by Robin Jarvis
Suet shambled over to where the mechanical was still twitching and shuddering. The splintered stump waggled uselessly and the pony’s glass eyes were swivelling in confusion.
Snuffling soothingly, Suet clambered on to its quivering neck and made his way to the stilling crest. With a comforting grunt that seemed to ease the pony’s tremors, the piglet pressed down. Jack’s mount became inert and Suet hopped to the ground, tilting his head to the trees.
Muffled shouts were echoing through the woodland. A remote rumbling bellow blared in the piglet’s ears and his snout began to pump rapidly. More shouts came shrieking, the human voices mingling with the high screams of a horse and ponies.
Suet froze. His master had ridden into peril and he must do what he could to save him. Disobeying Adam’s last command, the piglet gave a war-like grunt as every mechanism whirred within him and, with a determined flick of his trotters, bolted off into the wood.
CHAPTER 6
Angel Versus Demon
Pushing the stallion to its limits until it clattered and jarred beneath them, Brindle and Jack had ridden like a hurricane and finally caught up with Old Scratch in the clearing beneath the Iribian’s night boat. There, against the newly built scaffold, the wild boar made his stand and whirled a horrendous head towards them. From the slanting eyes and the mutilated maw, scarlet froth was spitting as the temper inside him boiled to a new degree. Sitting behind Brindle, Jack Flye looked on that infernal beast and knew that from this place only one of them could walk away. “Give me the pole,” he demanded urgently. “Get in as close as you can and I’ll strike. One direct blow will slow him, then I’ll finish it.”
Brindle pressed the broken staff into his hand and spurred the horse nearer. Yet, at that crucial moment, the metal steed tossed its head and the mechanisms locked, jamming it completely. Nothing the Iribian did could free it, the horse floundered blindly before the scaffold and Old Scratch seized his chance.
With a roar, he flew forward, slamming his mighty shoulders into the steel legs which dented and crumpled like tin. Another punching blow brought the stallion to its buckled knees and Brindle and Jack leapt from its back. The brass tusks went ripping inside, crashing deep into the horse’s chest.
A hideous crunching of metal filled the woodland and the stallion toppled motionless to the ground. Old Scratch pulled away. Mangled copper pipes twisted about his tusks and a victorious gargle bubbled from his scarlet foaming jaws. Then, malevolently, he turned to glare at Jack and Brindle.
The Iribian was helping Jack to his feet, while casting around for the stilling staff. “Make for the scaffold!” he ordered.
Jack leaped on to the first rung, swinging his legs high and out of reach. The Iribian remained on the ground, pacing a wide circle away from the scaffold, keeping Old Scratch busy while Jack ran to safety.
The cloven hooves scraped the ground and, with a barbarous shriek, Old Scratch charged. Brindle darted aside but the mechanical mirrored his movements and the tip of one brass tusk went tearing through a leg of the homespun breeches, gouging into the flesh beneath.
Clinging to the scaffold, Jack watched helplessly as Brindle faltered, grasping his leg while the dark orange blood welled between his fingers. The boar’s bellowing rang beneath the firmament and he lunged in for the kill.
Suddenly there came a thundering of hooves and Henry Wattle galloped into the clearing, wielding his staff like a lance and hollering terrible cries.
“Begone!” he bawled, rushing straight for the murderous beast and hitting him squarely in the side with the steel tip. “Prince Henry, destroyer of dragons and killer of giants, is here to make sawdust sausages of you!”
Knocked aside by the stilling pole, Old Scratch snarled. Henry doubled back for a second attack while Brindle hurried to the scaffold. “This time I’ll not miss your crest!” Henry yelled, charging his pony towards the ferocious boar. But the tyrant of the woods would be nobody’s target and rampaged to meet him.
A deafening collision shook the surrounding trees. Henry Wattle dropped the staff and grappled with the reins as his pony reared on its hind legs, for those at the front had been smashed. A twisted tusk and a broken ear were the only damage inflicted upon Old Scratch. The boar stalked before the crippled beast, waiting for it to tumble in ruin, bringing its rider with it.
“Steady, you shoddy clunker!” Henry cried in panic. If he could only keep the pony staggering backwards, he might reach the scaffold – But the mechanical was already teetering and set to fall.
Into this hopeless scene Adam o’the Cogs came barging and saw Henry’s plight at once. Standing in the stirrups, he spurred his own pony onward and reached out to grab the other boy’s hand.
But Henry’s mount spun madly around. As Adam came bolting to the rescue it wheeled about, its hooves slithering beneath it. Down the creature plunged, whinnying hideously, and its crushing weight came toppling on to Adam’s pony.
Both boys shrieked as they were flung from their saddles and the two steeds fell together. In a thumping confusion of trouncing hooves and splitting casings they crashed to the floor, their combined screams terrible to hear.
Henry had been thrown close to the scaffold but the wind had been knocked from his lungs and he rolled on the ground gasping for breath. Further away, Adam lay face down in the dirt, dazed and groggy – with a bright cut on his temple.
Prowling into the shadow of Brindle’s night boat, Old Scratch skulked menacingly towards him. Jack jumped from the scaffold and dragged Henry to safety.
“Adam!” Jack yelled. “Get up – run!”
Wincing, the boy lifted his head. With bleary vision he saw the fearful bulk of the wild boar advancing, a crimson lather dripping from his jaws.
“He’s done for,” Jack breathed.
Choking the air down, Henry turned away. “Coggy!” he rasped.
Even though there was no chance of rescuing the beleaguered boy, Jack could not simply watch him die. Leaving the sanctuary of the scaffold, he turned to Brindle for assistance – but the Iribian was not there.
Incredulous, Jack stared upward and saw that Mistress Dritchly’s angel was climbing the ladder as fast as his wounded leg could take him.
“Brindle!” Jack yelled. “Come back!”
Henry’s face scrunched in misery. “He’s left us,” he wailed. “The craven beggar’s left us!”
Not once did the Iribian glance down, and Jack spat in contempt before whisking around to do what he could for Adam, alone.
Old Scratch’s jagged snout came slavering ever closer to the stricken boy. Adam could see a hellish light burn behind the small slanting eyes and he closed his own.
Shaking his wonderful spikes and ploughing his tusks through the soil, the demon charged, straight for Adam’s head. Feeling sick, the boy heard the cloven hooves gallop towards him.
Then a brutal thump punched him in the back as a familiar shape went squealing over his ears. From the undergrowth Suet had come scooting, rocketing into the clearing with a flurry of leaves whirling in his wake. Direct to his master the piglet darted, not even pausing when his little eyes beheld the nightmare that was bearing down upon the fallen apprentice.
Bravely, Suet bounded on to Adam’s back and launched himself through the air, flying right into Old Scratch’s horrendous face. There was a clattering clonk as the piglet smacked against the wild boar’s snout and Suet instantly clamped his small jaws about the ragged rosewood shards. The monster bellowed in thwarted rage. He skidded to a halt and shook his head violently. Biting hard, Suet refused to let go, his eyes staring defiantly into the diabolic fires of the enemy.
Racing across to Adam, Jack hauled him to his feet, dragging him to the scaffold. “Get up there,” he urged, lifting him on to the first supporting pole.
Weakly, Adam heaved himself up, then turned to see Old Scratch spinning in an infuriated circle, with Suet still biting hard on his snout, refusing to let go. It was like a mouse battling a tiger and Henry Wattle g
ave a whooping cheer to see the valiant piglet so confound and incense that foul beast.
The wild boar trumpeted in wrath. With an almighty, jolting jerk of his head, he finally loosened the piglet’s jaws and Suet was catapulted clear. Trotters paddling madly, the keg-shaped mechanical sailed through the air and went bouncing over the ground. Old Scratch turned his baneful attention to the scaffold and lowered his head as he rampaged towards it.
“Climb higher!” Jack told the apprentices. “Hold as tight as you can – here he comes!”
A dreadful shudder travelled the scaffold as the boar rammed the supporting poles, which quaked alarmingly.
“Get gone!” Henry squawked down at him. “You can’t touch us now.”
His arms wrapped about one of the shivering struts, Adam had been shaken from his daze and when his mind cleared, he uttered a cry of dismay.
“Suet!” he called, scanning the awful spectacle around him. “Where are you?”
The two ponies were still thrashing upon the ground, but beyond them, lying on his side in the flattened grass, was the small piglet. When Adam saw him he choked with anguish. Snuffling forlornly, Suet was attempting to right himself. One of his trotters was hanging loose on its axle and as soon as he stood, it fell off completely.
“Get away from there,” Adam hissed under his breath. “Oh, don’t let that devil see him.”
Almost as if he had read the boy’s desperate thoughts, Old Scratch turned and his glaring glance fell upon the broken piglet. A spray of bloody froth spattered from his unholy jaws and the wild boar stormed away.
“No!” Adam yelled, beginning to clamber from the scaffold. “You leave him be – you hellswine! Come on – catch me instead, you stupid lump of dung.”
Jack yanked him back again. “Are you mad?” he snapped. “Stay here, you fool!”
“But Suet!” Adam pleaded.
“It’s only a mechanical!” Jack told him.
Suet tried to limp to a hiding place but promptly fell on his chin. Trembling, the piglet saw Old Scratch come hurtling towards him and every cog whined and clicked inside as he tried to stand once more.
Then the wild boar had him. Raging insanely, the fiend scooped Suet up in his evil tusks and the piglet was rushed back across the clearing, over to the oak tree next to the scaffold. The last thing Suet saw was the great trunk racing up to him. In a rupturing explosion of wood and bark, the little piglet was dashed to pieces. Springs and wheels flew everywhere and shattered splinters rained about the oak tree’s roots.
“SUET!” Adam screeched.
Ripping his tusks from the trunk, the wild boar turned to stare at the figures upon the scaffold, taunting them with a gloating grunt. “Oh, Coggy,” Henry murmured, knowing how much the piglet had meant to him.
Adam said nothing, but he covered his ears when Old Scratch purposely stamped upon a tiny set of bellows and Suet’s unmistakable squeal was heard one last time.
But the danger was far from over.
With fragments of Suet’s body dangling from his tusks, the wild boar charged at the scaffold, ramming his head again and again into the supporting posts.
“We’ll not get out of here,” Henry howled, rocking back as another brutal blow set the structure quivering.
“Don’t move,” Jack warned them. “Just hold on and pray.”
“Pray?” Henry wailed.
At that moment a clear, commanding voice called down from high above.
“Fear not!” it boomed. “I am here!”
As the scaffold jolted again, everyone peered up through the network of supports and saw Brindle clambering down from his night boat.
“I thought he abandoned us!” Jack exclaimed.
Adam shook his head. “He’s got something with him!” he cried.
“It had better be a mechanical elephant,” Henry whimpered.
Old Scratch butted the scaffold once more and one of the main poles smashed in two. Shrieking, the boar crashed further inward than he had expected and another great post came thudding down, striking him behind the shoulders and wedging him firmly in. Pounding his hooves on the floor, he roared and jostled but could not break free.
“He’s stuck!” Jack crowed. “The demon’s stuck! We have him!”
Old Scratch wrenched and tugged, but the posts held and Jack Flye began clambering down.
Above them, Brindle was descending as swiftly as he could. “Do nothing!” he shouted. “Wait till I reach you. I will deal with this.”
Jack jumped to the ground. “I think not,” he laughed. “Scratchy’s mine now.”
“Master Flye!” Brindle called.
“Jack!” Adam joined in. “Listen to him.”
The lad ignored them both and ran to where the rear of the wild boar was sticking from the scaffold, twisting and stomping in furious frustration.
“Ho, you foulness,” he proclaimed, striding to the malformed casing and looking on it with revulsion. “Five long years you’ve haunted and plagued me. Well, now ‘tis time to mend my mistake. Goodbye, you despised villain. You’ll not be mourned.”
With that he hit out at one of the Wutton crests – but, to his consternation, the thing would not budge. Too many years had gone by and it was cemented in position by an encrusting of ancient proudflesh.
Fuming, Jack tried the crest on the other side, but that too was glued fast. “Which one did Cog Adam strike before? One of them must be of use.”
But the other three stilling points were situated on Old Scratch’s shoulders and in the middle of his skull, out of reach. Frantically, Jack battered his fist on the hind crests and the wild boar snorted threateningly behind the posts, mocking his efforts.
“I will stop you!” Jack swore, his voice rising with rage.
Again and again he punched and pummelled, then in desperation he stood back and gave the great bulk a tremendous kick. The wild boar staggered under the violent attack, but Jack’s frenzied pounding had loosened the post that trapped him. Without warning, Old Scratch tore from the scaffold and Master Flye realised he was done for.
“JACK!” Adam shrieked.
Henry Wattle threw his hands over his eyes and, above them, Brindle heard Jack’s scream. Heedless of the gash in his leg, the Iribian leapt the remaining distance to the ground. His scarred face contorted into a mask of aggression and the torc around his neck flared with a dazzling light as he called to the wild boar.
“Leave him! A battle is what you crave – so be it. I shall not run. You and I – to the finish.”
Old Scratch lifted his harrowing head from Jack’s wounded body. Blood stained his tusks and it mingled with his own foaming ichor.
Slipping a hand down to his hip, Brindle took from its large scabbard the thing he had brought from his night boat and flourished it before him. The summer sun flashed and sparked over its surface. It was a weapon unlike any ever seen in the uplifted world. Two spearing blades – one jagged, the other like a razor – projected either side of his fist, while a tapering shaft reached up to his elbow where a third, hooked barb glittered lethally.
The reflected sun burned full into the wild boar’s face, blinding and tormenting him. He bellowed with rage.
Still clinging to the scaffold, Adam and Henry looked across to where Jack lay.
“Is he hurt bad?” Henry whispered.
“I can’t tell,” Adam murmured.
The wild boar had gored Jack and thrown him to the ground, but there were still feeble movements.
Henry stared at Brindle and sobbed with despair. “A fancy knife,” the boy wept hopelessly. “Against that devil! He won’t last an instant.”
Purposefully, Brindle had stepped away from the scaffold and was advancing towards Old Scratch.
Flinching from the bouncing glare, the wild boar grunted angrily then tossed his head and, in a spray of crimson, came stampeding to kill. Adam and Henry caught their breath and the terrible conflict began.
Like a tempest Old Scratch raged, thrusting his tu
sks and ripping with the cruel jags of his snout. Yet every lunge Brindle avoided, dodging deftly aside, then swinging his blades down as the mechanical charged past.
It was a savage, brutal engagement. The wild boar harried and butted him, spinning suddenly around so that his steel bristles could snag and rend. But always Brindle was too nimble. Like a dancer he leaped clear, then the strange knives would go jabbing in retaliation.
Chips of rosewood started to fly as the Iribian hacked and chopped, whirling expertly around and pushing the hooked barb in with his elbow. Old Scratch bellowed and screeched. After five long years of undisputed supremacy, he had finally met his match.
Henry’s mouth fell open and he gazed on Brindle with spiralling admiration. “He’s doing it!” he breathed.
Adam nodded slowly. “Why doesn’t he just still him?” he muttered. “He’s had plenty of chances.”
The Iribian’s eye was gleaming and his nostrils were flared wide. Seeing this, Adam suddenly realised that Brindle was enjoying himself.
Exultant, he continued to hew and slash, moving with fluid speed to cut through the wild boar’s casing. Old Scratch could not evade him but countered with vicious shoves. Then at last his tusks caught Brindle’s jerkin and in that moment the Iribian stumbled.
Greedily, the mechanical’s awful head butted into his stomach and Brindle was hurled against the oak. He cried out, then slumped to his knees and the wild boar swerved aside. Perched in the scaffold, Adam and Henry called for Brindle to move out of the way. Old Scratch was stalking backwards, preparing a long run up. His head was lowered, ready to smash right through his stricken adversary and impale him to the tree.
Kneeling at the roots, the Iribian did not budge. The wild boar gave a final, victorious bellow then shot towards him. His tusks poised for a magnificent kill, Old Scratch pounded over the ground. At the last possible instant, Brindle jumped up like an uncoiling spring. Dropping his blade, his large hands lashed out and seized hold of the curved brass tusks.
Using the mechanical’s own momentum, the Iribian snatched him into the air, swung him around and flung him with all his strength. Roaring, Old Scratch went crashing into the scaffold, splitting posts and struts. A quivering groan snapped up the towering framework and it came crashing down. Through the upper branches of the trees it fell, shearing off outstretched boughs, shattering and disintegrating in its ruin.
