‘How much time do we have?’
‘You go now,’ said Oosha. ‘When Shani sleep they come.’
‘Shani?’
‘God of Sun.’
When the sun slept – that probably meant they had until sunset. Iggy tried to think. There was only one way out of the cave and that was back the way they’d come, but with guards watching the entrance, how could they escape?
Oosha emptied out the contents of the sack on the floor. Luckily she’d remembered to bring Iggy’s boo and arrow. Not so luckily it came with a big pile of mud.
‘Quick! You hurry,’ repeated Oosha.
‘You want us to throw mud at them?’
‘Not throw. Make painty face, like this.’ She smeared her face with mud, rubbing it into her cheeks. Iggy understood – it was a disguise! Maybe not a brilliant disguise but the best one they had. If they daubed themselves with red mud, the guards might mistake them for Henna and let them past.
Ten minutes later they crept along the winding passage towards the cave entrance. Iggy wished the mud had had more time to dry but it was too late to worry about that now. He had his boo and arrows hidden in the sack, hoping that he wouldn’t need them.
As they neared the mouth of the cave he could hear the two guards talking in low voices. Outside daylight was fading – sunset couldn’t be far off.
‘Wait!’ said Iggy. ‘Oosha, come with us.’
Oosha looked down. She shook her head sadly.
‘Why not?’
‘This my home. I must take care my father.’
‘He eats people!’ said Iggy.
Oosha sighed. ‘Still my father. Maybe he learn? I teach him cook vegetable.’
Iggy tried to imagine Karratop and the Henna sitting down to one of Oosha’s nut-leaf stews. It might even happen one day. Hubba was pulling at his arm.
‘Iggy! We need to go!’
Oosha put a finger to her lips. ‘I go first. Let me do talk. Goodbye, Iggy.’ She kissed him lightly on his muddy cheek and was gone. Iggy turned to find the other two sniggering helplessly and glared at them. Hubba had rather overdone the disguise so that he looked like he’d crawled out of a bog. Worse still was Snark, whose furs rattled like a biscuit tin every time he moved. There was no time to worry now – Oosha was already speaking to the guards. Iggy and the others followed behind, trying not to look like three muddy Urks intent on escape. Oosha was talking in her own language. Iggy had no idea what she was saying but the guards roared with laughter and turned to look at them.
‘Ulaaga!’ they said, beckoning them forward. Iggy held his breath.
‘I tell them you my sisters,’ whispered Oosha.
One of the guards was eyeing Hubba. ‘Oogla,’ he said to his friend, shaking his head.
‘Ay ay. Oogla boogla,’ agreed the other.
Oosha tapped her head to explain that her sisters were not very bright. The guards laughed again and stepped aside to let them pass.
‘We made it,’ murmured Hubba as they hurried on by.
‘Just keep walking,’ said Iggy. ‘And don’t look back.’
They had gone only a few steps when they heard a horrible sound.
RIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!
Iggy’s heart sank. He turned round to see Snark looking down in horror. There was a gaping hole in his furs through which dozens of firestones were spilling out.
‘Oops!’ said Snark.
The guards glared at him and saw the trail of muddy red footprints on the ground.
They raised their spears. ‘ATTAGA!’
Iggy looked at Hubba. There was only one thing to do and it was the thing that Urks did best – they ran.
Chapter 9
Saving Snark
Iggy slowed to a halt and leaned against a tree trunk.
‘You think . . . we lost them?’ he panted.
‘Must have,’ said Hubba.
They stood for a minute, bent over and gasping for breath, too exhausted to speak. Hubba hadn’t run this fast since the time that girl Uglips tried to kiss him. The angry shouts they’d heard earlier seemed to have died away. With any luck their pursuers had given up the chase. Iggy looked up, struck by a worrying thought.
‘Where’s Snark? I thought he was with us!’
Iggy put a hand to his head. This was terrible. In the panic of their escape he’d forgotten all about Snark.
‘What if they caught him?’ he said.
‘He can look after hisself,’ said Hubba. ‘Anyway, what can we do?’
Iggy met his eyes.
‘No,’ said Hubba. ‘Forget it. Let’s go.’
He turned and marched off through the trees in the rough direction of home. After a minute he stopped and looked back. Iggy hadn’t moved.
‘IGGY!’ groaned Hubba.
‘We can’t just leave him!’ said Iggy.
‘It’s Snark!’ said Hubba. ‘He’s a noggerhead! You reckon he’d go back for us?’
Iggy shook his head. ‘That’s not the point. I still have to try and help him.’
‘You’re mad! Stark, staring mad. They’ll kill you!’
‘Maybe,’ said Iggy. ‘If you don’t want to come, just say.’
‘I don’t want to come,’ said Hubba.
‘Fine. I’ll go by myself.’
‘Right. Good luck!’
Hubba sighed deeply. At times like this he wished he’d picked someone else as his best friend – someone who enjoyed, say, collecting birds’ eggs.
By the time they reached the Henna camp a fierce red sun was setting in the west. Iggy remembered Oosha had said that the feast would begin when Shani, the Sun god, slept. The two Urks crept down the mountainside and hid behind some rocks where they could watch from a safe distance. The Henna tribe were standing still as statues, their faces turned towards the setting sun. It was as if they were under some kind of spell.
‘What they doing?’ whispered Hubba.
‘Search me,’ said Iggy. ‘Waiting for something.’
The fire in the middle of the camp had been built up higher, sending smoke and sparks swirling into the sky. Close by sat a large earthen pot, ready to cook. Snark hung upside down, bound by his arms and legs to a wooden pole resting across two uprights. He was stripped to the waist and basted in nut oil to improve his flavour. Even from this distance Iggy could tell he was terrified.
He calculated the odds. They weren’t good. Two Urks against one hundred Henna warriors (if you counted the hairier women). If he was lucky, he might pick off one or two with his arrows, but that wouldn’t change the outcome.
The sun was setting. A long loud blast on a mammoth horn split the air. It echoed off the mountains and had a startling effect. The Henna fell on their faces as if struck by a thunderbolt, bowing low with their noses in the dust.
‘They’re worshipping!’ said Iggy. ‘Come on!’
‘Where we going?’
‘To rescue Snark!’
They scrambled and slid down the mountain, stirring up clouds of dust. If any of the Henna had looked round, they would surely have spotted them, but fortunately the tribe seemed to be lost in a trance.
Reaching the edge of the camp, Iggy stole closer to the fire, keeping to the shadows. He prayed that the sun would take its time setting. Reaching Snark, he began to loosen the leather knots tying his wrists.
‘No! Please!’ whimpered Snark.
‘It’s me, you fool!’ hissed Iggy.
Snark twisted his head round to look at him. Hanging upside down, he looked even uglier than usual. His face had gone bright pink and was running with sweat.
‘Where has you been?’ he moaned. ‘Get me down!’
‘I’m trying!’ said Iggy. ‘They’re granny knots!’
He tugged at the leather cords feverishly. The sun was now little more than a thin red blot on the horizon. In a few minutes it would be gone altogether.
‘Hurry up!’ muttered Hubba.
Snark groaned. ‘For Urk’s sake! Use your axe!’
‘I don’t have an axe!’ snapped Iggy.
At last he had one of the knots undone – but this didn’t improve matters much. Snark swung by his feet, cracking his head on the ground.
‘OWW!’
‘Shut up! They’ll hear!’
‘IGGY!’ moaned Hubba, his voice rising in panic.
‘I’m trying!’
‘No, Iggy . . . LOOK!’
Iggy glanced up, sensing something was wrong. The air had turned colder and a terrible silence had fallen. The Henna were no longer bowed in the dust, they were eyeing them like hungry wolves that have just spotted two rabbits hopping into view. Chief Karratop took a step towards the fire and pulled a dagger from his belt.
Iggy glanced at Hubba. ‘Do something!’ he whispered.
‘Me?’
‘Yes! Distract them any way you can. I’ve got a plan.’
Hubba swallowed – his mind was a blank. The Henna were closing in slowly, certain that this time their enemies had nowhere to run. There was only one thing he could do. Hubba looked down and found three small rocks in the dust.
‘Hey! Watch this!’ he cried.
He tossed one rock high into the air, followed by a second and a third. The rocks flew round, higher and higher in a blur of speed.
‘OOOOOOOH!’ gasped the Henna. They had never seen juggling before.
Beads of sweat ran down Hubba’s face. He’d never performed in front of an audience, and certainly not one that wanted to eat him. He tried not to think about what Iggy was doing by the fire or what would happen if he dropped the rocks. All he had to do was concentrate and . . .
DUNK!
A rock hit him on the head and bounced off. He lost his rhythm and fumbled the other two. The spell was broken. The Henna growled – this wasn’t magic after all, it was just someone throwing rocks about. They surged forward. Hubba looked round, hoping that Iggy’s brilliant plan was ready. Snark was on his feet. Iggy stepped into the firelight armed with his boo. He had a single arrow fitted to the string – curiously the pointed end seemed to be on fire.
Chapter 10
Smooka!
Iggy knew that he only had one chance – if he missed, they were all dead meat. The Henna were swarming towards them howling like beasts. Iggy drew back the bowstring, took careful aim and let go . . .
FTAAAANNNGGGGG!
The flaming arrow fizzed like a rocket through the air, soaring high over everyone’s heads.
Snark groaned. ‘You missed, you idiot!’
But Iggy watched the arrow and saw it bury itself in the roof of the largest straw hut – the one belonging to Karratop. Within seconds the flames caught and began to spread, licking hungrily at the roof. Black smoke billowed into the dark sky. The Henna stared wild-eyed in terror. This was powerful magic!
‘SMOOKA!’ they yelled, pointing to the flames.
As they watched the wind caught a burning spark, carrying it to the roof of the next hut and setting it ablaze. From one flaming arrow, the fire was now threatening to sweep through the whole camp. Panic took over. Men and women ran in all directions, some falling to their knees and calling on Shani to save them. Others tried to put out the fire by throwing spears or sticks, but this only made matters worse. Suddenly the ground shook with a mighty crash. Chief Karratop saw the roof of his hut collapse, reducing it to blackened straw and dung. He muttered a curse. The Urk boy was responsible for this – the one with the tiny shooting spears. Karratop whirled round to look for him. But there was no sign of either Iggy or his two companions. Once again they had done what Urks do best and vanished into the dark.
A mile away at the top of a grassy hill, Iggy looked back. Above the mountains rose thick columns of smoke where the huts continued to burn. It was amazing what one little pointed stick could do.
Hubba shook his head. ‘What you call them things again?’ he asked.
‘Arrows,’ replied Iggy.
‘Deadly. But how’d you get ’em to burn, like?’
‘Nut oil. Snark was covered in it. While you were juggling, I coated one of the arrowheads in oil, then held it in the fire. All I had to do then was hit the target.’
‘Clever,’ said Hubba, impressed. ‘I’d never have thought of that.’
The journey home was long and tiring. They reached the Valley of Urk on the afternoon of the fifth day. For much of the journey Snark said little, perhaps trying to think what he was going to tell his father.
As they crossed the river a horn boomed out, warning the Urks of their approach. Men and women swarmed out of their caves and stood waiting at the top of the hill as Iggy and his friends climbed to meet them.
Once Iggy had been duly hugged and kissed by his seven aunts and fifteen cousins (not counting Umily), Chief Hammerhead came forward.
‘Well, young Iggy. Back safe and sound?’
‘Yes, Chief.’
Hammerhead rubbed his hands. ‘So then. What about that reward, eh?’
‘Ah, the reward,’ said Iggy, who was hoping he might have forgotten.
‘You got the firestones?’
At the mention of firestones the crowd pressed in closer, eager to get a glimpse of the glittering haul of treasure. Iggy glanced at Hubba.
‘The thing is, Chief, it wasn’t that simple . . .’
‘No,’ said Hubba. ‘Turns out they was all cannonballs! They wanted to eat us!’
‘Great Urk!’ exclaimed the Chief.
‘Yes,’ said Iggy. ‘If it wasn’t for Oosha, we would never have escaped.’
‘But you must have got something, surely?’
Iggy shook his head.
While this conversation was going on Snark had been hanging back, trying to avoid his father. But Borg had seen him and dragged him away by the arm.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘It were horrible,’ said Snark. ‘They captured me and tied me up –’
‘Yes, yes, never mind that,’ snapped Borg. ‘Where are they?’
Snark looked blank.
‘The firestones, you fool. How many did you get?’
Snark stared at his feet. ‘Roughly?’
‘Roughly.’
‘Well, counting the ones I dropped . . . um . . .
none.’
‘NONE?’ roared Borg, forgetting to keep his voice down. ‘You brainless lump!’
‘It weren’t my fault!’ whined Snark. ‘I had hundreds but they was too heavy. Look!’
He showed his father the rip in his furs where the firestones had torn a gaping hole. Borg groaned and turned away in disgust. Why couldn’t people do the simplest thing? He needed those little stones. How else was he going to get his hands on the High Chief’s necklace? He put his hand inside his furs and brought out the one firestone he’d kept all this time. Perhaps there was still a way. Glancing over, he saw that Hammerhead seemed to have got over his disappointment. He was examining a long curved stick that Iggy was showing him.
‘And you shoot her like this?’ he said, drawing back the string and letting go with a twang.
‘Yes,’ said Iggy. ‘Only it fires these arrows.’
‘Arrows?’
‘You should see ’em. They’re deadly!’ enthused Hubba. ‘Better ’n any spear!’
‘Really?’
It was Borg who had spoken, pushing his way through the crowd. ‘You can kill a bear with ’em?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ replied Iggy.
‘How?’ asked Borg. ‘By poking him in the eye?’
The crowd roared with laughter.
‘Like I said, it fires arrows,’ repeated Iggy, fitting one of the flint-head arrows to the string. He took aim. The Urks in the front row stopped grinning and took a step back.
Borg folded his arms. ‘Deadlier than any spear?’
‘Yes,’ said Iggy. ‘Spears are all right, but this is more accurate.’
‘Ahh! More accurate!’ said Borg with heavy sarcasm.
Iggy scowled. ‘I’ll prove it if you like.’
Bor
g smiled – this was just what he had in mind.
‘Please, show us,’ he said. ‘But let’s make it interesting. Chief, what do you say to a bet?’
‘All right,’ said Hammerhead, who had never been known to refuse a wager. ‘What’s the stakes?’
Borg opened his hand to reveal the large red firestone. Hammerhead’s eyes shone with greed.
‘My spear against this boo stick,’ said Borg. ‘If I lose, you get my firestone and if I win, I get – let’s see – your necklace.’
A gasp escaped the crowd.
Hammerhead frowned. ‘My necklace? The High Chief’s necklace?’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t bet that.’
‘As you like. Then I keep my firestone.’ Borg snapped his hand shut and turned away.
‘Wait!’ cried Hammerhead. He turned aside to Iggy and lowered his voice. ‘Does this thing work? Can you beat him?’
Iggy hesitated.
‘No contest,’ said Hubba confidently.
Hammerhead nodded grimly. ‘You better be right.’ He turned back to Borg.
‘All right, I accept. What’s the target?’
Borg looked around. His eyes roved over the trees and rocks on the hillside before settling on something closer at hand.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘What about you?’
‘Me?’ The blood drained from Hammerhead’s face.
‘Yes.’
‘Isn’t that a bit, like, dangerous?’
‘Of course not,’ said Borg. ‘We’re not actually trying to hit you. The winner’s whoever comes closest. But of course, if you’re scared . . .’
Scared? That settled it, Hammerhead wasn’t having anyone say he was scared.
The Urks gathered at the Standing Stone to watch. There was nothing they loved better than a contest of skill, especially one where someone might get hurt. Iggy, on the other hand, was regretting that he’d allowed Borg to talk him into this. So far he’d only practised shooting at trees and straw huts – a human target was a different matter altogether. What if he missed by miles with everyone watching? Even worse, what if he didn’t miss at all?
Hammerhead marched off to take up his position fifty paces away. He stood under a tall beech tree, trying not to look nervous. He muttered a prayer to the Spirits of the Ancestors and took a deep breath, hoping it wouldn’t be his last.
Euuuugh! Eyeball Stew! Page 4
