Mossbelly MacFearsome gripped his axe and bent forward. ‘And you are a disrespectful ugly human. Do not talk to me in that voice or I’ll cut out your insides and place them on your outsides.’
‘Oh, just...’ said Roger, lying back against the boxes. He folded his arms across his chest.
The van swung hard right. Some boxes fell over. One landed on the dwarf’s wounded leg. He groaned and knocked the box aside as the van began to accelerate.
Roger and the dwarf sat in silence, not looking at each other.
After a while the van began to slow down. It turned left, bumped over something metallic-sounding, and stopped.
‘Quick,’ said Roger. ‘Up there.’ He pointed at the piled-up boxes.
The dwarf got to his feet and, with Roger’s help, climbed over the pile and into a narrow space at the top.
Roger made sure the dwarf was hidden, then followed him up and pulled two boxes in front of them, leaving only a small gap to see through.
A door slammed, and seconds later the back doors of the van opened. Roger watched as Wullie lifted out some boxes and, whistling tunelessly, disappeared from sight.
‘Now,’ hissed Roger. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Roger and the dwarf pushed the boxes aside and climbed down. Roger peered around the open doors. They were in a service station area with a café and some shops. Wullie was just entering one of them.
Roger picked up the tartan blanket and jumped out of the van. He turned round and held out both hands to help the dwarf. The little man grasped Roger’s hands in his knobbly fists and leaned forward. The weight was more than Roger could bear and the two of them crashed to the ground.
Roger stood up quickly. Mossbelly MacFearsome lay on the ground, moaning.
‘You all right?’ asked Roger, anxiously looking around. ‘Sorry about that. We’ll need to get away before we’re seen.’
The dwarf got to his feet. Roger took his arm and they made their way around the side of the van. They hobbled past the café, ducking under the windows. A baby in a highchair smiled at them and smacked a rattle against a window. The baby’s parents were busy eating and did not look up. Roger and the dwarf reached the back of the café. They clambered over a small fence and slithered down a steep embankment. At the bottom of the embankment they lay on their backs, breathing deeply.
‘Well done, Roger,’ said the dwarf, after a few moments. ‘You are indeed an admirable companion for a great undertaking. I say sorry for being crumpsy with you. And you can use the diminutive of my first name. Call me Moss.’
Roger turned his head to look at the dwarf. ‘OK, Moss. But – ’ he shook his head – ‘I haven’t done anything.’
‘Oh but you have, modest ugly human. You have been of immense help in this quest.’
‘What? What have I done?’
‘Did you not see the great sign?’
Roger frowned. ‘What are you talking about? What sign?’
‘Go and look.’ Moss chuckled. ‘Look to the north. You will see the sign. Go.’ He pointed back up the embankment.
Roger scrambled up the grass on all fours. At the top he looked around. All he could see was the main carriageway with the evening rush-hour cars whizzing in both directions. Then he saw it. At the exit from the service area was a road sign indicating the A9 road to Inverness, Pitlochry and Dunkeld. But it was the first name on the board that held his attention: Auchterbolton.
And it was only five miles away.
CHAPTER
Seven
Roger slid back down the embankment. ‘I saw it,’ he said, sitting down beside the dwarf. ‘It’s not far, you could walk it. It wouldn’t take you too long.’
‘Not with this leg limb,’ said Moss. ‘The leaking and pain must be fixed before we travel to Auchterbolton.’ He pointed to a field in the distance. ‘Do you see that cultivation with the forest beyond?’
Roger nodded. ‘Yes...’
‘We shall hide in the woodland during the darkness hours and mend my leg limb.’
‘All night?’ Roger shook his head. ‘I can’t do that. I need to go home.’
‘Listen,’ said Moss, staring intently at Roger. ‘We are on a quest. We must continue until we succeed – or die. The ogres must not be allowed to rise. It is too soon. Do you understand my words?’
‘Ye-s,’ said Roger, his voice breaking a little. ‘But I still want to go home tonight.’
‘Roger.’ Moss leaned closer. ‘Help me, and I’ll make things better. When we complete our quest, your difficulties will all be sorted. You will be rewarded. I promise.’
‘Really?’ Roger sniffed loudly and pulled back from the face gazing intently at him.
The dwarf nodded. ‘Trust me.’
Roger bent his head, picked at some blades of grass and thought about what had happened to him since he had met the dwarf. There was no believable story that he could possibly tell anyone.
‘All right, I’ll help,’ he said, looking up after a few moments. ‘But just remember I’m not a brave warrior. And I must phone my mum, let her know I’m safe.’
‘You have a speak-hear box with you?’ asked Moss.
‘No,’ said Roger, as he understood what the dwarf was asking. ‘We’re not allowed them at school. Maybe I can use a phone in the café up there.’
‘Go quickly,’ said Moss. ‘Do not get snared by humans.’
Roger began to climb up the embankment again. Halfway up, he stopped and looked back. ‘What if we don’t succeed with this quest? What happens to me then?’
Moss laughed. ‘Then our troubles will be greater than your worst nocturnal dreams. Go. Quickly.’
When Roger returned, Moss was picking at wildflowers, easing up their roots with his dagger and then placing them in his satchel.
‘Did you speak with your maternal one?’ asked Moss, closing his satchel.
Roger just nodded and sat down.
‘What’s wrong, Roger? You are looking mubblefubbled.’
‘Nothing,’ said Roger, pulling at some grass.
Moss stood up and limped over to Roger. He put a hand under his chin and lifted his face. ‘Tell it to me. I need to know.’
‘It’s my mum,’ said Roger. ‘She’s upset, crying on the phone. She thinks I’ve run away. Because of the fight with Hugh, and the police coming round. She’s got enough trouble with my dad being away all the time. She wants me home.’
‘What did you say to her?’ asked Moss.
‘I said I was helping a friend and that I would be home soon; that everything was a misunderstanding and that I would explain later. But she just cried.’
‘Listen to my words, Roger. I have made you a promise – as binding as an oath! Dwarves keep promises, unlike the human race. Things will be made better for you. Now come, we must hide in that woodland until the new day.’
Roger got to his feet. To his surprise the dwarf took his hand and kept hold of it until they reached the edge of the field.
‘We cross this abomination,’ said Moss. ‘Then we’ll be in a safer place. Help me through this keep-out.’
Roger pulled apart the loose fence wires to let the dwarf duck through. ‘It’s just a field,’ he said, as he followed Moss.
‘Just a-a field!’ spluttered Moss. He cleared his throat and spat on the ground. ‘It’s an agri-culture is what it is. You ever tried living under one? The noise – digging, clanking, banging. Should not be allowed. Near as bad as church bells a-boinging through the earth until a dwarf’s teeth are screaming.’
Roger did not answer as he and Moss made their way over the ploughed field to a wooden fence at the far side.
‘What now?’ asked Roger, looking beyond the fence to the thickly wooded area. ‘We’ll need to get you over this. It’ll be difficult to climb with your leg.’
‘Follow me,’ said Moss, unsheathing his axe and limping forward.
Before Roger could say anything, Moss raised h
is axe and smashed a section of the fence to pieces; then, still holding his axe, the dwarf walked into the forest. ‘Hurry up,’ he growled as he disappeared round a tree. ‘Don’t be a slitherum.’
Roger stepped over the broken fence and followed.
Despite his wound, Moss moved quickly. He made no effort to slow down, ducking under branches and climbing over fallen trees. After walking for several minutes Moss stopped in a small clearing and stared up at the sky. He looked at the setting sun, then knelt down and placed the right side of his head on the ground.
‘Here,’ said Moss, standing again with some difficulty. ‘We remain here for the night.’
‘Would it not be better if we had a bit more space?’ asked Roger, looking around.
‘This is fine,’ said Moss, pulling his satchel over his head. ‘We spend our night hours in this spinkie-den. Now fetch fallen wood while I begin to heal wound.’
‘What kind of wood do you want?’ said Roger.
‘Fallen wood only.’ Moss sat down and began rummaging through his satchel. He waved a hand dismissively at Roger. ‘Go.’
Roger glared at the dwarf for a moment before turning away.
There was plenty of wood lying around. Roger gathered as much as he could carry. When he returned Moss was working on his leg. Roger dropped the wood on the ground and stood watching the dwarf.
‘More,’ said Moss through gritted teeth. ‘More wood. Go.’
Four more times Roger gathered wood and returned with it to the dwarf. On the fifth time Moss held up his hand. ‘Enough. That’s enough.’
Roger put down the wood and looked at Moss’s leg. The trouser leg was rolled up above the knee and the wound was covered in a foul-looking mixture of mud, flowers and ferns.
‘Are you OK?’ Roger grimaced as he gazed at the knobbly limb. ‘Can I help?’
‘Yes,’ said Moss, holding out his red handkerchief. ‘Help tie this snotter-clout around and in a firm knot.’
Roger knelt and wrapped the handkerchief around the caked mixture. Before pulling the knot tight, he held both pointed ends in his hands and looked into Moss’s face.
‘Now,’ said Moss. ‘Pull tight, slowly. And stop when I tell you.’
Roger crossed the ends and began to pull.
‘Stop,’ gasped Moss, his face screwed up in pain. ‘Tie. Tie fast.’
Roger quickly tied the ends in a reef knot.
‘Good.’ Moss leaned back and rested his head against a tree. ‘Now we wait until the pain ebbs and my strength returns.’
‘How about the wood?’ asked Roger, nodding at the pile lying on the ground. ‘Do you want to start a fire?’
‘No. No fire. Smoke could be seen.’
‘What’s all the wood for, then? Do you want me to build something?’
‘Not for anything.’ Moss began chuckling. ‘Keeps forest clean. I don’t like a messy forest.’ The little man shook with laughter and then closed his eyes. Within seconds he had begun to snore.
Roger stood looking at the snoring dwarf. For a moment it crossed his mind that he should walk away and try to get home. But he had made an agreement. He sat down next to Moss, glanced at his watch and then closed his eyes.
CHAPTER
Eight
‘Healing is taking place.’
Roger jerked awake. Moss was on his feet stretching his hands above his head. Roger looked at his watch; he had been asleep for about thirty minutes.
‘Your leg can’t be better,’ said Roger. ‘It would take a lot longer than that to heal.’
‘Not healed,’ said Moss, pulling out his sword and axe. ‘Healing. Be a lot better on the morrow. Come, there are things to do before we feed and sleep.’
‘What?’ asked Roger, getting to his feet.
‘First, stretch.’ Moss lifted his arms above his head. ‘Then fetch more wood. I have a joke with you before, but we need wood to make a protection barricade.’
Roger stretched, hands reaching skywards and standing on his tiptoes.
‘Good,’ said Moss. ‘Always start with a stretch. Keeps body supple. Now, more wood. Go.’
Roger began to collect wood. He could hear chopping noises coming from the direction of the dwarf.
With each load of wood Roger brought back he could see that Moss was constructing a small circular barricade. The dwarf was working at a furious pace, cutting the wood into roughly equal lengths and then hammering them into the ground with the flat of his axe. With the circle almost complete, Moss started cutting leafy branches from the surrounding trees. He placed some of them on the inside of the barricade and others he laid over part of the top to serve as a roof.
‘That’s clever,’ said Roger, dropping another load of wood. ‘Do you want any more?’
‘No more.’ Moss indicated a large flat stone. ‘Carry that inside for a table.’
Roger lifted the stone and placed it in the middle of the construction. ‘Now sit,’ said Moss, completing the circle of the barricade, then sheathing his sword and axe and sitting down himself.
Roger sat beside the stone and crossed his legs. The branches he was sitting on were springy and surprisingly comfortable.
‘Are you hungry?’ Moss asked, rummaging in his satchel. ‘You throw your last meal away after fighting with Hughumhughball.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Roger. ‘I haven’t thought about—’ His stomach rumbled.
‘Ah, I hear that you are!’ said Moss, taking out his dagger. ‘You need bellyfuel. I’ll cut you a slice of pie.’
Moss carefully lifted a cloth bundle out of the satchel and laid it on top of the stone. He unwrapped the cloth to reveal a large crusty pie.
Roger’s stomach rumbled again.
‘Just a moment, hungry belly,’ said Moss as he cut the pie in two and handed one piece to Roger.
‘Thank you,’ said Roger. ‘I am hungry.’
‘Eat,’ said Moss, taking a large bite out of his pie. Pastry crumbs dropped into his beard where they mingled with previous droppings.
Roger held up his pie and sniffed; the smell was delicious. He took a bite; the taste was delicious. It was tangy and sweet. It was soft and it was crunchy. It was the best pie he had ever tasted.
‘This is lovely,’ said Roger.
‘Merry-go-down?’ Moss held out a small rounded bottle with a cork stopper.
Roger took the bottle and watched as Moss pulled an identical bottle from his satchel and tugged out the stopper with his teeth. Roger did the same. Moss took a large gulp, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said: ‘Aaaahhh.’
Roger raised his bottle and took a long swallow. He put his hand up to wipe his mouth; there was a warm glow spreading all the way through his body. He took another drink.
‘That’s nice as well,’ he said. ‘Like raspberries an’ grapes.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘And ish sweet.’
‘Finish your pie,’ said Moss. ‘No more until you finish pie. Then just a nipperkin.’
‘I’ll finish it,’ giggled Roger, starting to feel a bit woozy. ‘Don’t you worry about that, Mossy. I’ll eat your pie. What kinda pie issit?’
‘Mushworm.’
Roger gave Moss a huge smile. ‘Mushworm! That’s a great one. I like that. Good joke.’ He giggled and took another drink from the bottle. ‘Now, Mossy, I want to ask you a few queshions about every... everything.’ Roger waved his hands about before stuffing more pie into his mouth. He lifted the bottle, but before he could drink again the dwarf leaned over and snatched it out of his hand.
‘No more.’ Moss had a stern look on his face. ‘I forget human age. A dwarf is fully growed at three years and greybeard at seven. Ask questions. I’ll tell you what you want to know about our quest.’
‘You’re an old sport-spoil,’ said Roger, settling back, leaning against the wooden barricade. He felt great: warm, comfortable, very clear-headed and extremely happy. ‘Tell me everything,’ he said, putting the last of
the pie into his mouth. ‘Miss nothing out. I want to know what you’re doing here, where you come from and what we’re going to do next. Tell all, Mossy-boy, OK?’
Mossbelly MacFearsome picked at his teeth with the point of his dagger, then took another swallow from his bottle. He burped, and began to tell his story.
CHAPTER
Nine
‘Long ago,’ said Moss, ‘many different creatures lived on Earth. They all lived in peace, more or less, except for humans. They were newest race and most troublesome. Humans liked to rule, to dominate. They quarrelled with everyone, and had no regard for nature or anything earthborn but themselves.’
Moss took another drink from his bottle as Roger gazed wide-eyed at him.
‘A great gathering was called to decide the fate of the human race. Many wanted to put an end to the troublesome creatures, to destroy them completely.’
Roger, head swaying slightly, leaned forward. ‘Did they do it?’
Moss narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. ‘Think you’d be here if the human race had been destroyed?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Roger. ‘That wash silly of me. I wouldn’t be here, would I? What happened? Why’m I still here?’
‘The dwarves. The dwarves saved you, my ugly friend. They spoke for your survival. They said you were a young, stupid race and that it would be wrong to destroy you without giving you time to mature and that they would fight to defend humans.’
Moss drained his bottle and reached for the other one.
‘For a time, war came near. But after a period of sensible thought, a compromise was agreed to save the ugly ones.’
‘What?’ said Roger, grinning happily.
‘For an allotted period of time, dwarves would dwell in their underground halls and ogres would slumber in the earth. The upper world would be left mainly to humans. The humans promised to mend their ways, if they were given sufficient time. And if they succeeded, all would live together. But if they failed, they would be destroyed by the combined might of dwarves, ogres and others united against them. Watchers would report on the making of progress and the humans’ treatment of the world.’
Mossbelly MacFearsome and the Dwarves of Doom Page 3
