Gool

by Maurice Gee

  ‘He won’t touch it.’

  Unless I have to, Duro told her.

  I’ll do the talking, Duro. You keep quiet and keep still.

  They climbed out of the tree. Tarl could have killed her then with no trouble, but he stood and watched with, Xantee thought, his hackles raised, like his yellow dogs. He worked his lips and seemed to sniff her odour.

  ‘Talking hurts my mouth.’ He studied her, narrow-eyed. ‘You’re Company.’

  ‘No. Company’s gone. Company’s dead.’

  ‘Not white, not black. Half Company. Blue eyes.’

  ‘I get them from my mother.’

  ‘And the boy,’ Tarl said. ‘He’s Company. Soon I’ll kill him for that.’

  ‘My father died fighting Company and the clerks,’ Duro said.

  ‘No matter, boy. White skin dies.’

  ‘No one dies,’ Xantee said. ‘And some are alive you think are dead. My mother, Pearl.’

  ‘Pearl?’ Tarl said, stepping back from her.

  ‘She gave me my blue eyes. And my father gave me my skin. Not black, I’m sorry. Brown. His name is Hari.’

  ‘No,’ Tarl said. ‘Hari’s dead.’

  ‘He’s alive. And Pearl is alive.’

  ‘He jumped from the cliff. He chose her.’

  ‘He chose her because they were going to kill her.’

  ‘She was Company.’

  ‘No, she was Pearl.’

  ‘And he died. I saw.’

  ‘You saw what Hari wanted you to see. And wanted Keech to see, and all the burrows men. And the women too, from Bawdhouse.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes, Tarl. Listen. Hari’s your son. You taught him. His mother died in the sickness and he rode on your back in Blood Burrow until he could run by himself. You taught him how to use a knife and how to kill king rats. You showed him where to hide when the Whips came hunting. But the Whips caught you and took you to People’s Square. Hari told me and my brother, Lo.’

  ‘Lo?’

  ‘Yes, named after the Survivor, Lo, who taught Hari to speak with dogs and rats, and with him too, without using his tongue.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Listen, Tarl. In People’s Square you tried to kill the clerk –’

  ‘My knife was slippery with blood. It slipped in my hand.’

  ‘Then Hari cut you free, but the Whips caught you again. Hari escaped. He swam in the swamp and climbed through a hole in the wall, and he promised to save you from the place they were taking you to. Shall I name it, Tarl?’

  ‘No. No,’ Tarl whispered, sinking to the level of his dogs as though strength had drained from his legs.

  Xantee whispered it. ‘They took you to Deep Salt.’

  A wailing sound came from Tarl’s mouth – grief, terror, agony of mind. He fell to his knees and put an arm round each of his dogs. They licked him, trying to comfort him.

  ‘And there, Tarl, you saw the grey ghosts –’

  ‘No. No more.’

  It’s enough, Xantee. Don’t hurt him, Duro said.

  But Xantee had one more thing to say: ‘Hari saved you. Hari kept his promise. He came and saved you.’

  Tarl stayed kneeling. Tears ran from his eyes on to the dogs’ snouts. Xantee waited. She kept herself from looking in his mind. At last he stood up and wiped his face.

  ‘Girl,’ he said, ‘others were there. Anyone could have told you. Not Hari. Hari died.’

  ‘No, he lived.’

  ‘He chose the white bitch and jumped off the cliff with her. They smashed to pieces on the rocks.’

  ‘Tarl, listen again. Hari was your son. You taught him to think; you taught him how to save himself. Do you think when he explored the Company mansions, watching through the windows as servants carried food to the tables and the fat Company bosses ate with grease on their chins, and their pretty women put it in their mouths with silver forks – did he tell you all that, Tarl? Yes, he told you. But do you think as he watched he had no way of escape if the guards saw him? He knew the cliffs. He knew the one place he could jump, if the tide was high and the wind was blowing big waves in. The wind was blowing that night, Tarl, the tide was high, when Burrows signed a treaty with the Clerks, and you threw the Company princeling off the cliff and your dogs killed Ottmar. Keech found Pearl. He showed his followers her hair, he showed her eyes. And Hari saved her –’

  ‘Others could have told you this,’ Tarl cried.

  ‘Look at me, Tarl. Do you remember Pearl? Am I like Pearl?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Am I like Hari?’

  ‘No.’

  He would not look at her.

  He’s not going to believe you, Xantee, Duro said.

  She had one more thing to try.

  ‘Tarl,’ she said. He looked at her. ‘Your name is Tarl. And Tarl the Hunter. And Knife. And the Dog King. Many names. But you have one more. The clerk burned it with acid on your forehead in People’s Square. No one sees it. You hide it with your hair. No one knows that name any more. But Hari knew it and Hari told me. Shall I tell you your other name, Tarl?’

  His hand had risen – he could not stop it – and clamped on his forehead. Under his black weather-beaten skin he was sickly white.

  ‘You can’t hide it from me, Tarl,’ Xantee said. ‘Your other name is DS936A.’

  His mouth widened in agony. His voice was like a frog’s croak. ‘No one . . .’

  ‘Except me and my brother Lo and Hari and Pearl.’

  ‘DS,’ Tarl said, ‘is . . .’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Xantee said gently. ‘DS is Deep Salt. The number is your number. And A is your grading. The clerk had never given an A before.’

  Tarl rose to his feet, a movement so quick Xantee had no time for thought. He ripped his knife from his belt and threw. She thought it was meant for her, but it split the gap between her and Duro and thudded into the tree ten metres away. And as quickly as Tarl had moved Duro moved: changed his lunge at Tarl, turned and made an underhand throw, and his knife whacked into the tree a finger’s width from Tarl’s.

  Xantee held the dogs still.

  Tarl panted. Then he changed to deep breaths, calming down. At last he said, ‘Yes, that’s my other name.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Xantee said. ‘Can I let the dogs go?’

  She heard him say something to them – a tongue she did not know – and she released them. They sank at Tarl’s feet and watched him, waiting to be told what to do.

  He turned to Xantee. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘you look like him. My son, Hari. And the Company whore he chose ahead of me. And you, boy –’ he looked at Duro – ‘you learned that throw from Hari.’

  ‘Yes,’ Duro said.

  Tarl nodded. ‘So Hari lives.’

  SEVEN

  ‘No,’ Xantee said, ‘Hari dies.’

  Just tell him straight, Duro said. You’ve played enough games.

  He walked to the tree, pulled out the knives, slid his in its sheath, and after holding the black knife a moment, admiring its balance and blade, handed it to Tarl.

  ‘Hari said you were the best knife-thrower who ever lived.’

  Tarl took the knife but ignored him. ‘Dies?’ he said in a stunned voice.

  ‘She means, he’s dying if we don’t save him,’ Duro said. ‘He fought with a gool. He saved two of our people. But the gool wrapped an arm round his neck. We’ve stopped it feeding on him but we can’t make it let go.’

  ‘Gool?’ Tarl said.

  ‘It comes out of the rocks, out of the wet. It eats everything.’

  ‘I’ve seen one.’

  ‘What do the dogs call it?’

  ‘Dogs don’t give names. They know by smell. I call it Thing. It lives by the black river that runs out of the jungle. It’s as big as the swamp in People’s Square. It took four of my dogs. Do you say there are others?’

  ‘Everywhere. Eating everything.’

  ‘And Hari fought it?’

  ‘It was a small one, as small as a bear. He cut o
ff two of its arms but one tied itself around his neck. We can’t get it off.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Tarl,’ Xantee said. She saw he preferred talking with men

  – Pearl had warned her. ‘We’ll tell you when we get away from here. But we need you to come with us.’

  ‘To help Hari?’ Tarl said.

  ‘To kill the gool and save Hari’s life.’

  ‘No one can kill it. Thing. Gool.’

  ‘There’s a way if we can find it. You can help us. But we need to get out of here, away from your dogs.’ She meant the pack in the rocks.

  ‘Can you stop them from attacking us?’ Duro said.

  ‘Until they get hungry.’

  ‘Will you come?’

  ‘For Hari?’

  ‘Yes, for Hari.’

  Tarl knelt suddenly and drew the two black and yellow dogs close to his sides. He had a way of ‘speaking’ Xantee could not follow – quick and easy. Smell was in it, hunger too, and fear, bravado, loyalty – dog things.

  In a moment he stood up. ‘We’ll come.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now. Where to?’

  ‘To the city. The burrows. To Blood Burrow.’

  Tarl blinked. ‘Why there?’

  ‘Can we go? It’s getting dark. We’ve got to find a place to eat and sleep. You lead. We’ll follow.’

  She saw, in a moment, that he was used to leading, although the two dogs scouted at the sides. He went fast through the darkening trees, finding his way as easily as if he were on a road. Now and then they heard a reassuring bark from one of the dogs.

  After several hours he stopped suddenly. She heard him call the dogs in.

  ‘Eat,’ he said to Xantee and Duro.

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘In the morning.’

  The dogs trotted in, one from the left, one from the right.

  ‘What are their names?’

  ‘They don’t have names.’

  It was easy enough to tell them apart – one was a dog, the other a bitch. So, Him and Her, she told Duro.

  How about Talk and Do?

  Shut up, Duro. Do you trust him?

  Yes.

  I do and I don’t. He’s like a dog. He is a dog. He could turn savage.

  He won’t. He wants to help Hari.

  Tarl lay down with a dog on either side. They seemed, all three, to sleep instantly. Xantee and Duro ate – grubs and berries, the last of their food. They drank water from their flasks, leaving enough for the morning. Then they unrolled their mats and wrapped themselves in their blankets. One of the dogs was snoring. The other, Xantee realised, had opened its eyes and was watching them. It was Her. Tarl had woken too. She saw his eyes gleam in a shaft of moonlight angling through the trees.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘tell me why Blood Burrow.’

  ‘Can’t it wait till morning? We’re tired.’

  ‘Tell it now.’

  ‘Shouldn’t someone be watching? There might be animals hunting.’

  ‘Nothing hunts.’ All the same he spoke with Her and she stood up and stretched and walked into the trees.

  ‘Now.’

  Xantee told it, all of it: Hari’s fight with the gool, then his wasting away; Tealeaf’s tale of Barni and the stars (she told it carefully, not sure Tarl would understand); Tealeaf’s recollection of Dweller tales about Belong, with its galleries and libraries; and then their journey and Lo’s accident and leaving him with the people with no name.

  ‘We’ve crossed two mountain ranges and walked through three jungles to reach you, Tarl.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because you can take us to the burrows. You can help us find the books that will tell us what Barni’s story means.’

  ‘What are books?’

  ‘Can you read, Tarl? Nor could Hari. Pearl taught him. She taught me. Books are stories made with marks that turn into words you can say. They’re made from goatskins, the marks on them are made with – with soot, with dye, with whatever makes a mark and stays in place. Sometimes the skins are rolled on sticks. Sometimes the makers cut them in squares and sew them together. Tarl, did you see them in the burrows? There were huge rooms full of them.’

  ‘If books are made from goatskins the rats have eaten them.’

  ‘But if the rooms are locked . . . ?’

  ‘Not in Blood Burrow. The rooms were broken open long ago. All rooms.’

  ‘The other burrows then?’

  ‘Keech and Keg? I was Blood. I was dead if I went there. These books you talk about might have been in the city Company built. I never went in the city either.’

  Xantee shook her head. ‘Company had no books except their tallies of what they bought and sold. But in Belong there was everything, before Company came.’

  ‘Take us there, Tarl, so we can look,’ Duro said.

  ‘Keech is in the burrows. And the Clerk is in the city, behind the walls. They fight each other. They hate each other. But they hate me more. It’s death for me to go there.’ He smiled – more a baring of his teeth than in amusement. ‘But what is death except to die? I’ll take you to Blood Burrow, and to Keech and Keg and Bawdhouse and Port if I have to. And into the Clerk’s city. For Hari.’ He looked at Xantee. ‘And for you. You have my blood.’

  ‘Thank you, Tarl,’ Xantee said.

  ‘But you must keep quiet and not talk. Women don’t talk.’

  She heard Duro laughing inside, but stopped herself from bursting out at him. She would talk all she wanted in her head. She was moved too, suddenly, by Tarl’s acceptance that they shared blood.

  Duro said, ‘Why do Keech and the Clerk hate you?’

  ‘The Clerk blames me for his crippled arm. Did Hari tell you? When he tried to cut me free in People’s Square he made the horses bolt and the Clerk’s cart tipped over. His arm was crushed on the stones. Now it hangs at his side like a rotten branch. And all the time it hurts him. It stabs. Sometimes he howls in the night. That is good. I think of it as I lie down to sleep. But he blames me. He sends men out to capture me and I lead them into swamps, where they drown. They’re food for the dogs.’

  Duro swallowed. It was more than he wanted.

  ‘What about Keech?’

  ‘He has always hated Blood Burrow and I’m Blood Burrow.’ He seemed to think that was enough.

  ‘What happened on the hill, Tarl, after Pearl and Hari jumped?’ Xantee said.

  Tarl looked at her briefly. ‘Blood Burrow and Keech Burrow fought. We killed each other while the Clerk laughed inside himself. Keech had more men but I had my dogs. The other burrows joined with Keech and drove us from the hill. We ran for Blood Burrow. And then Blood Burrow turned on me; they blamed me. So I ran again, with my dogs, and came to the forest, where I live a better life than back there.’ He put a hand on the dog at his side and it wagged its tail.

  ‘What happened back there?’

  ‘Keech made himself king of the burrows. There’s no Blood Burrow any more. No Keg, no Bawdhouse, it’s all Keech. But he hates me, just like the Clerk. He blames me for losing the city and the heights and for the clerks breaking the treaty we made that night. So he sends men out to hunt me. I deal with them in the same way.’

  ‘And you’re the Dog King?’ Duro said.

  ‘Men call me that. But there’s no king. There’s only the leader of the pack. Once it was Dog. Did Hari tell you about Dog?’

  ‘Yes,’ Xantee said.

  ‘He was leader. I was – they did not know what I was. They let me live because of Dog and because I taught them new ways of hunting and killed game out of their reach.’ He touched his knife. ‘Then Dog grew old and they killed him.’ He saw Xantee start. ‘A younger dog challenged him. Dog lost and the pack tore him apart. It’s the way. They let me live. I was still useful. And what I tell them to do they do. But the black dog is the leader. And when I’m too old to run with them –’ he shrugged – ‘they’ll kil
l me too.’

  ‘Can’t you get away?’

  ‘Why? The pack’s my home. I’ll live with them and die their way.’

  ‘We can take you to Hari.’

  ‘No. He chose another way.’

  ‘But you’ll help him?’

  ‘He’s my son.’ But he laid his hand on the dog at his side – his son too?

  ‘Is that one, and the other one, do they come down from Dog?’ Duro said.

  ‘They have Dog’s blood. Now –’ he turned from them – ‘you’ve told me. The city’s west. The burrows are west. Tomorrow we’ll start. Sleep now.’

  He lay down and closed his eyes.

  Xantee and Duro stretched out on their mats and pulled their blankets tight. Soon, although there were many new things to think about, they slept too.

  EIGHT

  Xantee did not count the days; she thought of Hari dying. The forest ran on, never changing, until Duro showed her that the trees were thinning out and getting smaller. They shrank to head height, dry and twisted, then gave way to scrub with knife-point leaves and hidden thorns. Another day in the scrub, with the land falling away in a slope too gradual to notice. After that, bare hills where the sun beat down and fangcats hunted. The dogs would have fought them, and Tarl too, with his knife, but Xantee and Duro pushed the creatures away with their minds. Tarl shook his head contemptuously.

  ‘Dweller tricks,’ he said.

  They were two days in the hills. One of the dogs ran ahead, scouting from side to side. The other stayed in reach of Tarl’s hand. In the mornings, when Xantee and Duro woke, all three were gone, and they came back bloodstained, the dogs red on their muzzles and Tarl on his beard. He threw a lump of meat to Xantee and Duro and they cut it thin and charred it on a low fire. Tarl refused meat that was cooked. He seemed more savage, he talked less, but was always in conversation with the dogs. Yet Xantee was surer of him, less afraid that he would turn on them. Hari was her father and Tarl was Hari’s father. It was enough. She wished only that he would tie a cloth about his loins, but decided it was better not to offer him one.

  They walked down a twisting gully to the edge of a steep incline. Thunder clouds like bread dough swelled in the south, while westwards veils of rain dropped across the sky. Then a burst of sunshine lit a patch of white that gleamed like pearl shell.