The Alchemists Of Vra

Opening Chapter-6

“Seen!” He let go and shrank into blanket. “They have been after me for many days and nights.”

“Have you been very naughty?”

“What?”

“Have you been very naughty? Is that why they’re after you? Usually, animals are chased because they’ve been very naughty.”

Manky wiped at snot. “I have been naughty, yes,” he said. “But not in a bad way.”

“There’s a good way of being naughty?”

Manky nodded.

“And what way is that then?”

“I cannot tell you, sir,” Manky said. “I cannot tell anyone until I get further northwards.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have only one chance to.”

“One chance to what?”

“To tell others of the horror that’s about to befall this world.”

“I see,” said the dog, despite not. “And why north? Is it the climate?”

“No. It’s so I can gain as much time as possible to explain such horror, because there’ll be an awful lot of questions afterwards.”

Having already asked several, the large dog stopped. “Look,” he said, his reasons for having become a recluse largely reinforced, “the thing is that nothing you’ve said makes any sense. And having strange little dogs breaking into my house in the middle of the night isn’t a good prerequisite for any. So the thing is, I’m not inclined to believe any of this—”

“Please, sir—”

“The only sensible explanation is that you’re insane-of-the-mind, which also goes some way to explaining your over-reaction to broken plates.”

“Sir, I beg you!”

The large dog went to the window and had a proper look through it. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I can see nothing more than dark land and silver-specked sky. There’s not a creature out there. This is a moor. It’s desolate. Which is why I like it. And anyway, being insane-of-the-mind would also explain why you are wandering through it.”

“Would it help,” Manky said, “if I mention again that the creatures of which I speak, cannot be seen?”

The large dog raised his whiskers suggest it wouldn’t. “I think it would be best if you left—”

“Oh, sir! Please! I cannot leave—”

“You can. It’s not difficult. I put a door in that wall to make it particularly easy.”

“Sir, please—“

“There’s also a chance that I’m dreaming,” the large dog decided, “in which case you have little choice in the matter.”

Crippled with fear, Manky doubled over. “Can you not hear them?” he whispered.

“Hear them?”

“Yes. Their low note of chant!” Realising it would provide proof, he lunged again. “Can you hear them? Their note—that sound—listen! Listen and you will hear them! They wait outside! They’ve surrounded the place!”

“I don’t think—”

“Please, listen!”

He did, and was not impressed.

“That is the sound of the moor,” he said. “It is the sound of wind and loneliness. It is not the sound of animals.”

“It is!”

“Little dog, I have lived on this moor for a great many years and know better than most the sound of desolation. I hear nothing more than the wind whistling about my house.”

“But the drone—”

“It is the sound of the moor. Now, I thank you for washing up, but you must leave. I don’t care for visitors, nor granting hospitality, which is why I moved to the middle of nowhere in the first place.”

Treddling, Manky wanted to hide behind the animal’s strength. “Sir, I cannot tell you how much I wish to be far from this place. But I cannot, for the moment I step from your door I shall be condemned to a most hideous fate!”

“What, worse than my plate’s?”

“Far worse, yes. Forgive my trespass, but over the past five days I have had so little to eat, and the warmth and smells from your home overwhelmed. It was foolish of me to stop, but I could not have continued onwards without doing so.”

The dog’s frown deepened. “You haven’t eaten properly for five days?”

Manky nodded.

“It is dangerous for any animal to cross these moors, little dog, let alone without food and at night. It seems the evidence for you being insane-of-the-mind continues to mount.”

In surrender, Manky looked at the floor, trembling beneath his clutched blanket.

With a sigh, the large dog said, “And how many of these creatures lie in wait?”

“I cannot know, sir. Several, at least. Though it would only take one. That there are more says much about their determination to catch me.”

“And you flee to where, exactly?”

“That I don’t know either, other than as far north as I can.”

“You hope to be rid of them there?”

“I shall never be rid of them, but I must reveal them.”

“Reveal them?”

“Yes. In shape and intent, before they render the world entirely—” He yelped when something clattered across the roof.

When it happened again, the large dog growled and strode for the door.

“No!” cried Manky. “Please! Do not leave me! They want you outside so I am left in here alone!”

The dog was big and strong and lived on the moors to explicitly avoid the company of others. Having one visitor was annoying enough, but if more followed, they would not be welcome. “Several, you say?”

Manky tried a nod.

“Then it seems that I shall only need one paw.”

“You don’t understand: they play games of tease!”

“Then I’ll gladly teach them some new rules.”

Before he could consider any, a rock flew through the window and smashed the mug. With a cry, Manky collapsed to the floor and pulled the blanket down like a cocoon.

A second rock followed and landed in the fire.

The moor contained little, other bracken, mud and three types of moss, so it had taken the large dog years to build his humble dwelling, and he did not appreciate having rocks flung through it. With a growl, he marched to a cupboard and rummaged around. Ignoring a third stone, he found a napkin. In it, he wrapped some buns and crispy scales, before tying it with a knot.

He turned to the quivering blanket. “Climb on my back,” he said. “Hurry.”

Manky peered from it and stared up at him.

“Quickly! And give me that blanket.”

In a scrabble of paws, Manky clambered upon his back. They both cringed when another hit the cupboard.

“Hold tight,” the large dog growled, wrapping the blanket over them both like a cape. “And take this.” He offered the handkerchief. “Throw stones upon my house, indeed! Well, we shall see about that!”

He grabbed a lantern, he bent to stab out the fire.

“If you cannot see them, little dog, then they shall not see you.”

He marched to the door and wrenched it open, bellowing to advise whoever was flinging bits of stone to stop, before he started flinging them instead.

Holding the lantern high, he peered into darkness, but could see no one responsible. He strode around his house, repeating the warning and decorating it with a number of favourable expletives. There were no animals apparent to heed them, however, other than the mad one upon his back.

He whispered to Manky, “Behind me, the hill rolls away to the north. To make your escape, fall from me and hurry down its flank. You have food at least, and the moors for miles have many streams. I shall offer distraction, for invisible or not, no creature will damage my home.”

From beneath blanket, Manky struggled for words. “I cannot thank you enough,” he said, when finding some. “When they realise I’m not here, they’ll leave you in peace.”

Again the dog roared his warning, before whispering, “It is I who should thank you, little dog, for I loathe washing up.”

With a slide and a tumble, Manky dropped onto cold ground and rolled away. Although his legs felt devoid of bone, hope flared at having managed escape again. In darkness, he scrambled down the hill and away from those who sought him. Amidst trips and falls, scrapes and grazes, he glanced at the stars to be sure of direction. Having been granted reprieve, he vowed to make it count, and pressed the pouch beneath his fur.

He might have stolen a secret they’d forsake everything to retrieve, but it was a secret he’d forsake everything to reveal.

6____________________

OSCAR liked trains. It was reassuring to know that were the driver to suffer an acute train allergy and collapse, twists and tunnels, hills and valleys would be navigated regardless. This was less possible in taxis, and quite impossible in aeroplanes, particularly if he was driving either. On a swaying carriage, he clutched a little suitcase and wandered past compartments full of animals, marvelling at how fast they rocketed through night. Outside, it was dark, cold and snowing. Inside, it was nothing of the sort. He was moving toward the front of the train, eager to hear better the thunder of steam-powered monster responsible for dragging it. At the corridor’s far end, a dog appeared, his balance no less awkward than Oscar’s. He was an important looking dog with glasses and his suit made him look political. The two approached with paws against walls to steady themselves.

“Pardon me,” said Oscar, deflating his pantaloons to allow the dog past, “but is it very noisy down that end?”

“Very,” said the dog. “At least, too noisy for me. I’m hoping it’s far quieter at the other.”

“Well, you’ll be pleased to know that it is. Tell me, do you think it’s a very big steam engine that’s pulling us?”

“I should think it’s very big, considering how fast we’re hurtling.”

Oscar looked at the window, but the dark had only their reflections apparent. “Good,” he said. “I was hoping that’s the case, but it’s so dark that it’s hard to tell.”

“There’s an awful lot of chugging going on,” the dog said. “Down that end at least, which certainly suggests something of speed.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it,” said Oscar, “that some animals prefer the noise and smoke, while others don’t.”

“It certainly takes all sorts,” the dog agreed. “All sorts, indeed.”

It was a five hour journey from Asquith to Plempt, which ended high in the Alps of the Mahlese. Amidst snow-covered peaks and sprawling alpine forests, Plempt was a popular city for skiing. It was so popular, that at one stage its governors created a Department of Anti-Tourism in an attempt at quelling visitors. It began by instigating an advertising campaign suggesting that Plempt had air so crisp that it made lungs bleed, and vistas so breath-taking that there was a risk of asphyxiation. Although successful, the department was abandoned for serious legal reasons and prices raised instead, which resulted in whittling tourists to those of wealthier dispositions. This new exclusivity was the main reason important conventions such as the Affable Nations’ Assembly were held in it.

Oscar continued along carriages, appreciating their wood panelling and scent of cigar smoke. He’d never tried a cigar. Besides being concerned about getting ash on his fur, he was worried his whiskers might fizzle if too near the smouldering end. Nevertheless, he found smoke-soaked wood akin to incense, which hinted at countless stories of countless journeys over countless years.

Lights of a town shot past windows and peppered the carriage in lit shadow. At its end, he opened a door and moved through to the next, thrilled to hear the engine grow louder. When he arrived at the leading carriage, he offered a smile those to in it, passengers either too old to hear the inferno roaring next door, or who used its noise as a convenient excuse not to converse with others. For this reason, despite being the noisiest carriage of all, trains’ leading carriages were known as silent carriages.

Finding a vacant cubicle, he slid open its door and put his little suitcase on a seat. After fluffing his pantaloons, he settled beside it. Through the window, he could see nothing other than his reflection and the odd flash of light from the cold world beyond. The thundering engine was wonderful, and he could feel, hear and smell it all at once, which left him realising that if he took a bite it might satisfy all his senses simultaneously.