Furnaces of Forge (The Land's Tale) (14 page)

The woman’s tone made Crimson angry. ‘Her name is Calamity,’ she replied hotly. ‘No one owns Calamity. Ask her yourself.’

‘Oh, so she’s a Muddle puppy!’ Edith sneered. ‘Listen, my dear, she’s just an ordinary dog. Just because you can understand what she yaps about doesn’t make her different. It makes you different.’

‘Well said,’ Hazlitt remarked.

Crimson turned her back on Edith and Hazlitt and faced Kevin. ‘Are these the people who kidnapped you?’ she asked.

Edith laughed. ‘Kidnapped! That’s priceless. We were rescuing him. If anything, it was you and your friends who kidnapped him. You caused the death of his friend and employer, prevented him from going home and brought him here.’

‘I wanted to stay!’ cried Kevin. ‘And Amelia killed herself!’

‘You don’t belong here and you will go where I tell you,’ snapped Edith. Her voice softened to a coaxing lilt. ‘Come, Kevin. You don’t belong in the Land. And you really shouldn’t say such things about your Factor.’

‘Who are you?’ Crimson demanded.

‘You don’t know who I am, Crimson? I rather thought you might have guessed,’ said Edith.

Crimson was startled. ‘How do you know my name?’

‘You know, I was a bit sceptical when Amelia said there was someone like you in the Land,’ said Edith. ‘I’m rather glad I ran across you, Crimson.’

‘What do you mean?’ Crimson demanded. ‘Just tell me why you are here.’

‘Only to help, my dear,’ Hazlitt replied. Ask the Myrmidots. I’m sure they’ll tell you how helpful we are.’ And he laughed in a dry, humourless way.

‘What have you done?’ Crimson asked.

‘Made their wishes come true, that’s all,’ Hazlitt said. ‘They have made our task here so easy. Much easier than we could have hoped! And without you, Crimson, nothing can change what has been done.’

‘Enough!’ Edith commanded. ‘We don’t have time for this. Kevin, come.’

Kevin didn’t move, so Hazlitt flicked his horse with his riding crop and trotted towards him. Crimson stepped in front of the Beadle but Hazlitt casually nudged his mount so that the horse shifted its weight and with its shoulder knocked Crimson to the ground. Hazlitt leaned forward, grabbed Kevin by his shirt and threw him over the saddle in front of him.

Calamity leapt at Hazlitt’s foot. With no more thought than if he was swatting an insect, he brought the handle of his whip down on the puppy’s head. It wasn’t a hard blow but it was enough to make Calamity drop to the ground.

‘Calamity!’ screamed Crimson, and rushed to the puppy’s side.

Calamity wobbled to her feet. ‘I’m all right,’ she growled.

‘Oh, come on. I didn’t hurt it,’ said Hazlitt. ‘There’s no sport in that.’ He smiled at Crimson and Calamity. His smile was cold and mocking. ‘And I do like sport.’

He exchanged a glance with Edith, and then his eyes went to the spoorhounds and back to Crimson and Calamity. A half-smile, heartless and dismissive, came to Edith’s face and she gave a single, short nod. Hazlitt kicked his horse and disappeared down the hill towards their camp.

Edith gathered her reins. ‘It will be dark soon,’ she said, looking at Crimson and Calamity, ‘and I really don’t like the idea of leaving you alone in the dark. I would feel it was all my fault if anything were to happen to you. So I shall leave my hounds with you to keep you company.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Crimson curtly. ‘We can look after ourselves.’

‘Oh, it’s no bother,’ said Edith. She nudged her horse and followed Hazlitt. At the crest of the hill she stopped and turned back to the Muddles. ‘Oh, I should warn you. The hounds love to play. They’re particularly fond of a game I taught them only recently. It’s called it “Catch the Muddles”. You’ve got about a minute’s headstart.’ Edith launched her horse down the slope, the sound of her laughter hanging in the air.

For a few seconds, Crimson stared in horror at the spot where Edith had been. Such malice and cruelty were beyond her understanding, and she stood there for a moment, dazed and bewildered.

Calamity was no less confused but her eyes were fixed on the four spoorhounds. And if one thing was perfectly clear to her, it was that they weren’t going to like the game the hounds were about to play. The sooner she and Crimson left, the better.

She barked sharply at Crimson. ‘We need to run. We have to get away from here. Now!’

Crimson snapped out of her daze and looked over at the hounds. They stood, silent and expectant, their muscles quivering as they waited. Their eyes, wide and dark, never wavered from the Muddles. Calamity was right. They had to get away. They had already lost several precious seconds. But Crimson knew she and Calamity would never be able to outpace the hounds.

‘This way, Calamity!’ she yelled and started to run.

Calamity had readied herself to head south, towards Home. When she realised that Crimson had run in the opposite direction, she tried to change direction mid leap. With her back legs going in one direction and her front legs in another, the puppy slid along the leaves. She regained her feet and raced after Crimson. As she passed the spoorhounds, she could have sworn that they were laughing at her.

Calamity followed Crimson towards the rocks about two hundred paces to their right. The puppy couldn’t see that they would offer much protection. It was just a pile of boulders at the base of a rocky hill. Even if they made it to the top of the tallest rock, Calamity had no doubt that the spoorhounds would have little difficulty leaping after them. Yet, all her life, Calamity had trusted Crimson. And she did so now.

Crimson knew they would have no chance against the dogs if they were caught in the open, and the hounds would be on them before they could find a tree to climb. She could also see that the group of rocks wouldn’t provide much defence. What she wanted, though, was the means to fight back.

As she ran, she scanned the ground ahead. A few paces to her right, she spotted it. She swerved and, without slowing, reached down and snatched a stout branch.

The rocks formed an untidy pyramid, no more than a few metres wide at the base. Crimson leapt on to the first rock, and then up on to the next. At the tip of the pyramid was a boulder, about shoulder height. Reaching down, she scooped Calamity into her arms and put her atop the rock. Then she rested her stick against the boulder.

She glanced back at the dogs. They stood motionless, staring, waiting for the moment when their training let them loose. She knew that moment could only be seconds away. She ran to the back of the pyramid, where it joined the slight hill. There she found what she was hoping for. Quickly, she began gathering smaller rocks, filling the pockets of her fire jacket with stones the size of her fist. When her pockets were full, she grabbed one in each hand, and then ran back to Calamity.

Calamity barked a warning. Crimson wheeled round to see the dogs speeding towards her. She had never seen an animal brought to savagery. It shocked her to see the intent in their eyes. There was no sign of cruelty or malice, just terrible purpose.

She swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the rocks in her hands; their weight and rough hardness shook her as she prepared to throw them. Her own strength and anger would be part of those missiles, as much a part of them as the stone itself. She would be responsible for the harm those rocks would cause – harm to other creatures.

Her heart, as much as her mind, couldn’t do that. She dropped her hands to her sides. She took a small step forward and faced the dogs.

‘Stop!’

It was a plea more than a command. She shouted it as loud as she could. She spoke it to the dogs, not at them. They broke stride but kept coming.

‘No!’ Crimson yelled.

Perhaps they were confused; they had been trained to chase and were used to quarry that ran from them, which this one did not. Perhaps they had been so thoroughly trained to obey that they responded to the command. Perhaps they were just amused and curious at the temerity of the lone figure facing them. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter to Crimson. All that mattered to her was that the hounds had stopped.

Crimson’s tears began to flow. She felt corrupted and tainted. Worse, she felt that something corrupt had come into the Land and she had become its accomplice.

‘Please. Go home.’

The spoorhounds searched for their own answers. They sniffed the air, they sniffed the ground and they sniffed each other. They paced back and forth; they looked towards Crimson and they looked in the direction of the far campsite. Wherever they found it, their answer suddenly became clear.

The largest of the hounds raised its muzzle to the air and bayed: it was a long, harsh howl like the blast of a trumpet. Before the sound had drifted from the trees, the four hounds charged.

≈

Edith and Hazlitt heard the baying of the spoorhound as they cantered towards camp. Edith smiled to herself.

‘The little darlings. It sounds like they’re having such a good time,’ she murmured.

≈

Crimson watched in horror and disbelief as the hounds came at them. Instinctively, she drew back her arm and threw the first rock. The throw was wild and the rock flew to the left, missing all four but making the hound on the far left swerve away. Crimson was luckier with her second throw: one of the hounds yelped in pain as the rock hit it squarely on the nose. Blood ran down its fangs and jaws as the hound staggered in circles.

Crimson’s third rock missed its mark but, by good fortune, it struck the injured dog between its ears as it struggled to stay on its feet. Without a sound, the dog dropped to the ground and lay still.

There was no time for another rock. The hound that had swerved was coming at Crimson from her left; the one that had issued the baying answer to her plea was coming straight towards her. The last was headed, running straight as an arrow, for Calamity.

Crimson whirled and grabbed the branch. She turned back to the hound leaping towards her, thrusting the branch forward. The end hit the hound in the throat. The animal twisted and flipped in mid-air, coming down heavily on the stone below it. Crimson could hear it wheezing as it writhed, trying to regain its feet.

Crimson spun to face the hound on her left. She had hold of the branch like a bat and brought it round as she turned. The hound had misjudged its leap on to the rock and was sliding sideways, its claws scratching the rock as it tried to get on to the boulder. The momentum of Crimson’s turn added force to her blow. The branch hit the hound hard on the side of the jaw. Its head jerked back and the dog flopped to the base of the rock pile.

The fourth hound sprang towards Calamity on powerful hind legs. All Calamity could see was its slavering jaws and long, deadly fangs coming straight for her head. As the hound came down, Calamity ducked. She slipped and rolled on to her back just as the hound landed on the boulder, straddling the puppy. Calamity saw the broad underside of the hound above her nose. ‘This is no time for niceties,’ she said to herself.

Calamity’s fangs were not as long or as fearsome as the spoorhound’s, but they were just as sharp. She bit hard. The hound screamed and bucked, blood pouring from its wound, and spun in circles before slithering to the ground. It staggered into the trees, yelping in pain as it retreated.

The largest spoorhound was on its feet again snarling ferociously as it slowly came towards Crimson. She was horrified by the terrible intent she could see in its eyes. She adjusted her grip on the branch.

A deep growl to her left made her look round. The hound she had hit on the jaw was coiled, ready to leap from the boulder below her. Before she could turn to face it, a pair of powerful forelegs hit Crimson in the chest. The force knocked her from her feet and she threw her left arm in front of her face to protect herself as the hound went for her throat. Crimson’s thick fire coat saved her. Jaws that should have snapped her bone and teeth that should have shredded the flesh from her arm were dulled by the tough fabric. Even so, Crimson cried out in pain as the jaws sawed through her sleeve. She grabbed the hound by the throat with her right hand but it held fast to her arm.

Calamity heard Crimson’s scream and launched herself on to the back of the attacking hound. She bit the dog’s neck and shoulders; she raked its head and back with her claws, but the spoorhound kept its hold on Crimson.

The largest of the hounds walked slowly and deliberately up to the boulder. Though it stood on the rock below Crimson, its head was level with hers, and it stretched its neck so that its jaws came within a few centimetres of Crimson’s face. The spoorhound snapped at Crimson, missing her face by a hair’s breath. It was deliberately tormenting the helpless Muddle.

Crimson knew she had lost.

‘Calamity!’ she cried. ‘Go! Run Calamity, please! Go!’

But Calamity was the fire-station dog. Crimson was the fire officer, and what was the point of being a fire-station dog in a fire station without a fire officer? Besides, Crimson was Calamity’s friend. She and Crimson would leave together.

The largest spoorhound had tormented its victim long enough. Its eyes never leaving Crimson, it drew its rear legs under it and leapt.

A grey blur flashed over Crimson, hitting the hound in the chest, and the two shapes crashed to the ground below. Crimson couldn’t see what was happening as she continued to wrestle with the other hound, but she heard the awful sound of dogs fighting. Then Crimson gasped in pain. The hound had chewed through her coat sleeve and she felt its teeth break the skin on her arm. She twisted in pain, trying desperately to wrench her arm free. Calamity was biting and the hound’s neck and back were covered with blood, but it wouldn’t let go and Crimson felt its teeth sink deeper into her arm.

She winced as something stabbed her in the kidneys. She let go of the hound’s throat and reached into her pocket. Her hand closed on one of the rocks she had collected. She pulled it from her pocket, closed her eyes and struck the hound as hard as she could.

The animal collapsed on top of her. Crimson felt its jaws go slack and she prised her arm free. She was too weak to push the dog off her and she lay pinned beneath it, tears streaming down her face. A second later she felt Calamity’s tongue licking her tears and she opened her eyes. She raised her right hand to pet her friend and realised she was still clutching the rock. Crimson let it roll away. As she scratched behind the puppy’s ear, she whispered, ‘Thank you, Calamity.’