know very much about horses.’

  And I know little of . . . cities. We may learn from each other. But yes, I thank you, some grass would be good.

  Midge stepped back out into the sunshine and pulled up a few handfuls of fresh green grass. She returned and propped herself up beside the small white creature, so magical and mystical – and yet so real and alive. She loved the warm animal smell of his coat, still mixed faintly with the soap she had used to wash him down. She gently inspected the wounded wing, and was gratified to see that it seemed no worse – better, she thought, though she was no expert in such matters. The soft mouth ate the fresh greenstuff that she offered, a little at a time, and she could feel Pegs’ breath, warm, on her pale hands. Her fingers were the same colour as the delicate shell pink around his nostrils. She gave him water, from a plastic bottle as before, wiping the clear droplets from his mouth with the chequered teacloth she had brought.

  When he had taken enough, she said, ‘Pegs, I have to talk to you.’

  The deep eyes looked into hers, waiting.

  ‘The Royal Forest . . .’ she began, and noticed the immediate wariness, the slight stiffening of the muscles on the horse’s neck. ‘ . . . The wood, which I call the Royal Forest – and I think perhaps you do too, though I don’t know why – well, it belongs to my uncle. The land is his. I’m not sure if you can understand that. But it means that he can do what he likes with it – the land, I mean, and the forest. Well, he told me last night that he means to sell it. The forest, I mean and . . . oh I’m not explaining this very well, but he’s going to get rid of it. The forest will be cut down. It’ll be gone, and then where will you . . . I mean if that’s where you live, where will you . . .?’