Monstrous Races Page 3

  Alpha Sawyre ordered her people into position and walked to the door. A large bull-mastiff dog-head to her left pulled a lever, and a small hatch high in the door opened. ‘What do you want?’ she asked austerely. ‘There is no need for violence or weapons. State your business.’ There was silence and then a low, male voice answered.

  ‘We want the girl, we’re here to take her to where she rightly belongs. Bring her out and there won’t be any fuss.’ The dog-heads looked on, some baring their teeth at the door or growling under their breath.

  ‘And what do you want with her?’ Alpha Sawyre demanded. ‘Why do you want her now?’

  ‘It’s no business of yours dog,’ he spat, ‘but she needs to be with her own people, her family. We’re here to bring her home.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Alpha Sawyre, her voice suddenly treacle, ‘why didn’t you say? You can come in and bring one other, but the rest of you must wait outside. Those are our terms.’ There was noise and muffled discussion.

  ‘Her family want to come too, she’s kin to all of us,’ came the response.

  ‘Ah, now that’s unfortunate,’ she answered. ‘As I’ve already said just two of you may enter. It is your choice.’ There was whispered noise amongst the humans.

  ‘Aye,’ he said finally. 'Two it is.’

  The man and woman walked towards the door, occasionally looking back at the group that had agreed to walk away from the Dogheadhood. She clung to her leather bag and he walked with his sword at his side, battered and dulled with rust. The gate lowered towards them quickly and quietly, and soon they were walking towards Alpha Sawyre with a strong, young dog-head flanking them on either side.

  ‘We don’t want any trouble,’ the woman said slowly. ‘We just want to take her with us, with her family. We’ve missed her so,’ she cried, wiping away tears.

  ‘We’ve got proof she’s our kin,’ said the man. ‘Show her Violet.’ She reached into the bag and pulled out a faded, yellow piece of parchment and a ring.

  ‘I’m her Mother’s sister, and this proves it. When she was poorly she asked her friend to write this for her. I believe it says that I was to look after her in the event of her death, the poor thing. I never got here in time, fate can be so cruel,’ she added, sniffing. ‘By the time this came to me little Elli had made her own way. We’ve just found out she’s here, living with dog-heads. No offence, but she needs to be with her own kind.’

  ‘The ring was her Mother’s, she gave it to Violet before she died,’ he said gruffly. 'Now where is little Elli? It’s time to take her home.’

  Alpha Sawyre looked at them both intently as Violet passed her the parchment. ‘Well, this all seems to be in order,’ she said, glancing at the items. ‘And yet how strange you’ve chosen now to claim her, after all these years.’ She smiled gently. ‘Any reason why it’s taken you so long? After all, you both live in the village so close to us here, it seems a little...unusual.’ She saw the man slowly moving his hand towards the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Is she here?’ asked Violet more urgently. ‘Where is little Elli? Auntie Violet wants to give her a big kiss.’

  ‘Does she now,’ replied Sawyre. ‘Do you know, there’s a lot about humans that we don’t understand, and we spend our lives trying to bring together the two sides of our nature. And there are some things humans just don’t know about dog-heads. Take our sense of smell for instance.’ She was walking around them, the two humans small in the middle of the courtyard. ‘We have the most unbelievable sense of smell, we can pick up on everything.’ She moved towards Violet and sniffed the air around her, turning her head slowly. ‘And of course we recognise truth and deception. There are tiny changes, a more yellow tone if you will when there is deception. We can always tell.’

  She moved towards the man and as she did so he raised his sword up into the air. He felt the warm breath on his neck and the cold sharp teeth of the bull-mastiff dog-head standing behind him pressing into his flesh. The woman reached into her bag and took out a knife, its blade sharpened and ready for use. She looked at the dog-heads and screamed, turning around and running back towards the door. In her panic she hadn’t realised that the door was now shut and she ran straight into it before collapsing on the ground.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Alpha Sawyre quietly. ‘That has to hurt.’ She removed the man’s sword and gestured for him to be released. ‘Now then, why are you really here?’ she asked.

  Lord Lansdown rode on through the village, his men following him in pairs. His horses powered on through the narrow lanes, expelling dust and dirt into the faces of onlookers. His wife was at his side on a smaller horse, sitting regally and looking down at the villagers. There was a hush amongst the crowd as they looked at the group of men behind them, all on horseback.

  Lord Lansdown sat rigidly on his huge black stallion, his tunic buttoned tightly around his throat. His greying dark hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and his cheekbones and eyebrow ridge were pronounced, as though he had too little skin to fully stretch over them. His moustache and beard were clipped short and his beard ended in a fine point. He slowly took off his leather riding gloves, never taking his eyes from the villagers. His wife was at his side, her orange hair piled high on her head and a white scarf around her face. Some of the orange colour was bleeding into her scarf, and her small, grey eyes peered down at them. Behind them was a boy with unkempt brown hair and dark skin towing a cart with his horse. There was a large box on the cart that was covered with thick green cloth, and the villagers could just make out a shape underneath it moving listlessly.

  ‘We have come here to bring you good news,' the man said haughtily. 'There is a reward offered for a stone that has been stolen from me. It looks like this,’ he announced, carefully producing a chain from beneath his tunic and holding it high in the air. The crowd jostled to look at the stone that was faintly glowing, as though the air was dancing around it. ‘It is blue and white, and is very unusual. There will be a handsome reward for those who find it.’ He paused and looked around at the crowd. 'We will be travelling South, and our messengers will ride through here from now on, you may pass on any information to them.’ Lord Lansdown cleared his throat and looked at each villager as he spoke.

  ‘Of course, there will also be punishments for any person who knows the whereabouts of the stone but who tries to keep this information from us. And these will be very severe indeed.’ He looked back at his riders. ‘My men here will see to that.’ His voice had a slight squeak to it, like fingernails dragged over polished wood. The villagers looked at one another, aware they would be closely watched from now on. ‘I am Lord Lansdown. I suggest that you remember it,’ he said, spurring his horse to ride away.

  Later that evening some of Lord Lansdown’s men accompanied him to an inn to sleep on soft beds with dry blankets, while the others camped just outside the village. George took the horses to the stable and asked the stable boy to treat them well and give them fresh hay and water. He then turned his attention to the box, pouring water into a long tube and putting glistening lumps of meat onto a long stick. He pushed the stick underneath the cloth and brought it out, empty now. There was a rhythmic chewing from inside the box, and occasionally it rattled.

  He made it back to the inn as the light faded and he heard shouts and commotion coming from inside. Grabbing his rusting sword, he quietly pushed the door open with its tip. Through the gap he could see a fat man fall to his back violently as though he had been smacked in the chest by a great weight, and heard his skull hitting the flagstones. At the back of the room men and women were running down the stairs in their nightclothes, some more clothed than others. Lord Lansdown’s men were throwing their bags and cases down after them, taking up their Master’s belongings. George closed the door quietly and sat with his back against it, his shoulders sagging. He’d sleep in the stables with the horses this evening. It would be better that way.

  The next morning George slowly woke up to a nice warm feeling curling around his legs.
He started to snuggle back into the warm hay and suddenly opened his eyes, as the nice warm feeling became cold and wet with a distinct and unfortunate smell. He sprang up into the air, straw falling from him like a discarded scarecrow. Thank goodness he’d taken off his trousers. He ran to the horse trough and poured water over his legs, swearing that if a horse could laugh then this one would be giggling now. She swayed her tail at him and lapped more water, her head resting in the sunlight. He quickly pulled his trousers on and dipped his head in the trough before sneaking back to the inn.

  The door creaked open and he pushed his head through; all was deserted downstairs. There was no sign of blood on the floor, and he presumed that the fallen innkeeper had scrabbled up and left his own building. Tankards and a few bearded snoring men were strewn across the tables and over the floors. He crept through them all until he found the larder and started to make breakfast, thinking and planning as he did so. More men slowly appeared and some sobered up as the smell of bacon sizzling was too much for them, drinking the innkeeper’s beer and laughing at his hospitality. They guzzled and burped, helping themselves to whatever they found. George worked on quickly and quietly, eating his food in the kitchen on his own. He took two trays filled with the best cuts up to his Master and Mistress, knocking on the door and flinching as he heard her shout for him to come in.

  ‘His Lordship is changing behind the screen,’ said Lady Lansdown. ‘And he wants to know why you slept out with the horses again.' She sat at an ornate desk and powdered her nose in a hand mirror with sweeping strokes.

  ‘Sorry, it was so late I thought I’d wake the men by coming in. I’ve brought you your breakfast,’ he said simply, placing the tray down on the side table. ‘And I’ve had an idea that could help with your search, if you feel it would be useful.’

  ‘Well, what is it?’ barked Lord Lansdown from behind the screen. ‘And come and help me finish changing, boy.’ George walked behind the curtain and helped Lord Lansdown with the buttons at his throat, taking the greatest care to hook the material carefully. Lady Lansdown looked on enviously, having left her serving woman behind at home. George knew that he would have to dye her hair with the putrid orange powder that she used any day now, and the thought of running his fingers through it made him sick to his stomach.

  ‘My Lord, I ask that I may become a spy in your service,’ he said quietly, his voice faltering at the end. ‘I can fall in with these people so that they tell me secrets you may not know.’ Lord Lansdown stared at him, pulling the tunic even tighter around his neck.

  ‘And why exactly would you do that, hmm? You know we already have spies dotted around looking for it?’

  ‘But I’m different my Lord. You see, what if a spy decided to keep that information with the intention of keeping the stone, or of passing it to somebody else who wanted it?’ He combed Lord Lansdown’s hair and tied it in a smooth knot at the nape. ‘I want to be a spy to the spies so to speak, to make sure that they are doing what they should be. Who else will watch them as they need to be watched?’ George picked up a wooden comb and began combing the beard into a peak. ‘I volunteer my Lord, they’ll never suspect. Tell me who and where they are, and I’ll report back any suspicions to you. I humbly ask that I may serve you to help you reach the stone that you desire.’ He delicately cut any stray hairs around the beard, and heard Lady Lansdown screech from the desk.

  ‘But who will tend to his Lordship? Who will cook for us and do the servants' jobs? It’s out of the question.’

  ‘Not so hasty my love,’ said Lord Lansdown, walking out from behind the screen towards her. ‘We already know of one spy who was also working for Lord Montague, passing on information about us. It will be common knowledge soon enough, perhaps it is not such a bad idea?’

  He sat on the bed and gestured for George to bring over his tray. ‘It’s only for a short time and the men here can perform those errands. He is right Berta, there’s no-one else here that I can trust, and he hardly looks dangerous, does he? What with that loping gait and watery eyes, they’ll tell him everything, I know they will. And he can see that they’re earning their money’ he added, his eyes gleaming. ‘Still, you know what will happen to you if you don’t live up to my expectations.’ George looked down at the floor. ‘Besides, we can manage perfectly well without a serving boy,’ he said cheerfully. ‘How hard can it be?’

  Chapter Four

  Scouting for snacks

  Rufus walked hand in hand with Elli up to the great entrance doors of Brayston, her arm held up high to reach his. They’d left their horses with a stable boy who had a stall at the back of the queue, and would pay for them to be brought in and put in some stables of their choice that evening. They’d changed clothes in one of the earlier villages they’d passed through and now wore loose trousers and comfortable shoes, part of a deal that Rufus had made with a man named Trencher. He’d struck a hard bargain, and as Elli handed over the coins Trencher bit them; at the same time she saw Rufus very quickly reach out for something that miraculously disappeared beneath his clothes. When they’d travelled further on she asked what it was.

  ‘In my defence, he was trying to cheat us out of those coins and we need them. He can’t have been that wise anyway, I threw in a couple of less solid ones for good measure and he didn’t even notice. How can you be a trader and not know faked coins? Useless.’

  ‘Rufus, I’m learning more about you all the time. What did you take?’

  ‘This scarf,’ he said, holding it up. ‘I thought you might cover your face with it sometimes and pretend to be a dog-head. Not the most original idea but it might pay off.’

  ‘Or you could pretend to be a human,’ she replied. ‘A very tall one. With a muzzle.’

  The doors of Brayston were made of thick oak criss-crossed with iron, and her overriding impression was to question whether they were designed to keep people in or to stop them getting out. They’d heard it well before they’d seen it, a cascading noise of movement, carts and horses, street vendors shouting and the occasional squeal of laughter or flash of raised voices. The walls around it were thirty feet at least, but somehow the aromas permeated outside as well, the rich meats sizzling and smell of bread mingling with the great unwashed and greasy cattle stench.

  They were in a queue of people trying to get in and walked between carts, traders, and people on foot, all talking loudly and conducting some business there and then. Every few minutes somebody would sidle up to them with an offer or a deal or a piece of merchandise they really couldn’t do without, except they could. They’d bought vegetable pasties and weak beer from a woman with a small cart at the back of the queue, and now they were hungry again but were too close to the front to leave it.

  Humans and dog-heads patrolled in pairs up and down its length, looking for trouble or queue-jumpers. Anyone daring to do so would be marched straight out of the line and booted down a very steep hill at the bottom. Children and the elderly however would be gently pushed. An equally heavy door to the right let people out of Brayston, another time-consuming process as this time everything had to be checked to make sure that they weren’t wanted by the gendarme for making off with anything valuable that hadn’t been properly paid for. Elli was over-awed with the vibrancy and speed of the place before she got inside, and asked Rufus how it all worked.

  ‘Well, the gendarme is a foreign idea that came over a few years ago,' he said, casually scouting for snacks. 'Humans, dog-heads and anyone else can join, and the idea is that they stop people doing anything they shouldn’t be, like stealing or clubbing somebody around the head, and if they do they stick them down together in the cellars. They’ve started to spread them out a bit now, because in the early days people would try to be put down there so they could learn from the best. They’d go in for refusing to pay tax and end up as a master-criminal in a year.’

  ‘What’s tax?’ she asked, trying to keep on top of all the new information.

  ‘Tax is what you pay when you’ve got no othe
r choice,’ he said bitterly, ‘so you effectively pay to live in here. Everyone is expected to pay the minimum of one groat every thirty days, and it’s a sliding scale dependant on how much you earn or thieve.’ Elli’s blank look forced him to explain further. ‘Look, say you make a hundred groats in thirty days, you’d then pay more than somebody who earned five. It’s fair in a way,’ he grumbled.

  ‘So who is in charge of checking how much everyone should pay?’ she asked. ‘What if you’re rich so you don’t earn money but have it already?’

  Rufus scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘I presume that they still pay and are forced at some point to earn some. Look, it’s all incidental anyway because people with that much money try not to declare it or else it’ll normally get stolen soon enough.’

  ‘But who has all this money? Where does it all go, the collected tax?’

  ‘That would be the Blemmyae Council,' he said in a loud whisper.

  Before she could ask any more the queue moved on and she found they were finally next in line. She looked over at the gendarme, each wearing a green jacket and pointed green hat, and every one had a sword and heavy wooden club. She’d only ever seen dog-heads in the Dogheadhood before, and she shuddered at the new sight of them. Suddenly they seemed huge and frightening, towering over people with their wolfish grins. She was used to humans being like this, carrying weapons and trying to instil fear, but dog-heads were safe and familiar to her. Perhaps like humans they were all capable of unleashing something else. She thought back to Rufus as he’d saved her in the fight, an awesome sight that scared those horrible children. She hadn't seen it at the time because he was protecting her.

  ‘When did you come here Rufus?’ she asked, finally braving the question.

  ‘I, er, used to live here, a long time ago. Probably best to talk about it when we’re inside,’ he said, placing his hand on her shoulder a little more firmly than usual. The people in front went through the gates and they both walked up to the entrance booth where an alsatian dog-head stood to the side. She was wearing the green jacket and hat of the gendarme, and had leather boots with block heels that made her even taller.