In Search of Spice (4 page)

“Enough, girl, we’ve given them a scare,” he said, his voice loud enough for the dog to hear.

Pat moved through the trees, his grey eyes intent on the ground, looking for tracks. Nothing. Mot circled ahead, nose down, tail waving. He thought it through. The pack were not scared, they were being wary and they would be hungry. They would come back.

What would they need? They did like that cliff. It was not high, but enough to kill cattle that bolted and they knew it. Easiest way to kill cattle was with gravity, no risk to the wolf and wolves did not take risks. The cliff was still on the far side of the herd, and if the wolves got ahead, they could still bolt them towards it. However, they would be wary now, and would check out the land first. That meant the hill ahead, only place they could go.

Pat squeezed his horse into motion, and cantered towards the hill, Mot following behind. He knew he needed to get there first. He was sixteen years old, a tall, black haired boy who thought he knew it all. He did know animals, better than most, and was elf-taught in the woods.

He learnt a lot about wolves as a child, and lost all fear of them. The bitch was the true leader of the pack, not the dog. He might be the fighter, but he did what she told him, not that Pat could understand or hear her speak but it felt right when he put it that way.

Now, in the autumn, the time the ranchers took the crop of young cattle to market, was the time the young wolves learnt to hunt. The old wolves taught them the easiest ways - and that included chasing herds over cliffs. They also taught them caution, but with some youngsters, they had to learn the hard way. Just like people.

He came up to the top of the hill and reined in, looking down the far slope with a sprinkling of young trees over it, all at an incline with the prevailing wind off the sea. Off to his left he could see the herd snaking out towards the gap in the hills, beyond which the trail led into town and the first farms.

Mot growled, and he saw the first wolf at the same time. It stopped and snarled at him. Pat unclipped his bow from its holster and strung it, pulling a long arrow from the quiver, checking that it was a broadhead. That would stop a wolf, stun it on the head or chest, but needed to be sent on the slant if it was to slip between the ribs for a killing strike.

The wolf watched him for a moment, turned and loped away, unhurried. He saw it in full view heading away from the herd in a direction from which it would be hard to come back and attack. He smiled. The wolf was sending him a message - Pat was too ready and too dangerous. That wolf had seen a bow used before.

He watched as other wolves appeared out of nowhere and followed the leader, and switched his attention to the low bushes. Would the young wolves go too? Or would they itch to find out why the older wolves had given up?

A bush moved, and he smiled. Smoothly, he drew, held the arrow for a moment as he checked the wind was steady, and released. As he watched the flight, he replaced the arrow. It went in a graceful arc off to the left of the bush, caught the wind and swung round to thump through the bush. There came a yelp and a wolf was running, unhurt, untouched, but shocked and startled, away and after the others, joined by three more, all with their tails down.

He grinned, and decided retrieving the arrow would be more trouble than it was worth; he did not want to get off the horse in case another youngster was still waiting.

He sat on his horse, watching the pack disappear. The horse watched as carefully as he did, a lot more concerned than Pat. He waited there until the herd passed the danger point, then galloped down to the rear and set Mot to hurrying up the last of the cattle.

His father came round to him and said, “All clear?”

“Yup. Too late for them to do anything now, they can’t get them to the ravine so they’ll give up.”

His father looked blank for a moment, and said, “The ravine? The cliff? You mean wolves? They drive the cattle to it deliberately?”

Pat stared at him in astonishment. This was his father. Surely he knew?

“Uh, sure dad. They can kill more easily and safely if they drive them over a cliff. They know that - that’s why the herds always get hit here.”

“Can’t be. They’re just animals - how would they work it out?” His father dismissed the thought and moved off to the right of the herd, shaking his head.

Mikkel came up beside him, and pulled down the cloth from over his mouth to stop the dust raised by the herd. “Had a mite of trouble, I see.”

“No, not really. Why do you say that?”

Mikkel smiled. “You’re missing an arrow from your quiver.” He pulled up his cloth and swung away to chivvy along a bullock after a clump of tasty grass miraculously untrampled.

Pat reflected his oldest brother might seem slow, but he missed little. He spat dust from his mouth and pulled up his neck cloth.

They came over the rise. His father, with his distinctive white hat, had gone ahead and was talking to men at the yards, still a couple of miles away across the plain. The city of Rikklaw’s Port spread out behind it and the ocean gleamed in the distance. He thrilled inside, as the sight of the sea always gripped him, and he stood in the stirrups, seeing sails white against the blue. Mikkel came up beside him.

“Ah, can’t wait for a beer. I’m as dry as that last creek after eating this damn dust all week.”

Pat grinned at him. Mikkel’s fondness for beer explained why their mother banned it at home.

“And now it’s time we found you a girl and show you what it’s all about.” Mikkel went on with a grin.

Pat’s face was panic-stricken. Mikkel laughed. His little brother might be wise in the ways of the wild, but the city at night was unknown to him. Girls gave him enough trouble at home.

“Don’t worry, laddie. I’ll find you a knowing one who will teach you what to do. Mebbe not the first night, though, as you’ll be worse for wear on beer.”

“I’ll be fine, no way am I matching you beer for beer. Just a taste, that’s fine for me.”

“Ah, that’s what they all say. You’ll be in there with all of us an’ there’s a game or two to teach you. Just don’t go drinking with strangers - I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Pat thought gloomily that he would be fine for the first hour, after which his brother would be too pissed to notice anything.

The yards were made of wood, and the entrance was a wide funnel into which the cattle went without fuss, ending up milling about in the large paddock. As Mikkel and Pat shooed the last through the final gate, a couple of men they didn’t know pulled a gate round and rammed some poles through it and the wall to hold it secure. Simple and clever, thought Pat, seeing how strongly stakes braced it on both sides.

One of the men saw him looking, and said, “When they panic, they remember which way they came in and they hit it pretty hard. This’ll hold ‘em, don’t you worry.”

His father came over to them. “Right lads, good job you’ve done. Get the horses into the horse paddock, give Rabbie a hand with the spares when he comes in with the wagon and then I have a treat for you.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“What’s that, dad?” Asked Selwyn. “Girls?”

“Randy young pup,” said his father, swatting him. “No, I’ve booked rooms at the Herdsman’s Inn and the bathroom. There’s a hot bath for each of you so You’ll smell sweet for the ladies when you go out later. Right now, Sel, you smell like a horse that’s been rolling in bullshit.”

Shouts of laughter and agreement, and Mikkel pushed Selwyn towards the horse trough. He swayed, but kept his balance and came back with a soppy grin on his face.

“Now, before you all rush off, we’ll have a drink at the bar together like civilised folk and I’ll give you some coin. I’ve got an advance from the buyers already, and it’s a good one. Seems we’re the first intact herd to come through this season and the fattest. All the others had run from wolves a mite and lost weight.”

“We have Pat to thank for that,” said Mikkel with a glance at Selwyn. “Mayhap he deserves a bonus, dad.”

There was a general cheer to this and Pat blushed and mumbled, but nobody could hear over the general noise. He felt his arm grabbed and squeezed and saw his sister Sal smiling at him.

“To be sure,” said Dad, “now lets off to the Inn for that bath and we can drink his health.”

The Herdsman’s Inn was a big place, no longer on the edge of the town which had grown, and the stable no longer had horses in it - they were outside of town. Instead, it was a huge bathing area, with individual tubs beside what had once been a long horse trough, raised into the air. To fill your tub you pulled down a short slab of wood and water cascaded into the tub until you pushed it back up. The tank was on top of the building where the water warmed in the sun.

Pat did not look to see where the water came from, just ripped his clothes off, jumped in and let water cascade over him and into the tub.

“Great idea, Pat.” Shouted Sal from the next tub as she copied him. “Sel! Get us some soap before you jump in.”

“There’s a bucket full of it by each tub, Sal,” said Mikkel, “But don’t tell Selwyn - he’ll be gone for half an hour looking for it in the kitchen.”

The tubs were big enough so Pat was able to get completely under water, which he did as soon as it was full enough and tried to see how long he could hold his breath. He felt something prod him hard in the stomach and shot up spluttering to see Sal laughing at him.

“Wash your hair properly,” she scolded, “and I will check to make sure you don’t have lice.”

“Aw, give it a rest, Sal! Nobody’s got lice.” It did not do him any good. She climbed out of her tub and came and checked, lathering his hair up. He did not notice her expression as she went back to her own tub, but Mikkel did. Everyone says goodbye in his or her own way.

In the bar, Pat was the last to arrive except for Sal. His dad grabbed his arm, pushed Mikkel away and said, “I need to talk to you, lad. Let’s go over there where we can have some peace.”

“No you don’t, Dad,” said Mikkel. “This is a family matter, we all need to be there and you must wait for Sal. Here, Pat, get this down your throat.” He pushed a tankard at Pat, who received it with caution.

“Mikkel, I think I should talk to Pat first.” His father stumbled over the words and Pat wondered what was going on. Did his dad want to give him a bonus without the others there?

“In your dreams, Dad. I do most of the work around the ranch anyway, you’re just about retired.”

His father wattled furiously, blew up like a frog and was about to explode when Mikkel roared with laughter.

“And you’re no good with sensitive things. You will say the wrong thing and ruin everything. Pat’s a good lad and doesn’t deserve that. Wait for Sal, she is the one who should explain.”

“What about me? I’m sensitive.” Cried Selwyn.

“Sensitive like a hog,” said Mikkel. “You can listen but say the wrong thing and I’ll flatten you. Sal will do the talking, we’re there for support.”

It was going a bit fast for his father, who was feeling bemused now, not having shared his intentions towards Pat with his other children. Who of course were one step ahead of him. Bemused was nothing to what Pat was feeling. He began to think something momentous was happening and took an incautious swig from the tankard. His spluttering changed the subject. Selwyn hit him on the back, while his father and Mikkel laughed.

“You’ll get to like it in no time. Finish that off and I’ll get you another.”

“Let’s not get him pissed straight away,” said his father, “we need to have our chat first.”

Sal arrived at this moment, dressed in a yellow frock that clung to her curves and revealing a lot more breast than any of the brothers had realised existed, despite having bathed with her half an hour earlier. They all stared, and she smiled with delight, pirouetting for them.

“Well? How do I look?”

“Simply beautiful, my dear. What can I get you to drink?”

“Some wine, please, that light white one they have here that smells of roses.”

He moved off to the bar and heard Selwyn hiss behind him, “What are you doing dressed like that? We’ll get in a fight for sure, keeping the men off you.”

“Don’t be an ass, Selwyn,” said Mikkel. “She WANTS the men, that’s why she is dressed to kill. Shut your mouth, Pat, just because you’ve never seen her in anything but jeans before doesn’t mean she’s a boy.”

“But her boobs,” Pat gestured, “They’re so much bigger. I mean, when we’re swimming or washing, they’re not that big.”

“And YOU can stop looking at them right now.” Sal glared at him while he looked guilty. “The wonders of clothing, and that’s all you need to know. Now move along and give a girl some room.”

“Sal, we’re just going to go over to that cubicle and talk to Pat. You take the lead, will you; you’re really good at this sort of thing.”

“Sure, no problem. Has anything been decided?”

“Without you? No chance. Wouldn’t let dad talk without you.”

“Err, what’s going on?” Asked Pat. He was feeling more and more left out, and had no idea what to make of his sister’s clothing.

Sal took his arm and led him over to the cubicle, the others following with dad at the rear with her wine.

“Pat, you are a very special person. You have skills the like of which none of us has ever heard. You should be a priest or a magician, the way you talk to the animals.”