by Joan Aiken
“Guten dog, Uli! Wie geht es?”
And he would gravely raise his massive right paw.
“Mitdogessen!”
And he would stalk hopefully to his dinner-bowl.
But with Tom Flint of the Canine Rescue Mission his behaviour was quite other.
“Perhaps Uli doesn’t want to be rescued?” suggested Sauna.
Whenever Tom Flint was in his vicinity, the great dog would spring to his feet and growl—a low, threatening, terrible sound. A brilliant green spark would light up in his eyes and he would slowly pace forward, baring two rows of fangs like snowy mountain ranges set in coral-red gums that looked quite capable of crunching an iron bar in half.
To Tom Flint’s nervous squeaks of “All right, then, good doggie!” he paid no heed at all. A confrontation between the two had never been reached; Tom Flint always bolted.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” he confided to Sergeant Bellswinger. “He’s come to associate me with that awful battle in the graveyard, when all his mates were killed. It’s not to be wondered at he has unhappy feelings connected with me. I daresay it’ll pass off, all in good time.”
“Unhappy?” said Bellswinger. “Looks like downright unfriendly to me.”
“It’ll pass, it’ll pass. I’ll give him a biscuit every now and then, or a bit of Mrs. Churt’s raisin cake.”
But so far this had not proved successful.
Chapter five
Slowly, in fits and starts, depending on the condition of the track, the Cockatrice Belle made her way northwards to York and Thirsk, to Darlington and Newcastle.
Surprisingly few monsters hindered her course. And yet the countryside was sadly empty and wasted; there were very few humans to be seen. Wildlife was considerably reduced too.
“I don’t like it,” muttered the colonel. “It ain’t right, this lack of monsters. I don’t trust it.”
“You think they are mustering, Colonel, for an all-out assault somewhere farther north?” suggested Major Scanty.
“Yes, Major, that’s just what I do think.”
And the colonel made Bellswinger keep the men at battle exercises all day long, every day, to maintain them in hard fighting condition. Mrs. Churt was exhorted to feed them on wild spinach, heather porridge, and what raw greens could be garnered by the track-side, either from woods or commons, or from deserted farms and gardens. But as they travelled north the conditions became more and more wintry, snow lay thicker and thicker on hillsides, there were fewer and fewer wild greens to be found.
The main obstacle to their progress in these rougher and more hilly regions was the state of the track, which often required days of repair before the train could cautiously advance over it. Bridges, likewise, needed mending and the engineers had to make use of what materials they could find lying about in ruined goods-yards and sidings along their route.
“Days and days wasted,” fumed the colonel, as the party of engineers doggedly extended a new span of bridge across the River Tyne.
“It will be much better on the return journey,” mildly pointed out Major Scanty. “Their work will be done already.”
“If we ever do return,” muttered the colonel.
One advantage of these periods of enforced standstill was that Mrs. Churt’s herb-gathering parties could range further afield. And the archbishop spent many hours of leisure with Dakin and Sauna, teaching Dakin French, and Sauna the basics of mathematics.
“But why should I want to measure the distance from that tree to the sun?” she asked. “What use would that be?”
“Oh! my dear child! You never know when such knowledge may not come in handy! And,” pursued the archbishop thoughtfully, “to have knowledge in your brain of any kind, if it is true and factual, is always a useful defence against the assaults of the Evil One. Knowledge is a shield. And it can be a weapon.”
“I’m not sure that I know what you are talking about,” said Sauna. “In fact, I’m quite sure that I don’t.”
“Well, my child. Remember those long, sad days in the past when you were imprisoned in your aunt’s flat with your hands tied behind you to prevent you from knocking over the china treasures. What did you think about during those hours?”
“Well,” admitted Sauna, “at first I used to think of how, if I could get my hands undone, I’d push Auntie Floss out of the window. Or bash her to flinders with the rolling pin. She had one made of marble.”
“Just so, Assaults of the Evil One.”
“Sir? On Auntie Floss?”
“No, child. On you.”
“And then,” went on Sauna, pondering, remembering, “I began to see Dakin, ever such a long way off, a-coming towards me. And that cheered me up a lot. So instead of planning how to do in Auntie Floss, I took to remembering a place Dad and Mam and I used to stop at on holidays when I was a little ’un.”
“Yes? Where was this place then, my dear?”
“I don’t know, sir. I don’t remember. It was called Bride’s Bridge. Two rivers met. And there was a gravel-bed where I used to play. And a ring of trees—big trees. And just a few houses. An old lady called Alison Pittendreich lived there. Aunt Ailie, I called her. She used to give me girdle cakes. And there was big black mountains over the other side of the brook. It was a lovely place. Aunt Ailie gave me two tiny dolls with china heads and I called them Ted and Emily after Mam and Dad. I built them a palace of stones on a big rock in the river. If I think hard, I can remember the sound the water made, running among all those rocks. I used to jump across with dry feet, using them as stepping stones.”
“Stepping stones; just so,” said the archbishop. “They helped you past the danger of the fast-flowing water. In the same way knowledge, good sound knowledge, can help your mind leap over currents of cruelty, depths of deceit, slimy swamps of sin.”
“Fancy!” said Sauna. “You mean knowing about the square on the hypotenuse can do all that?”
They were sitting in the colonel’s office; the colonel himself was outside on the observation deck inspecting a party of men who were holding a Snark practice. In the distance they could hear the powerful voice of Sergeant Bellswinger:
“Form THREES!
Snark weapons—TUNE!
Snark weapons—POINT!
Snark weapons—FIRE!
As you were. Reload, Make ready. Breathe—IN!”
Every seven seconds there was a loud crackle as the Snark guns were fired. The archbishop sighed.
“Warfare always seems so simple,” he said. “That is why almost everybody falls back on it in the end. It is the dealings and manoeuvrings beforehand that are so dangerous and delicate. And important. Of course we must always hope to avoid open war if we can.”
“Even if we are right, and the other lot are wrong?” asked Dakin.
The archbishop sighed again. “But who knows for sure—” he was beginning, when the phone rang.
“Oh dear me, that may be headquarters for Colonel Clipspeak. He was hoping for a call. Would you take it, Sauna, and I will call the colonel—”
But even before Sauna could pick up the receiver, they heard the same nasal whining voice that on the former occasion had echoed round Bellswinger’s little office. It seemed to pour at them like smoke out of the wall panels and the furniture and the relief map on the end wall.
“Sauna! My little Sauna!”
The dog Uli leapt up, howled miserably and, with ears flattened and tail trailing, bolted precipitately from the room.
“Oh, mercy!” gasped Sauna, much too scared to pick up the phone. The archbishop stretched out his hand for the receiver. “Don’t touch it, sir, don’t!” cried Sauna. “The sergeant did, when this happened before, and he got a real awful shock.”
“Sauna! Come to me, come! Come to your grandfather’s house! I need you so ba-a-a-adly! I am all alone, and old, and helpless, and crippled. Nobody helps me. I need you to care for me, Sauna! I looked after you, all that time, I rescued you, I fed you and loved you and was a mother to
you—now it’s your turn to make a repayment for all I did. For my friends don’t come any more—nobody comes—and it’s lo-o-o-onely here, it’s co-o-o-old. Come to your grandfather’s house. I need your young hands to help me. And, if you come, perhaps my friends will come back—ahh-ahh-ahh!”
The words ended in a gibbering shriek.
The archbishop had leapt to his feet and stood listening, all aquiver, like a gundog pointing at a rustle in the leaves. The small plump man suddenly seemed charged with power and a kind of righteous fury.
“Begone! you foul spirit!” he called out in a loud, clear voice. “You have no right in this world. You have no right to make any such demand on the girl. None! Get you gone to your own place!”
“… Only wanted a little comfort!” whimpered the voice. “So cold—so lonely—all in the dark—no stairs to climb, no light, no smells, no sounds, no tastes, no voices—”
“You have no right to such comforts!” thundered the archbishop. “You bartered away those rights when you made your bad bargain. You made your own wicked bed and now you must lie in it. Begone! And stop tormenting the child.”
Dakin and Sauna stared at one another, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.
The voice died away in faint wails and sobs.
Dr. Wren wiped beads of perspiration from his brow.
“That was very instructive,” he said. “Very instructive indeed. I must devote a lot of thought and prayer to this occurrence, my child. Meanwhile—if anything like that should happen again—pay no heed to it! None! Do not even reply. If necessary, clap your hands over your ears to shut out the sound.”
“Then—” whispered Sauna, “wasn’t it my Auntie Floss on the line?”
“It is more likely,” said Dr. Wren, “that somebody—something—was impersonating her. Or—if it was your aunt—she has been taken over—possessed—by some external power. So you must on no account take any notice, or even think of complying with any of her demands.”
“No, sir. Th-thank you.”
Uli crawled back into the office, dragging his tail along the floor, whining, very much ashamed of himself. He laid his huge shaggy head on Sauna’s knee and looked up at her as if to say, “I do apologize, but really it was quite out of my power to stay in the room with that going on.”
“SQUAD—disMISS!” bawled Sergeant Bellswinger outside.
* * *
“Do you think that was Aunt Floss’s voice?” said Sauna to Dakin when they were alone together. “You met her, you heard her talk?”
Dakin was doubtful. “I wasn’t there for long,” he said cautiously. “It sounded sort of like her—but—I dunno. It could have been somebody imitating her voice. That’s what Dr. Wren seems to think. And he’s a canny old cove.”
“But why should somebody do that? Who?” shivered Sauna. “If it isn’t Auntie Floss, who in the world would ask for me to come like that?”
“Well,” said Dakin, “best do what Dr. Wren says—take no notice; don’t think about it.”
“That’s easy for you to say! It wasn’t speaking to you!”
Dakin reflected that this was true. But he did not know how to help Sauna, and this made him rather impatient.
“Try not to think about it. Shall we play a game of checkers?”
“No,” said Sauna, “I’d rather read a bit more of that book about Rome.”
Reading about what happened in Rome so long ago, she thought, might take her mind off what was happening now.
* * *
That night Sauna had a bad dream. She woke up in the cabin that she shared with Mrs. Churt shrieking her head off. She found herself on the floor, having rolled clean out of her bunk, which was the upper one.
At the time the train was stationary, waiting for daylight so as to resume its journey on the relaid track to Newcastle.
Sauna had been looking forward with painful excitement to revisiting the town where she had lived happily with her father and mother until they set off for that ill-fated Spanish holiday. Since then she had never been back. If there was time, Colonel Clipspeak had promised, and not too many monsters about, Lieutenant Upfold might escort her to Dry Dock Street, to look at her former home.
Perhaps it was memories of her previous life that had crept into her head and made her dream.
At any rate she let out such a fearful shriek that it woke every soul on the train. Guards cocked their Snark guns, sentries switched on their battle flares, sleeping soldiers tumbled out of their berths and reached around for weapons, the Colonel shot bolt upright in his bed and shouted for Sergeant Bellswinger on the internal line, alarm bells went off and the dog Uli let out a series of shattering barks.
“What is it, my duck, whatever’s the matter?” cried Mrs. Churt, who slept in the lower bunk and had heard Sauna fall past her and land with a thud on the ground shrieking all the while.
“Oh!” gasped Sauna. “It was just a dream—but it was so awful.”
Mrs. Churt stuck out a skinny arm and wrapped it comfortingly round Sauna’s shoulders.
“Now, now, dearie, don’t take on! A dream’s only a dream! Here, put a blanket round you and let’s us go along to the galley and make ourselves a cup of sassafras tea.”
With her teeth chattering, Sauna meekly obeyed. Half the train was awake and stirring by now, and Mrs. Churt had to make about thirty cups of sassafras tea, and find a bowl of marrow broth for Uli, who also slept in her cabin. Sauna had landed on him when she fell, which helped break her fall but left Uli feeling rather hard done by.
“What was the dream about, my child?” asked Dr. Wren, when the startled soldiers had drunk their tea and gone grumbling back to their beds or their watch posts.
“Oh, sir, it was so awful! I was with Mam and Dad and we was going on holiday. In the train. And we came to a station called Douleur. And my Dad said, ‘That means sorrow in French’.”
“So it does,” said the archbishop thoughtfully. “Dolour.”
“Well, we all got out at this station with our bags and we got a horse and trap to take us on to where we were going. The place called Bride’s Bridge, where we always used to stay. I saw a street sign that said Sorrow Street. And when we got to the place, Mam said to me, You’ll want to go and see your Aunt Ailie, while we do the unpacking. She’ll give you some of her treacle candy, for sure, or some of her fochabers. (Those were cakes and sweeties that Aunt Ailie used to make.)”
“Yes, my child?”
“So I went along the road to Aunt Ailie’s cottage. I could hear the river, rumbling like the sound of gunfire. It was in spate, rushing down between the rocks. And then I came to Aunt Ailie’s cottage up the hill—it was a small stone house thatched with reeds and heather—and—and—” Her voice shook. “Oh, it was awful,” she muttered.
“What was, my child?” The archbishop’s voice was comforting but firm.
“Outside the door there was standing—a-a-a thing.”
“What kind of a thing?”
“Well, it was shaped like a person—but it was all made of withies, willow wands. Wicker. Like a fence. Bent and twisted into a shape. It was dark brown, you could see right through it, between the wands. Like a—like a lobster pot. There was a shape for the head, and a shape for the chest, and two arms that were just made of several thin wands bunched together and curved into claws for the hands. The ones for the head was all coiled round in a bundle. The hands were springy and dark, almost black—”
“Calmly, take it calmly now, my dear—”
“And down below there was legs coming out from under its skirt. They were all wet and muddy—as if it had waded out of the brook—”
“Gently now, take a deep breath—”
“And it began to walk towards me, it began to raise its arms—and I couldn’t stand it, I woke up, yelling—”
“And I don’t blame you at all,” said the archbishop. “A most disagreeable dream. Terrifying. I should have yelled myself.”
“Sir, what does it mean? What was that
thing?”
“Child, it was nothing but a scarecrow put together to frighten you.”
“But it was alive!”
“No, it was a puppet. Or a marionette, hanging on strings—moved by somebody up above.”
If Dr. Wren had intended to soothe Sauna by this suggestion he had not succeeded. She whispered, “But then—who was that somebody? Where were they? In the house?”
“Child, child, all this was only your dream!”
* * *
“What do you make of that, Mrs. Churt?” said Dr. Wren quietly, when after much soothing and administration of calming potions Sauna had at last been persuaded back to bed.
Dr. Wren and Mrs. Churt had struck up a friendship which began when they found that they shared the same birthday, March the first, and went on when she discovered that he suffered from chilblains, and cured them in half a day with her comfrey ointment. They had discussions on many topics, and the archbishop often did a row in her cross-stitch, while they canvassed such problems as how to deal with hysterics, nightmares, stammering, hiccups, and fear of death.
“Well, sir, if you ask me, they’re just trying to scare the girl,” said Mrs. Churt quietly. “But she don’t scare easy, Sauna don’t, if she’s given time to pull herself together.”
“Ah,” said Dr. Wren. Thoughtfully he took a couple of stitches. Then he said, “And who are they, Mrs. Churt?”
“Why, sir, the Bad Ones.”
* * *
Next day the Cockatrice Belle crept across the River Tyne and was received with great acclaim and rejoicing by the citizens of Newcastle. The climate so far north was on the chilly side for Snarks, and so there were not a great many of these pests, but the city was much bedevilled by Kelpies and Trolls. Both these monsters were very unpleasant and dangerous. The Kelpies were large, slow-moving creatures with webbed feet, the bodies of horses or cows and human faces; they dripped water and seaweed, devoured any living creature they encountered and were virtually indestructible, as their thick hides turned off all bullets and darts. Trolls were of equally large dimensions. They had hypnotic fiery blue eyes and dynamic powers of self-transportation. They too were omniverous, and had much reduced the population of Newcastle. Their only vulnerable point was that if caught away from home at the moment of dawn they would turn to stone. It was thought they emerged at night from lurking-places in Harwood Forest, some miles north of the city. Sometimes they were entrapped by their own greed if they lingered too long in the streets munching their victims and were overtaken by sunrise. There were quite a number of stone Trolls to be seen in the city of Newcastle, and very hideous they were.
