Hamish had also fallen into a cadence of flinging insults at Ben every time they got out of, or back into the truck. There was always some trash to be discarded or other small chore and Hamish spouted some classics like, “Hey, Skippy McArsemuncher, that bag’s not going to toss itself out,” or, “There’ll be no milquetoast mollycoddling here, lad.”
Ben usually just laughed, but at one stop he was struggling to put a heavy cooler into the back of the truck as Hamish just watched. He said, “We pull our own around here, Nancy,” to which Ben had responded not quite under his breath, “I’m sure you do, Unc.”
Hamish looked down at the boy, roared his head back and clapped Ben hard on the shoulder.
Crossing into Quebec they left the Acadian coast and the highway narrowed to one lane in each direction. They continued north along the inland route until they came to the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, the head of the mighty river that took ships all the way to the Great Lakes.
Along its shore they moved through the thick forests that clung to the low mountains. Exhausted from the road, and from eating twice his body weight in fried food, Ben napped again while the late afternoon sunlight picketed through the trees.
Later, as the sun was starting to set, Hamish aimed the truck down an exit. He cut the corner at the end of the ramp without slowing. Gravel crunched under the truck’s rear tires and pinged loudly in its wheel wells. Ben shook awake and spun around to check on the pups in the back seat. They were both staring at him wide-eyed and gripping the front edge of the seat. If fur hadn’t covered their paws Ben was pretty sure their knuckles would have been white.
Sholto hadn’t stirred and was out cold between them.
Catching the pups staring at him in the rear-view mirror Hamish smiled and said, “Don’t watch me drive, makes me nervous.” He moved the wheel back and forth and the truck swayed sideways as it careened down the country road, tossing the pups around in the back seat as something heavy thumped loudly in the truck bed.
Hamish pulled the wheel hard and they roared into a small tree lined parking lot. The truck skidded to a stop on crushed shells used as gravel. They faced a vine covered walkway with an ornate carved sign that read, “LA FALAISE DE CHIENS - Bed and Breakfast.”
Hamish jammed the truck into park and jumped from the driver’s seat. He opened the back door as the dogs untangled and stood up. After Sholto jumped out of the truck he held out his hand, stopping Ben’s dogs.
“Hold yourselves,” he said, “Ben, your lot good in a fine restaurant?”
Spot and Smudge looked at Ben with eager eyes. They could already smell a hundred great scents coming from the large house at the end of the path. Ben thought about letting Smudge stay in the truck for the couch stunt she had pulled that morning. He paused just long enough to make the point, and then said, “Yeah, they’re fine.”
It had been twelve hours since they left Digby. Hamish groaned as he removed his tam, and the five road weary travelers all stretched out their kinks while they entered the house.
They walked down the wide Victorian themed central hallway. At the end of the hall they stepped into an amazing sunroom that overlooked a wide rocky inlet. The inlet opened into the strait, and the gulf beyond. On the far side of the cove Ben could see a strip of land with fishing boats and colorful houses dotting a small hill. The sunroom had a step down with a few small tables near the wall of windows, and a long dining table with a dozen chairs at the back. Other than Hamish, Ben, and the three dogs, the place was empty.
“What’s a bloke gotta do for some scran in this dump?” Hamish said loudly.
From behind a pair of narrow double doors they heard a French accented woman say quietly, “Call the police, there’s a sheep shagging Jock in the house.”
Sometime later Ben wiped his mouth with a white cloth napkin and finished his milk. He drew a big breath and said, “Miss Rene, that was by far the most incredible cheeseburger I’ve ever had, and I’ve had them all.”
An attractive woman was sitting with them at a table by the window. She wore a pretty dress, smelled nice, and when sitting swung a shoe from the painted toes of a shapely leg that seemed to go on forever.
She laughed, and tipped her cigarette into a crystal bowl as she sipped her tiny cup of coffee. “My handsome Mister Ben,” she said, “You are welcome back here any time, provided you come alone. Well, they can come too.” She nodded to the three dogs sitting on a nearby rug munching happily on chunks of shoulder bone.
While the men and dogs had been devouring dinner, Miss Rene told Ben the history of her house, and of Anticosti, the island across the strait at the mouth of the St. Lawrence River.
As Miss Rene’s story unfolded Ben was whisked away. Her intoxicating accent was like a warm soft pair of hands holding his face, and the tip of her cigarette moved like a snake charmer.
Miss Rene told them how her great grandfather had sailed from Bayonne to Acadia, ran afoul of the local crooked magistrate, and was tossed in a jail on Anticosti guarded by a ring of savage dogs. The evil magistrate lived next to the jail and his beautiful indentured niece, who fed the prisoners and the dogs, fell in love with the charming French sailor. She broke him out of jail one night but they were discovered. A fight ensued. The guards shot at them, and she shot back. Her bullet found her wicked uncle who had run to the jail when he heard the shooting and the barking and the yelling. The lovers escaped into the river but their little skiff had been shot full of holes. The boat sank in the dangerous currents of the strait and just as the lovers were about to drown, and share their last kiss, the guard dogs she had fed since they were puppies leapt into the water and pulled them to the safety of the opposite bank. The lovers built this house, named it The Hound’s Cliff, and never left.
Hamish smiled as he watched Ben melt in Miss Rene’s silky clutches. Vive la femmes Francaise, he thought…and then he noticed Spot and Smudge seemed to have that same dreamy look on their little black faces. They had stopped gnawing on their bones and hadn’t looked away from Miss Rene for several long minutes. Their heads were identically tipped as they listened.
They caught Hamish looking and lowered their heads back down to lick their bones, but they still watched Miss Rene.
After dinner Hamish had taken Ben and the pups for a stroll along the marina, and then Miss Rene got Ben settled in for the night in a quiet upper room. She placed a small plate of chocolates on the night table next to a bottle of water, and then she turned to face Ben. She held his chin and when she asked her handsome Mister Ben if he needed anything else it was almost a whisper. Ben was transfixed by the feeling of her long nails on his face, and by her stare, and her perfume, and he barely managed to shake his head. Miss Rene smiled and softly kissed him on the forehead. Ben watched her turn, glide out of the room, and pull the door closed behind her. He turned to see his pups were also staring at the door, and he could see their nostrils flaring. They blinked, and looked up at him. Whatever that was apparently worked on dogs, too.
The room had a small covered veranda with a bench that overlooked the gulf. Ben and the pups wrapped themselves in an impossibly thick comforter and cuddled up on the bench to watch the ships go by. Smudge held her little plush chicken toy in her paws as she and her brother rested their chins on Ben’s knee.
It was a clear night and there were a billion stars above. They could make out little dots of crewmembers moving on the decks of the huge ships that slipped by in the dark. They took turns naming the constellations as they chatted about their adventure so far. They laughed about the characters they had met, and about Hamish and Sholto, until Ben got a chill and they went to bed.
As Ben slept, the pups watched the ships for a while from the foot of the bed. They listened to the sounds of the house, including Hamish and Miss Rene in one of the lower bedrooms.
“I’m not sure this is what you’d call subtle,” Jia’s big bodyguard Lucy said quietly with his breath rolling out as steam. He followed her across the crushed seashell driveway
and past the big maroon pickup truck. They were trying to creep silently but each soft footstep seemed to crunch loudly in the still, frozen air. Lucy whispered, “You did mention she was very clear about us waiting until we met up with their asset in Piege, right?”
“It’s called initiative,” Jia said and blew into her balled fists to fight off the chill. As fog rolled out from between her fingers she added, “And it’s why they brought me in for this job. It’s an empty bed and breakfast, couldn’t be more perfect. They’re notorious targets for robberies and sometimes those robberies go wrong. Trust me, it’s subtle enough ‘cause I’m sick of freezing my little ass off trying to keep up with these two fuckers as they race around this shitty little country.”
Lucy said, “Canada is actually very close in size to the US at around nine…”
Jia cut him off with a glare. The steam from her exasperated exhale exited her nostrils like a mad bull’s.
Lucy found that really funny but decided to hold his cartoon joke.
The moonlight broke into shafts as they walked under the arched trellis and stopped at the ornate carved glass front door. In an alcove next to the door was a statue of a small dog holding a lantern. In the slight glow below the lantern they saw a doorbell and a hand painted sign that read “PLEASE RING AFTER HOURS” in both English and French.
Jia stepped aside to let Lucy pass her.
He didn’t. He just stared at the door handle.
“Well?” Jia said.
“I don’t like dogs,” Lucy said.
Jia folded her arms across her chest and said, “Weren’t you the one who said the old geezer and his decrepit dog looked like they were about to fall over when they hobbled in here? The shaggy mutt is likely to have a heart attack when it sees your big black ass, and the boy’s runts are barely north of being puppies.” Jia turned her back to him and faced the door. “Remember,” she said, “don’t kill them. We need the boy unharmed.” Rubbing her elbows she added, “Hurry up, it’s fucking freezing out here.”
Lucy paused for a second before he spun his huge pistol around in his hand. He brought the butt close to the glass and picked a spot next to the door handle.
“Wait,” Jia said, holding his arm. She reached past Lucy and thumbed the big brass paddle handle. The latch clicked softly and when she pushed on it the door swung open silently.
Lucy took one step into the house before he turned back around. Without a word he walked right past Jia and continued down the covered walkway and walked back out into the moonlight as his boots crunched softly on the shells of the little parking lot.
Jia raised her hands and shrugged. She stared at the big bodyguard’s back until he disappeared around the dark corner of the building without looking back. She shook her head and reached into her pocket for her own pistol.
And then she heard the growl.
She turned slowly back to the doorway. Silhouetted against the moonlit windows at the end of the hall was the old man’s German shepherd. The fur on its neck was puffed up and its ears were laid back on its head. The low growl carried down the hallway and crept up Jia’s spine. The dog didn’t look very decrepit. In fact it looked rather formidable, and really pissed off.
It took one step towards her.
Jia slowly reached out and grabbed the door handle. She gently pulled it closed until it clicked softly shut.
In the little back bedroom on the fourth floor Spot felt his sister stir against his side.
You okay? he asked.
Yeah, Smudge said as she rotated her ears, Sholto’s not happy about something.
As Spot dropped his head back onto the pillow next to the snoozing Ben he said, Shocker. The only thing that old war horse is ever happy about is a successful bowel movement.
The next morning Ben watched through the windshield as Miss Rene rose up on her toes to put Hamish’s tam on his head, and then she gave him a long hug and a slow kiss on both cheeks. Her arm trailed along his back as he walked away. She flicked a goodbye with her cigarette and wistfully ran her hand along the trellis as she strolled back into the house.
Hamish fired up the truck and spit gravel shells as they flew into the street without him looking in either direction for traffic.
As they pulled back onto the highway Hamish tipped his head towards Ben and said with a smile and a waggle of brow, “Dodged a bullet with that bird a few decades ago, lad. Thinking back, might have been a bloody mistake.”
Chapter 22
They took the Matane-Comeau ferry across the St Lawrence and continued north through Quebec.
A few hours later they stopped when Hamish announced he needed another, “Single fish and crisps break”, or pee and potato chips. Not to be confused with the next stop which was a “Poke and jobby break”, which was fries and a crap.
Ben and the pups were in the back seat sharing a bag of Flame Grilled Aberdeen Angus crisps while Sholto sat in the front and Hamish fed her crisps infused with whisky. Ben had been astonished by the variety of potato chips available in even the smallest store, including haggis flavored, which he had to try and his uncle had to finish. They had seven half-empty bags in the truck at one point before they both groaned and agreed to a crisps-ercism.
The snow-covered pine forest parted and brought them to the banks of a wide river. Hamish announced they’d reached the southern end of the Manicouagan Reservoir, and said it wasn’t actually a river they were looking at. As the road wound through the rocky shore Hamish looked in the rear view mirror and said the ring lake was pretty neat and Ben should look it up on his infernal machine. With the pups looking over his shoulder Ben brought up a map and saw the twenty-five mile wide lake was a perfect ring, with a perfect circular island in the middle. Hamish said the reservoir can be seen from space and was made by an asteroid larger than Manhattan. Smudge thought it looked like someone shot a hole in Quebec. Hamish called it the great white north’s arse hole, complete with a turtle head poking out.
From the ring lake they turned northwest and the low mountains started to build into proper ones. The pines crept closer to the road and every curve seemed to bring them higher, and reward them with a more breathtaking view whenever they broke through the trees.
The hours came and went, and they wound their way deeper into the remote mountains of central Quebec.
Ben woke with a start when the truck slowed and rumbled loudly over a grid of cattle guards set into the road. He looked at the clock on the dashboard. At half past three it was already getting dark and the truck’s headlights faintly lit up a light snow that had started. The pups raised their heads for a moment but nestled back down with their chins on Sholto.
Ben stretched and pushed the kink out of his back. He gaped as they passed under a massive archway built from timbers. It was supported by thick fieldstone abutments and flanked by two huge iron gates. He whistled and read aloud the large iron sign hanging from the lowest row of timbers, “Amaruq Irriq.”
Hamish nodded, and as they crested a ridge and the snow covered valley spread out in front of them he said, “Welcome to the third largest timber ranch in Quebec.”
Ben’s eyes followed the road ahead as it dropped and snaked back and forth down the white slope of the mountain, frequently disappearing into the thick forest. At the bottom of the valley the road appeared again and followed a narrow river to a clearing where Ben could make out several small buildings, including a red barn and a log farmhouse. On the other side of the river the denser pine forest returned and climbed up the side of a row of small mountains, their tops hidden in the snow and the gray of the oncoming night.
It took another half hour to pick their way down the valley’s switchback road before coming out just above the snowy banks of the river. Ben was surprised by the river’s size. What had looked to be a stream from the top of the ridge was a wide tumultuous river when they got up close.
As if reading Ben’s thoughts Hamish said, “Distances can be deceiving up here, Ben. The low sun and blue-shifted lig
ht can shrink miles so they look like meters making the vast snow fields and peaks seem closer than they really are. Errors in visual perception have caused the end of more than a few poor buggers above the fiftieth parallel, and it gets worse the farther north you go. We’ve found a few corpsicles who saw a camp twenty clicks away and thought, I’ll just stroll on over for a cuppa.”
“I bet”, Ben said, “I would have bet the river was just a hop, skip, and a jump from the entrance. Papa showed me how to use trees to judge distance once when we were cross country skiing, but I never got the hang of it.”
“Aye,” Hamish said, “Duncan was always good at that sort of thing. Mature trees of the same species tend to grow to the same height, depending on their location on the mountain. I’ll show you how to judge it proper when we’re on the trail. I’ll also show you how to trust the dogs to judge distance, they don’t have red cones so they aren’t fooled by the blue shift as much as we feeble blokes are. They also haven’t lost their appreciation for that cold fucker old man death like some of us idgit humans. A good dog won’t let you do something stupid.”
Spot and Smudge nodded to each other in the back seat.
Ben was getting excited, and at the same time he was also getting very sad. It had been a long trip and finally seeing this ranch, the one he’d heard so many stories about, was an amazing payoff. However, talking to Hamish like this brought back memories of Papa and the way he was always teaching him something. Papa had promised to take Ben up to the ranch when he was ready.
Smudge picked up on Ben’s change in breathing and she stepped through the gap in the front seats. With her paws on the center console she started to give him a few big licks.
The Glasgow Gray: Spot and Smudge - Book 2 Page 11
