LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER 5

       MICHING MALLECHO

      The next day was cool and showery. The children slept late, and it was turned nine o’clock when they came down for breakfast.

      “I thought it best to let you have a lie in this morning,” said Bess. “You looked dead beat last neet; ay, and you’re a bit pale now. Happen you’d do better to take things easy today, and not go gallivanting over the Edge.”

      “Oh, I think we’ve seen enough of the Edge for a day or two,” said Susan. “It was rather tiring.”

      Breakfast was hardly over when a lorry arrived from Alderley station with the children’s bicycles and trunks, and Colin and Susan immediately set about the task of unpacking their belongings.

      “What do you make of last night?” asked Susan when they were alone. “It doesn’t seem possible, does it?”

      “That’s what I was wondering in bed; but we can’t both have imagined it. The wizard is in a mess, isn’t he? I shouldn’t like to live by myself all the time and be on guard against things like those svarts.”

      “He said things worse than svarts, remember! I shouldn’t have thought anything could be worse than those clammy hands and bulging eyes, and their flat feet splashing in the mud. If it’s so, then I’m glad I’m not a wizard!”

      They did not discuss their pursuit and rescue. It was too recent for them to think about it without trembling and feeling sick. So they talked mainly about the wizard and his story, and it was late afternoon before they had finished unpacking and had found a place for everything.

      Colin and Susan went down to tea. Gowther was already at the table, talking to Bess.

      “And a couple of rum things happened after dinner, too. First, I go into the barn for some sacks, and, bless me, if the place inner full of owls! I counted nigh on two dozen snoozing among the rafters – big uns, too. They mun be thinking we’re sneyed out with mice, or summat. I’ve never seen owt like it.

      “And then again, about an hour later, a feller comes up to me in Front Baguley, and he asks if I’ve a job for him. I didner like his looks at all. He was a midget, with long black hair and a beard, and skin like owd leather. He didner talk as if he came from round here, either – he was more Romany than owt else, to my way of thinking; and his clothes looked as though they’d been borrowed and slept in.

      “Well, when I tell him I dunner need a mon, he looks fair put out, and he starts to tell me his hard luck story, and asks me to give him a break, but I give him his marching orders instead. He dunner argue: he just turns on his heel and stalks off, saying as I might regret treating him like this before long. He seemed in a fair owd paddy! All the same, I think Scamp had best have the run of the hen-pen for a neet or two, just in case.”

      The wizard had told Colin and Susan to keep their windows closed, no matter how hot and stuffy their bedrooms might become, so the colder weather was not unwelcome, and they slept soundly enough that night.

      Not so Gowther. The furious barking of Scamp woke him at three o’clock. It was the tone used for strangers, high-pitched and continuous, not the gruff outbursts that answered other dogs, birds, or the wind. Gowther scrambled into his clothes, seized his shot-gun and lantern, which he had put ready to hand, and made for the door.

      “I knew it! I knew it! The little blighter’s after my chickens. I’ll give him chickens!”

      “Watch thy step, lad,” said Bess. “You’re bigger than he is, and that’s all the more of thee for him to hit.”

      “I’ll be all reet; but he wunner,” said Gowther, and he clumped down the stairs and out into the farm-yard.

      Thick clouds hid the moon, there was little wind. The only sounds were the frantic clamour of the dog and the bumping of frightened, sleep-ridden hens.

      Gowther shone his light into the pen. The wire netting was undamaged, and the gate locked. In the centre of the lamp’s beam stood Scamp. His hackles were up, in fact every hair along his spine seemed to be on end; his ears lay flat against his skull, and his eyes blazed yellow in the light. He was barking and snarling, almost screaming at times, and tearing the earth with stiff, jerky movements of his legs. Gowther unfastened the gate.

      “Wheer is he, boy? Go fetch him!”

      Scamp came haltingly out of the pen, his lips curled hideously. Gowther was puzzled: he had expected him to come out like a rocket.

      “Come on, lad! He’ll be gone else!”

      The dog ran backwards and forwards nervously, still barking, then he set off towards the field gate in the snarling glide, keeping his belly close to the ground, and disappeared into the darkness. A second later the snarl rose to a yelp, and he shot back into the light to stand at Gowther’s feet in a further welter of noise. He was trembling all over. His fury had been obvious all along, but now Gowther realised that, more than anything else, the dog was terrified.

      “What’s up, lad? What’s frit thee, eh?” said Gowther gently as he knelt to calm the shivering animal. Then he stood up and went over towards the gate, his gun cocked, and shone the light into the field.

      There was nothing wrong as far as he could see, but Scamp, though calmer, still foamed at his heels. Nothing wrong, yet there was something … wait!… he sniffed … was there?… yes!!! A cold, clammy air drifted against Gowther’s face, and with it a smell so strange, so unwholesome, and unexpected that a knot of instinctive fear tightened in his stomach. It was the smell of stagnant water and damp decay. It filled his nostrils and choked his lungs, and, for a moment, Gowther imagined that he was being sucked down into the depths of a black swamp, old and wicked in time. He swung round, gasping, wide-eyed, the hairs of his neck prickling erect. But on the instant the stench passed and was gone: he breathed pure night air once more.

      “By gow, lad, theer’s summat rum afoot toneet! That was from nowt local, choose how the wind blows. Come on, let’s be having a scrat round.”

      He went first to the stable, where he found Prince stamping nervously, and covered with sweat.

      “Wey, lad,” said Gowther softly, and he ran his hands over the horse’s quivering flanks. “Theer’s no need to fret. Hush while I give thee a rub.”

      Prince gradually quietened down as Gowther rubbed him with a piece of dry sacking, and Scamp, too, was in a happier frame of mind. He

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