Although she did not understand these words, she guessed they were not complimentary.
Occasionally, she came across one that was so still she had not noticed it was there until she smelled it. At one point, she had felt hungry and was sniffing round a wastebin only to see on looking up that a grey she-cat was sitting on the top. The feline seemed quite unconcerned by her presence and was viewing her activities with mild curiosity.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Didn’t see you there.’
The cat shrugged.
Mitz said, ‘I – I don’t suppose you could move so that I could have a look in the bin?’
The cat looked calmly firm and this time did not turn a hair. It merely regarded her with a disdainful stare as if she were a piece of garbage herself. However, the little grey creature looked so soft and vulnerable, Mitz decided it was time to make a stand and begin asserting herself. She could not allow herself to be pushed around forever. There came a point when one had to stop running.
Mitz bared her teeth and snarled.
The cat suddenly transformed herself into a monster: an arched grey fiend, covered in claws and teeth, and spitting incomprehensible obscenities.
Mitz left the scene, hurriedly.
In the middle of the night there was a commotion in the town, but Mitz was too intent on finding a new home to take much notice of it. She thought she caught her father’s scent on the breeze once or twice, and wondered whether he was out scavenging for food. It would have been nice to come across him, while she was looking so grown up and purposeful, but somehow their paths never quite met.
She found a half-eaten package of fish and chips in the gutter and swallowed over three-quarters of it before a human came along the street and she had to leave. Once, she was almost struck by a car that came sliding round a corner and caught her in the middle of the road. She remembered how A-cam had been abducted and a shiver went through her.
On the edge of town there were partially built houses that smelled of newness and once or twice she was tempted to make an earth in one of these, but some instinct told her that such places would be alive with humans during the day, and she resisted the temptation. It was there that a mouse panicked and ran out, under her nose, from beneath a pile of bricks. It was only a length away from her, out on the churned mud, when an owl swooped down suddenly, silently from out of the night and snatched the creature from the ground in its talons. It happened so fast she hardly had time to blink, and the bird left a hoot in its wake, as if to say, ‘You’re not quick enough, vixen! This is the big, wide world and we’re all out here competing with one another.’
Didn’t want the mouse anyway, she thought to herself. She wished she had had time to shout it, but the nightbird with the flat white face was long gone.
Finally, she came to a street where the houses had been occupied but the gardens were still unestablished. It was as she entered this long dark road that something came to her on wind: the faint scent of dog. She stopped and stiffened. She had smelled that scent before! Where? The odour of the hound contained elements which disturbed her senses. There was an underlying whiff of chase-and-kill attached to the main odour and though she had never been the quarry in a hunt, her racial memory sent needle-sharp warnings to her brain. There was a dog in the area which was specific in its intent. It was out looking for creatures to kill and Mitz had heard enough stories from her parents to know that foxes were high on the hunting list of any dog.
A large shadow crossed the bottom of the street and drifted into the blackness at the base of a wall. Luckily Mitz was downwind and her scent was blowing away from her, but she caught the full force of the other creature’s smell and recognised it. She knew the owner of that huge shadowy form.
It was Sabre, the ridgeback.
All caution left her and the fear that rippled through her small body took control. At that moment, a door opened in the street and she dashed forward into the blaze of light which seemed her only escape route from the terrible beast that stalked the streets. There was a screech from the human as she ran through a pair of legs, but this was a minor consideration when the alternative was being ripped from throat to tail.
Blinded by the light, she ran around in circles for a while before finding some solid object under which to hide. There she crouched, her heart beating fast, and waited for death to descend.
Nothing happened, apart from some muted excited barking from the owners of the property she had invaded. The smells were overwhelming and if she had not been frozen into immobility Mitz might have gone berserk, but her body would not respond to any command at that time, reasonable or otherwise.
Someone came to the open doorway of the room she was in and bent down to look under the objects. Then they quietly shut the door and went away. There followed some whirring sounds and more growling noises from the humans. Then there was a long wait during which Mitz got her breath back and began to consider her position.
At first she thought: as soon as that door opens, I’m going through. But then she remembered that Sabre might still be in the street and it did not seem like a good idea any more. The window was better! If they had only left a window open. She studied the walls around her. If there were any escape holes they were covered by cloth. So that was out.
Nothing to do then, but wait and see.
After some while she heard a car stop right outside the house and a car door slammed. Then the front door to the house was opened. There were barks and growls coming from the hallway. Finally, the door to the room was gently opened. A tall human male with black fur on his face entered the room and closed the door behind him.
For a moment the man stood still, allowing his scent to fill the room. When he moved again, Mitz noticed that he had something in his hand: a short pole with a loop at the end. She did not like the look of that pole and snarled at him.
All the while he was in the room, he was growling softly at her and surprisingly they were not menacing sounds. She sensed he was trying to communicate with her. This was deeply suspicious. Why should he wish to talk at her if he was not trying to lull her into a false sense of security? Men were out to get you, and that was that. All her learning directed her towards the thought that if a man got his claws on you, the end was near. Well, if this one so much as placed a toe within biting distance he was going to find it missing shortly afterwards.
That did not happen. Ever so cautiously, the man came down to eye level with her and extended the pole with the loop, so that it was before her nose. She snapped at it, biting the loop of wire. It was hastily retrieved.
Next, the man barked and someone opened the door. Mitz’s attention was distracted for a moment, and in that second the loop was round her neck. She tried to back off, quickly, but the noose tightened, until it was a collar.
O-ha had told Mitz about snares that were laid on fox highways and byways, and strangled animals to death. Sometimes the choking was so agonisingly slow that it was better to commit ranz-san, and cheat the snare of its ugly job. Mitz had now been snared and she thrashed around on the end of the pole, expecting the noose to begin its work of choking her.
It did not. There was some sort of catch on the loop which prevented it from closing any further than the approximate girth of her throat. Then strong hands were on her, lifting her up. She tried to snap at them but they were gloved and out of reach. The noose was removed by the trembling hands of the householder and a cage brought forward. Mitz was thrust gently into this meshed metalwork and her exit locked. She knew then what was going to happen to her. Her father had told her enough tales about cages …
She was going to the zoo.
As she was carried out of the house by the man with fur on his face, she felt thoroughly miserable. Oh yes, she had escaped from the killer, Sabre, but now she was going to spend the rest of her life locked up in a small room, to be peered at by little humans with sticky faces, and poked and laughed at. The room she was destined for would have a few branches for her to play on,
perhaps, and she would be fed and watered regularly, but it would indeed have been better to throw herself into the jaws of the ridgeback. Such an end was less distressing and certainly much quicker.
In the back of the vehicle she was bumped and jostled along, the movement making her spread her legs and flatten herself against the bottom of the cage. It sent a weird, insecure sensation through her body, and she wanted to urinate to relieve her tension. She did so, and the man on hearing or smelling, turned briefly and showed her his even white teeth. He seemed to be aware of her distress and continually rumbled sounds at her in a deep, rich voice. This did nothing to alleviate the strange sensation of floating through the air though, and she continued to stare wildly at the interior of the vehicle and at the back of the human’s head in front. The entire journey was stressful, but although she whined a couple of times she did not disgrace herself by screaming for freedom. The thing to do, she had been told by Camio, was to watch and wait, and take any opportunity that presented itself for escape without causing too much fuss. ‘The quieter you stay,’ he had told his cubs, ‘the more they trust you. Pretty soon, they hardly notice you’re there, and that’s when they make mistakes.’
So, having had a father who had been in a zoo for part of his life was proving useful to Mitz. At least it was not all incomprehensible to her. She knew what was happening, and why. It was just a matter of being patient. She would like to have told hairy-face what she thought of him: even sunk her teeth into that nasty pair of hands – but discretion was wiser than revenge.
Eventually, the vehicle drew to a halt and the back was opened. Sweet smells flowed into Mitz’s nostrils, of apples, pears and plums. She could see no buildings around, and could hear only the wind soughing through the branches of the trees. They were in the country somewhere. The cage was lifted out and Mitz was carried along a path to a house with a roof of dried reeds. The man barked at someone as they approached the door and it was opened to reveal a female human and… her heart skipped a beat – a giant dog! Despite her resolve to remain calm, she drew back in the cage and snarled at the hound. It gave her a mournful look.
‘What are you getting so upset about?’ it asked, not unkindly.
No dog had ever spoken to her in this way before – almost as an equal – and she was rather taken aback. All the stories her mother had told her about the slaves of men emphasised that they were foul creatures who would attack foxes without provocation, and certainly had nothing civil to say.
Her cage was placed down on some paper and the man left the room. The dog continued to regard her with a sad expression.
‘I’m Betsy,’ said the hound. ‘I take it you have a name?’
‘Why are you talking to me?’ asked Mitz. ‘I don’t understand what’s happening here. Is this the zoo?’
‘Zoo? Whatever gave you that idea? This is a cottage. Haven’t you ever seen a cottage before?’
‘I’m only young. I haven’t even left my parents’ earth yet – not properly. What kind of dog are you? You’re not a ridgeback, are you?’
‘Well, there you’ve got me. I’ve never heard of a ridgeback. They must be an unusual breed. I’m a St Bernard,’ she said. ‘I have the reputation for saving humans in distress. Never done it myself, of course. No one seems to get lost around here. Still, I suppose one day …’
‘Do you normally chat to foxes like this? The only dogs I know spend all their time chasing us.’
‘Ah, well, that’s because this is an unusual household. Lots of foxes get brought here. Him, my master, he brings them.’
Mitz was almost afraid to ask what for. She had visions of being killed, roasted and eaten. It was her understanding that when men trapped wild animals like herself, it was either to kill them because they were considered pests – which could have been done to her before now – or because they wanted them for food. Then she recalled an even more chilling reason. Sometimes, especially with furry animals like foxes, they skinned them and turned their coats into human clothes. She imagined what the knife would feel like, slitting her belly and along each leg. Then the skin being peeled off her body and raw, bloody flesh appearing. Did they kill you first? She hoped so.
‘Disgusting practice,’ she snapped.
‘What?’ asked Betsy mildly, at the same time pausing in the act of scratching her ear with her hind leg, no doubt thinking that she had broken protocol in front of this little fox.
‘Skinning foxes,’ replied Mitz.
Betsy shuddered and resumed her scratching, now that it was obvious that her manners were not at fault.
‘I should say so,’ she replied.
‘Isn’t that what your master brings us here for?’
‘Not usually,’ said Betsy. ‘In fact I can’t think of one single fox that he’s skinned.’
‘Then what am I here for?’
‘To look at.’
‘To look at? Then this is a zoo.’
‘No it isn’t, it’s a cottage. Look,’ said Betsy, patiently. ‘For some reason – lord knows why – this man of mine likes to catch foxes and look at them. I think it must be the result of some kind of brain damage when he was a puppy, because I don’t know any other humans that do this and his own friends think he’s crackers. Anyway, little fox, you can rest assured that no harm will come to you while you’re here. He treats you creatures as if you were fragile. You might get pulled about a bit, but not too roughly. All he wants to do is look at you. Spends hours doing it. Almost every day, we go out somewhere and look at foxes and we follow them wherever they lead us. Crazy, I know, but there it is. One can choose one’s friends, but not one’s master or mistress. These two are as bad as each other. She’s always stroking your lot, as if you were dogs. Both mad, but I wouldn’t change them you know. Oh, lord no. They’re nice people in a peculiar way …’
‘So they won’t harm me?’
‘Not at all. You’re as safe here as you would be in your own earth.’
‘And you? You won’t hurt me?’
Betsy looked offended.
‘Of course not. What do you take me for? I shan’t want to look at you, the way he does all the time, but there’s no need to be rude. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. Why, only the other day, we had an intruder in here and I was the first one under the bed.’
The man re-entered the room, while the woman stood behind him in the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. There was a perfumed odour wafting over from her, and Mitz wondered whether she had rubbed herself all over in wildflower blossoms to get such a smell.
‘Ah, look,’ said Betsy, ‘he’s brought you a dish of water. Trying to make friends with you. Take my advice and play hard to get at first – it pleases them more when they have to work to get you to trust them. I know that sounds silly but it’s true.’
The man barked at Betsy and she got up and lumbered to the other side of the room.
‘Thinks I’m upsetting you,’ she said, over her shoulder.
The front of the cage was lifted gingerly and the water dish pushed inside.
Mitz eyed it for a moment, and then said the ritual chant.
‘Water, preserver of life, body of A-O the first fox of Firstdark, cleanse my spirit as well as my limbs, my torso, my head. Water, clarify my soul, my sensations, my senses. All.’
The man got very excited at this reaction from her and barked at the woman, who nodded and showed her teeth the way he had done in the vehicle on the journey to the cottage.
‘That’s it,’ said Betsy, before the man could shut her up. ‘Play hard to get. Do a bit more of that rigmarole. It gets them going – it really does.’
But the ritual was over, and Mitz was thirsty. She drank the liquid gratefully.
Chapter Twenty Four
Later, Mitz was taken out of the back of the house and into a much larger cage, similar, she imagined, to those Camio had described as being part of the zoo. There she underwent a rather undignified inspection. The man who had captured her checked every inch
of her and found the small cut on her paw that she had received in the scrapyard. He called to the woman who brought him a pot of paste, some of which he smeared on the cut. Then she was left for the rest of the night, with a plate of meat mixed with some sort of vegetable. The first thing she did was lick as much of the paste away from her wound as possible, though it tasted horrible. After which, she ate the food they had left her.
There was hay on the bottom of the cage and she lay on this feeling quite miserable. The dog had told her that she was not destined to be sent to a zoo, but how much could she trust the St Bernard? Betsy was, after all, one of the minions of the oldest enemies of foxes. Perhaps the hound had been trained to put foxes at their ease, so that they caused the least trouble possible? Humans were devious creatures that spent a great deal of time making things easy for themselves. No, she could not trust the dog or the man.
She settled down with her head on her front paws to spend the rest of the night morosely imagining the worst. She could hear a brook gurgling somewhere at the bottom of the man’s garden and when she listened very hard she could hear sounds of activity coming from that direction. There was a creature at work down there. She wondered if she should call to it and perhaps obtain some reliable information, if it were able to speak Canidae. She began to bemoan her fate, loudly, to anyone who might be listening.
The sounds that Mitz could hear were in fact coming from the direction of an otter’s holt in the bank of the brook. There a bitch and a dog otter were feeding their cubs on a rock, known as an altar, worn smooth by generations of use. Scattered around the altar were the otters’ droppings, or spraints, which served to mark their territory and warn away intruders. The dog otter, whose name was Stigand, was familiar with and to the pair who lived in the house. Over the course of a year the otters and the humans had reached an understanding of one another. Stigand and his partner, Sona, would often accept fish from the humans since this act seemed to please them. Stigand was all for maintaining good relations with any creature living close to his holt and, unlike foxes, his kind had no reason to hate the two-legged beasts that took little notice of territorial markings. Otters are members of the Mustelidae family, which includes badgers, and he often spoke to his black-and-white cousins, some of whom had a sett out in the field close to the brook. There were a pair of foxes living in the same sett and though Stigand and Sona steered clear of these red-coated co-habitees of their cousins, the badgers would often slip Canidae into their conversation to impress visitors. Consequently, Stigand had picked up a certain amount of the foxes’ tongue, which in any case had originally derived from his own ancient language. These vocabulary gleanings he had augmented and, he believed, perfected in discussions with the dog, Betsy, on the cottage lawn.
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