Here Be Monsters!

by Alan Snow

  In one leap, the hound landed its front paws on the cheese.

  “Yes, Master!” replied a stubby rider close behind. He slowed his mount, stopped close to the cheese, and climbed down. Throwing a piece of dried bread to the ground to distract the hound, Gherkin put a boot on the cheese to keep it pinned down, then took some string from his pocket and tied it firmly to the cheese’s ankle. Keeping a tight hold on the string, Gherkin climbed back onto his mount.

  “Right. My boys, it’s a gentle ride home for us,” said Gherkin, stirring his mount back toward the town.

  “Gherkin! Deal with this ’ere cheese!”

  “It might be a gentle ride home for you, Gherkin, but it’s a damnable long walk for us!” a muffled voice grunted from under the saddle. Still, off they set with the cheese in tow. The hunt was now in the distance, picking off the rest of the cheeses. Their mournful cries were replaced by a resigned silence.

  Off they set with the cheese in tow.

  The Cheese Hall.

  chapter 3

  FROM ON HIGH

  He grabbed his doll from under his suit.

  Arthur watched it all from his perch on top of the Cheese Hall. The procession drew closer to Ratbridge, and now he could make out most of the creatures involved. It slowly dawned on him what was happening. It was a cheese hunt!

  He grabbed his doll from under his suit and raised it to his mouth.

  “Grandfather! Grandfather! It’s Arthur. Can you hear me?” There was a crackling and his grandfather replied.

  “Yes, Arthur, I can hear you. What’s happening?”

  “I think I see a cheese hunt!”

  There was a pause; then Grandfather spoke again. “Are you absolutely sure? Cheese hunting? Where are you?”

  “I am sitting on top of the Cheese Hall. I am . . .”—Arthur decided to gloss over earlier events—“. . . having a break. I can see the whole thing. Riders and hounds chasing and catching cheeses.”

  “But they can’t! It’s cruel and it’s illegal!” Grandfather sputtered. “Are you sure there are riders on horses?”

  “Yes, Grandfather. Why?”

  “Because all the cheese-hunting horses were sold off to the Glue Factory after the Great Cheese Crash.”

  “They do seem to be riding horses.”

  “Well, they do seem to be riding horses . . . but there’s something rather odd about them,” Arthur told him.

  “What is it?”

  “They’re very ungainly and somewhat oddly shaped. I can see that even from here. Who do you think is doing the hunting?”

  “I am not sure,” said Grandfather. “Where are they now?”

  “They are approaching the West Gate.”

  “Well, they must be from the town then. If we could find out who was responsible, perhaps we could do something to put a stop to it. Do you think you could have a closer look without being seen?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Arthur said, starting to feel excited.

  “Well, keep up on the roofs, and see if you can follow them.” Grandfather paused. “But . . . be very careful!”

  “Don’t worry; I will be.”

  “And call me if you find out anything.”

  “All right. I’ll speak to you later. And, Grandfather . . . I’ve got some bananas.”

  “Err . . . well . . . err . . . I rather like bananas . . . .” Grandfather’s voice trailed off.

  Arthur put the doll away and wound his wings again. Here at last was a chance for some real adventure.

  Here at last was a chance for some real adventure.

  The hunt wove its way into town.

  chapter 4

  INTO THE TOWN

  He pulled out a large, black iron key.

  By the time the Hunt reached the West Gate, they had nine cheeses in tow. The hounds were exhausted. As the chase was over, their muzzles had been removed. Snatcher, the leader of the hunt, maneuvered his mount till he was within arm’s length of the thick wooden gate. He pulled a large, black iron key out of his topcoat, leaned over, and unlocked it. Gristle, on the horse behind him, dismounted and swung the gate open.

  Arthur flew from the Cheese Hall to a rooftop near the gate and settled out of sight behind a parapet. He looked down.

  In the street below, the hunt wove its way into town. It was a terrifying sight. Strange four-legged creatures were carrying very ugly men in very tall hats. A pack of manky hounds sniffed around behind them, and just visible in the shadows were tubby yellow cheeses tied with pieces of string to some of the riders. A cheese stumbled on the cobbles and let out a bleat.

  “Quick!” hissed Snatcher. “Muffle ’im!”

  One of the riders threw a large sack over the cheese and it fell silent. The rider scooped up the sack and the procession continued on its way.

  He looked down.

  Arthur moved along the parapet till he reached the end of the building. An alley divided him from the next house. He pressed the buttons on the front of his box, rose silently, and flew toward the next house. He was proud of himself—he had not made a single sound that attracted their attention. But what he had not accounted for was the position of the moon. As he crossed the alley, his shadow fell across the street.

  The procession continued on its way.

  Arthur’s flapping shadow was too much for them.

  Cheeses have many predators, but the one that they fear most is the Cheese Hawk. The merest hint of anything large and winged will send cheeses into a blind panic. Arthur’s flapping shadow was too much for them. All hell broke loose.

  One cheese let out a sharp cry. This set off the other cheeses. The riders, caught off guard, had the strings ripped from their hands as the cheeses bolted . . . straight under the legs of the “mounts.” Two of the mounts tripped over the cheeses and collapsed, throwing their riders to the ground. The riders following them were unable to halt their mounts, and they, too, all piled into the heap. The hounds now went crazy. In their excited state, with no muzzles to hold them back, they set upon all the available human limbs sticking out of the heap. This caused much screaming and wailing. In the middle of the confusion, only Snatcher and his mount were left standing. He looked up and caught Arthur in his stare.

  They, too, all piled into the heap.

  Just above Snatcher.

  “What do we have ’ere?” he said with a mixture of malice and curiosity.

  Arthur watched the commotion in shock. Then, suddenly, his right wing gave a jerk. He twisted around and saw a large tear in it, and his heart sank. The banana woman’s blow had left its mark.

  Arthur started to drop. He grabbed for the knob and twisted it hard. Still he fell, his right wing dragging limply above him like a streamer. Snatcher was driving his mount toward the ground below him. In a last desperate attempt, Arthur reached for the handle on the side of the box and started to wind for all he was worth. The remaining wing sped up. Harder and harder he wound. His descent slowed to a stop . . . just above Snatcher.

  His arm aching, Arthur wound even harder. Then he felt something grab his ankle. He tried to pull away. There was a cackling from below.

  “ ’Ow ingenious! I always rather fancied flying,” came a voice.

  “Let me go!” cried Arthur.

  “I shall not!” came the reply, and Arthur felt a sharp tug swinging him around, and the tip of his broken wing poked Snatcher in the left eye.

  “Wwwwaaaahhhh!!” Snatcher cried, releasing his grip on Arthur’s ankle and putting his hands to his eye. As soon as he was released, Arthur rose a little. Still winding he kicked off from one of the walls and started down the alley. Behind him he could hear a very pained Snatcher.

  “Wwwwaaaahhhh!!”

  “Get the little tyke!” screamed Snatcher.

  Though he kept winding, it was impossible for Arthur to get high enough to escape over the roofs with the broken wing. He’d have to make his way through the streets and alleys to get back to the drain, he thought wildly. But the cheese-hounds were now sn
apping below him, and he wound faster still, trying to keep above their reach . . . .

  Snapping below.

  Ahead of him the alley faded into darkness, and he turned through an archway into a yard beyond. With a start of relief, Arthur realized he knew where he was. The yard backed onto the lane where the drain—and the way home—was. He had a chance of getting there if his wings would just hold out. The wall dividing him from the lane was just a few feet higher than he was flying. He might just make it. The barking grew louder again. Arthur wound and adjusted the knob at the same time, twisting it with all his might and willing himself over the wall.

  But the remaining wing could not take any more. With a sharp tearing noise, the leather tore away from the wing spars. Arthur frantically reached out for the wall, but it was no good. He was falling—and the cheese-hounds were waiting for him below. Dropping to the ground, he spun around to face the drooling hounds, bracing himself for the worst. There seemed to be no way he could fight them off. Then he noticed the flailing wing spar. He tore it from his back and spun around to confront any dog that seemed to be getting closer. Then he noticed a water cask in the corner of the yard, next to the back wall. Perhaps if he could manage to get onto that, he might have a chance. Fending off the dogs, he moved toward the cask. The hounds moved with him. Then Arthur’s heart sank again. Snatcher entered the yard. He quickly dismounted and walked toward Arthur, holding a hand over his injured eye.

  The drooling hounds.

  “No, you don’t, you little vermin. I have plans for you! And for your wings!” he wheezed.

  The man’s eye now was so swollen that it had closed.

  “It’s just as well that you poked me in me glass eye,” Snatcher hissed, “or I’d have had to come up with something even more unpleasant than what I’ve got planned for you!”

  “No, you don’t, you little vermin.”

  Snatcher made a lunge for Arthur. Arthur jumped back and bumped into the cask. He was completely cornered.

  “Now, boy, give me those wings of yours. I am very interested in contraptions! Take ’em off now! Now!” Snatcher ordered.

  Arthur slowly reached for the buckle on one of his shoulders.

  “Faster, boy!” Snatcher snapped. “Get ’em off quick, or I’ll be setting the hounds on yer!”

  Arthur released one buckle, then another, and finally the last one at his side. The wings were now loose.

  “Give ’em ’ere!” Snatcher hissed.

  Arthur slipped the wings over his head, and as he did so, Snatcher grabbed them.

  Snatcher grabbed the wings.

  “Clever, very clever . . . might well be useful!” Snatcher mused as he turned the remains of the wings over in his huge hands.

  Arthur stood with his back against the water cask, glancing from the snapping dogs to Snatcher. Grandfather had warned him so many times about being careful. Now, having made just one mistake, he was in real trouble for the first time in his life. The dogs took their chance and moved closer.

  Then one of the larger hounds made a lunge for him. Arthur kicked out just in time and caught the dog’s nose with his toe. The dog pulled back with a whimper, and Snatcher looked up.

  Arthur kicked out just in time.

  “You just keep him there, me pugs.” He smirked and turned back to his inspection.

  Arthur slowly moved his hands back onto the cask, then stealthily, always keeping an eye on Snatcher, he pulled himself up till he was sitting on the edge of it. The hounds started to growl and strain forward, but Snatcher, absorbed in the wings, absentmindedly shushed them. Careful not to make a sound, Arthur raised his knees till his heels were resting on the edge of the cask.

  The hounds started to growl and strain forward.

  He glanced up at the top of the wall. One of the hounds let out a bark. Snatcher looked up and realized what was happening. He let out a cry of rage just as Arthur jumped up, grabbed the top of the wall, and pulled himself over it.

  He fell flat to the ground on the other side. For a few seconds he lay there, his heart pounding, trying to catch his breath. Shouts of anger and barking emanated from over the wall.

  “Get round the back and ’ave ’im, you mutts!” Snatcher bellowed. There was the sound of leather on dog and then a loud howling.

  He fell flat to the ground.

  Arthur scrambled to his feet and started for the drain cover at the far end of the lane. Then he heard the hounds coming around the corner. He wasn’t going to make it. He ducked into a doorway in the wall, then peeped back out. Snatcher, surrounded by hounds, stood by the drain cover. There were more footsteps and the rest of the riders appeared.

  “I think he went down here! Must live down below! Go and get the glue and an iron plate!” Snatcher ordered. A group of the hunters disappeared.

  Snatcher, surrounded by hounds, stood by the drain cover.

  Snatcher turned and scanned the alley. “Okay, the rest of you search the alley, just in case.”

  The men stood for a moment while hounds sniffed the air. Then the little dog that looked like a cross between a sausage dog and a ball of wire wool started to make his way down the alley directly toward Arthur. Arthur pressed his back against the door. This time there really was no way out. A shiver of fear went through him at the thought of what Snatcher would do when he got hold of him. Suddenly he felt the door give way behind him. Something grabbed him around the knees and pulled him through the doorway, and the door slammed shut.

  Arthur pressed his back against the door.

  The shop.

  chapter 5

  HERE BE MONSTERS!

  It framed a boxtroll.

  Arthur found himself standing in total darkness. The overwhelming relief at having got away from Snatcher and his hounds was mixed with the awful fear that he might have been dragged into something even worse. Who or what had pulled him through that door and why? A soft gurgling noise came from somewhere behind him. He turned round toward it and trod on something. There was a squeak, a scuffling of feet, and the sound of a doorknob being turned. Light broke in as a door opened. It framed a boxtroll, its smiling head protruding from its large cardboard box.

  Arthur had seen boxtrolls before, underground. He had occasionally come across them as he explored the dark passages, caverns, and tunnels. Boxtrolls were timid creatures and always scuttled away as soon as they noticed his presence. Arthur had heard that boxtrolls loved everything mechanical, and he’d seen their work everywhere underground—draining the passages and shoring up the tunnels and caves. This was the first time Arthur had seen one close at hand, and it now stood smiling and beckoning to him.

  Arthur walked toward it hesitantly. The boxtroll turned and scampered up a huge heap of nuts and bolts that covered the floor of the room ahead. As it reached the top, it stopped and picked up a handful of the nuts and bolts. Arthur stared as it lifted them to its mouth and kissed them. It then sprinkled them back over the heap and grinned.

  Then, beckoning to Arthur again, the boxtroll turned and scuttled out of the doorway on the other side of the room. Arthur clambered over the heap and followed it into a small hallway. Ahead of them was a paneled door. The top panels were made of glass, and through them a warm yellow light shone. The boxtroll knocked on the door.

  The boxtroll turned again to Arthur and smiled.

  “Come on in, Fish!” a muffled voice replied.

  The boxtroll turned again to Arthur and smiled. Then it opened the door, walked a few steps into the room, and cleared its throat.

  “Well, what is it, Fish? What treasures have you brought to show us this evening?” a man’s voice said from somewhere inside the room. “Come on then, let’s have a look!”

  The boxtroll reached back. It took Arthur’s hand and led him into the room.

  The old man sat in a high-backed, leather armchair.

  Arthur’s jaw fell open. From among the cages, tanks, boxes, old sofas, clocks, brass bedstead, piles of straw, heaps of books, and who knew wh
at else, stared four pairs of eyes. There were two more boxtrolls sitting on a shelf, a small man with a cabbage tied to the top of his head, and an old man. The old man sat in a high-backed, leather armchair. He was wearing half-glasses and a gray wig and was smiling at Arthur.

  “Hello. Who do we have here?” the old man inquired in a gentle voice.

  Arthur blinked. The old man waited patiently.

  “I’m Arthur!” he finally said.

  “Well, Arthur, are you a friend of Fish’s?” the old man asked.

  Two other boxtrolls made spluttering noises. The boxtroll holding Arthur’s hand turned to him, squeezed his hand, and made a happy gurgling sound.

  “Yes,” said the old man, “I think you are!” He looked sternly at the two boxtrolls on the shelf. “And Shoe and Egg should know better than to snigger at Fish!” The two boxtrolls fell silent, their faces turning bright red.

  The two boxtrolls fell silent, their faces turning bright red.

  Arthur looked around the room. It was packed to overflowing. If you took a junk shop, added the contents of a small zoo, then threw all your household possessions on top, it would start to give you an idea of what it was like. It smelled a little of compost. But it was warm and quiet, everyone looked friendly, and, best of all, there were no hounds snapping at him.

  He had no idea where he was, but he did know that he felt safe. Safe enough to ask a question himself.

  “Please, sir, may I ask you who you are?” asked Arthur.

  “Certainly, young man!” The old man grinned. “I am Willbury Nibble, Queen’s Counsel . . . Retired! I was a lawyer, but now I live here with my companions.”