The Island of Whispers Page 13

  ‘Sniff them out,’ he had ordered the warriors. ‘Follow them. Find them. Then kill them all except the cripple. Bring the cripple back alive. If you can’t do that, bring his head instead, but be prepared for Long Snout’s wrath.’

  The Chamberlain had told him to select the two most able Protectors for the task. He had chosen Jagged Fangs and Neck-Snapper. Jagged Fangs was an experienced, ruthless and efficient killer, the warrior most likely to succeed him as Chief Protector. Neck-Snapper was younger and more hot-headed, but what he lacked in maturity he more than made up for in sheer grit and ferocity. He had recovered from the loss of his eye to fight courageously in the second battle of the underworld. Besides, ever since that time when he had prevented Sharp Claws from fleeing with the other traitors, Neck-Snapper had been Long Snout’s favourite.

  Almost simultaneously, two sleek black bodies emerged from the waters and began to crawl up the giant’s foot. Good, nodded Broken Tail. He could go now. He turned back and crawled slowly across the rocks. He was limping badly and in great pain. The wound which he received when the Scavengers broke out of their lair hadn’t healed. He knew that he was going to die soon. He would rest now and probably not wake up. But he had followed the Chamberlain’s orders to the last.

  Outside of the entrance to the sacred tunnel, Broken Tail stopped to sniff the air. There was an unfamiliar smell, a strange murkiness, hanging over the world above like a cloud. He grunted and disappeared into the tunnel. As soon as he did, a black shape slunk over the rocks and down to the point of the island. Slipping noiselessly into the waters, it, too, began to swim towards the giant.

  – o –

  Part Five:

  A New Society

  – Chapter Thirty-Nine –

  The old quarry had been abandoned almost seventy years before. Its stone had been used in the construction of the Forth and Clyde Canal, the docks in Leith and the foundations of the nearby Forth Railway Bridge. But now it lay derelict and flooded by seawater, whose permanently smooth surface was strewn with debris. As the new day broke over the estuary, the first rays of the awakening sun glanced off that glassy surface to wash over the tight circle of black fur on the ridge overlooking the quarry.

  The fugitives awoke slowly. They remained silent for some time, sleepy-eyed, not venturing out of their circle, staring in awe at the scenery below them: the vast pool on one side, the imposing giant on the other. They were suddenly in awe, too, of the scale of what they had achieved. They had braved so much over there – the waters, the storm, the giant, the many frightening Two-Legs creatures – to escape, to be free in this strange place. They felt exhilarated and apprehensive at the same time.

  Then the cold began to set in. They were shivering now, needing to be on the move. After their recent feast of bird flesh, they were also very thirsty. They knew where to find water, so they automatically set off back down the slope to lap at the burn again. At that moment, the first Two-Legs creature of the day came thundering through the giant in their direction; its noise filled the air around them, its power shook the ground on which they squatted. When they looked down, they could see other creatures moving along the ground close to the waters; they were smaller and slower and quieter than the one on the giant, but they were Two-Legs creatures nevertheless.

  ‘We should go the other way!’ Long Ears shouted above the din. ‘We’re too close to the Two-Legs here!’

  Motioning excitedly to Twisted Foot, he turned round.

  ‘Over there,’ he continued. ‘That’s where the land is. The land we saw during our watches on the world above. Our new land.’

  They all swivelled round to follow Long Ears’ gaze. Away in the distance, they could see another stretch of high ground. It was flat and covered with grass and trees, and it jutted out into the waters.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Twisted Foot.

  Without further discussion, their thirsts forgotten for the time being, they immediately headed back along the ridge in the direction of the promontory.

  The noise of the creature hurtling overhead was deafening. The giant’s leg beside them seemed to be vibrating. Jagged Fangs was very relieved. We made it just in time, he said to himself. They had followed the scent of the traitors with great difficulty, zigzagging from one side of the giant to the other until they picked it up. Then they lost it completely. They had gone a long way, almost to the end of the giant, when they decided to double back. And all the time they knew that they were running out of time; that the light would come any moment and that the Two-Legs creatures would soon follow. Then they realised that the traitors had escaped down the first of the giant’s legs. They were correct, of course, because the scent here was strong and it was leading them direct to the hillside.

  One after the other, he and Neck-Snapper darted from under the bridge to the edge of the burn. Like the fugitives had done some hours earlier, they drank deeply of the cold, clear water. On the other side of the burn, they picked up the scent again. Both of them were tired and hungry. Although neither would admit it to the other, they were both also intimidated by the sights and sounds of this alien world. Not that it was important anyway: they had a mission to complete on behalf of the Secret World; that’s all that mattered.

  Their ears pricked, their muzzles close to the ground, they began their ascent of the hillside.

  – o –

  – Chapter Forty –

  It was the day after the Big Day; another bright, fresh autumn morning. The usual lines of early Monday morning southbound traffic had begun to stream over the road bridge. After the disruption of yesterday’s celebrations, traffic was also moving again in North and South Queensferry. Up on the rail bridge, the focus of those celebrations, train services had resumed, and the maintenance men had begun their first walk-through of the day. Life on the estuary was back to normal.

  Down below the rail bridge, the two young men from the exhibition company had just stepped out of their dinghy on to Inchgarvie’s jetty. As on their first visit to the island, both were wearing bright orange lifesaving jackets on top of shiny yellow anoraks. Unlike on that first visit, however, when the spectre of the rats had driven them away, both were looking very confident and very pleased with themselves. They were pleased because their fireworks display not only had worked, but had been widely acclaimed. And they were particularly pleased because this would be their final visit; once they were finished up here this morning, they could move on to their next big project.

  They headed direct for the crest of the island, one carrying a plastic box and the other an empty satchel. When they reached the display platform, the former knelt down, opened the box and took out a large drill, to which he proceeded to fix a screwdriver bit. The latter began to search around the platform, picking up spent fireworks and other debris, which he dropped into the satchel. Once the platform was dismantled, the aluminium tubes making up its frame would also go into the satchel. The young men were determined to comply with the terms of their contract by leaving the place exactly as they had found it.

  One of them began to whistle cheerfully. The other joined in. They were still whistling when the drill whined into action.

  Long Snout was pacing the ground in front of his nest. He was still tired, not having slept for as long as he had wanted. Some of the oafs from the Protectors’ lair had interrupted his sleep to inform him that Broken Tail had died. He had given them short shrift, of course. He had told them to be gone, to drag Broken Tail’s corpse into the Scavengers’ lair, as was the usual custom. Then he had tried to sleep again. But it had been impossible: there had been too much to think about it. And to add to all of his problems, now there was the question of the appointment of a new Chief Protector.

  Still, he acknowledged, the rude awakening had given him more time to work out the details of the new society and the new regime that that society would be required to follow in order for it to survive. Dissent among the Watchers: that’s what had been at the root of the insurrection by the sla
ves. The dissent had been rife; even old Sharp Claws had been in on it, it seemed. The Watchers felt that they were a lesser part of the society, treated less well than the Protectors and Hunters. Well, they were all gone now. All, that is, except for the traitors up there somewhere – and he had ensured that their so-called freedom would be short-lived, if it was not already over. The Watchers had been a bunch of misfits, anyway. They hadn’t been real warriors like the rest of the Outer Circle. The new society would have no need for them. The Hunters would take on the Watchers’ role; they would watch over the world above, as well as hunt for the white birds. And the Hunters’ lair would be increased so that it was the same size as the Protectors’ lair. Equality achieved. No dissent. But the Protectors would need to be rebuked and reminded about their responsibilities. After all, it was because of their complacency that the Scavengers had succeeded in breaking free from their dungeon to run riot in the underworld. From now on, many more Protectors would be assigned to guard the entrance to the dungeon, the tunnel from the Common lair to the outside world and the sacred tunnel. Yes, under the new regime, the Protectors would be kept busier – and more vigilant.

  And then, of course, there were the Rulers to consider. Long Snout paused to survey the other nests around him. The Rulers were much fewer since the slaves’ revolt. White Muzzle, the King-rat, had perished in the massacre, as had his older son, Red Coat. But Fire Eyes, his younger son, had survived. There he was: the princeling, the heir apparent, sleeping soundly, without a care, waiting to be announced as the new King-rat. But that was not going to happen. Yes, it was correct that the brown ones should still hold a higher place in the society, and that they should have others to fight and hunt and watch for them. But it was no longer acceptable for royalty to be hereditary, for kings and princes to be made simply because of their bloodline. In the past, it had always been the strongest and fiercest of the lair who had claimed the kingdom. Well, Long Snout was the strongest and fiercest, and he would make that claim!

  Before resuming his pacing, he gave Fire Eyes’ sleeping form a long, cold look of contempt. As soon as the cripple was back here, he would call the Assembly. There, in front of them all, he would kill Fire Eyes, declare himself as their new King-rat and announce the details of the new regime. Then they could watch the cripple suffer. He would reinforce his authority by inflicting the pain himself. First, though, he would send for One Eye. He wanted him to send the Hunters up when darkness came; white birds were needed for the Assembly, a great feast of them to celebrate the new epoch. He would also post guards outside of the sacred tunnel to watch for the return of Jagged Fangs and Neck-Snapper. Like sensible warriors, they were probably waiting until the light had gone before venturing back. Which reminded him about the matter of a new Chief Protector: Jagged Fangs appeared to be the most obvious choice; he was ...

  Long Snout stopped abruptly and looked up at the roof of the lair. The muffled whining sounds from above indicated the presence of Two-Legs – again! Ill-tempered, cursing, he rushed into the Protectors’ lair.

  ‘You and you!’ he ordered the first two Protectors in his path. ‘Go to the outside world! Find out what the Two-Legs are up to now! Report back to me!’

  It was only after he had returned to the Inner Circle lair that he suddenly realised his mistake. The two burly guards were just a couple of simple dung-heads. They wouldn’t know how to conceal themselves among the rocks, not like the Hunters or even those wretched Watchers. They would go charging out into the open. But it was too late now; they had gone. Long Snout cursed again.

  The little plum-coloured boat bobbed gently on the flat pool of water under the bridge’s central arch. The boat had been shadowing the maintenance men as they made their slow progress northwards high above. It lay at anchor now, its skipper, Charlie McNulty, having decided that he needed a break. Charlie was outside of the cabin, standing aft, getting some air and nursing another hangover. Naturally, with all of those people about and all of those celebrations going on, it had been another boozy night in the old town. He had had a good time, but he was regretting it this morning.

  Charlie lit a cigarette and looked across to Inchgarvie. He spotted the lime-green dinghy first and then the two whiz-kids clambering into it. Looking like a couple of parrots again, he sneered. He noticed that both of them were grinning broadly.

  ‘Pair of smug-faced, little –’ he began, but his words trailed off when he caught sight of the two rats. They were in plain view, almost nonchalantly climbing down from the top of the island and heading for the monastery. And both of them were as big as the one he had killed, the one that had begun to stink out the cabin.

  ‘That’s it!’ he said out loud.

  He was more determined than ever now; he would find the rat-catcher that evening.

  – o –

  – Chapter Forty-One –

  They had travelled round the edge of the quarry and down the other side of the hill, where there was a small cove with a sandy beach which sloped down to the sea. They had crossed over the beach, the sand under their feet feeling uncomfortably soft and yielding. On the other side of the cove, they had climbed another steep slope to reach the top of the promontory. They hadn’t encountered any Two-Legs on their journey. In fact, they had come across only one other creature, and then only briefly. It had been crouched on the short grass which fringed the beach, a Four-Legs like themselves, but grey-furred and fatter, with a short tail and enormous, pointed ears that were even bigger than those of Long Ears. It had stared at them with large, round eyes for a few moments before bounding off into the trees behind the cove.

  Now they were on the flat ground among the grass and trees that they had seen from the top of the quarry. Twisted Foot hadn’t been there before, of course, but the place felt oddly familiar and comforting to him. When they came out of the trees at the end of the promontory, the estuary was laid out before them. Down on their right, although farther away than before, the giant and the little island alongside it were still in clear view. And directly below them was a cliff-face that seemed to be alive with the movements and sounds of the white birds.

  ‘Our food supply, Master,’ growled Slayer, who then promptly disappeared over the edge of the cliff on another hunting expedition.

  Twisted Foot looked back at this new land that they had escaped to. The mass of trees, which had seemed dark and threatening at first, now offered protection instead. Yes, he nodded to himself, they were secure here, far from the Two-Legs – and they were bound to find water close by.

  ‘Welcome to our new home,’ he said to the others.

  Neck-Snapper was drooling. Long Ears and Small Face were backing away from him. Cowering and squealing, the mates and youngsters were behind the two terrified Watchers. And behind them was the cliff edge.

  ‘Which one of you traitors shall I kill first?’ asked Neck-Snapper. He had been looking forward to this encounter. He was enjoying the moment.

  A similar drama was being played out on the other side of the promontory, where Jagged Fangs was closing in on Twisted Foot. Twisted Foot was looking around him in panic. With only the cliff behind him, there was nowhere for him to retreat to.

  ‘You’re coming with us, cripple,’ Jagged Fangs spat out the words. ‘The Chamberlain wants a word with you.’

  Twisted Foot still couldn’t believe it. Just when he had thought that everything was perfect, that they were safe at last, the Protectors had appeared from nowhere. They had separated him from the rest of the group. They wanted to take him back to the underworld to suffer the same fate as Narrow Back. But he had decided that he wasn’t going with them; they were going to have to kill him here instead.

  Jagged Fangs lunged at Twisted Foot, seized the young Watcher’s left ear and pulled. Screaming in pain, Twisted Foot dug his heels into the earth, but the Protector was too strong for him, and he began to slide along the ground. Then he stopped resisting and sprang at Jagged Fangs instead. Taken off balance, the Protector let go of the ea
r and fell backwards with Twisted Foot on top of him. They were rolling on the grass, both growling deeply and scratching furiously, each with his fangs bared, trying to gouge the other, when Slayer re-appeared at the top of the cliff, a young white bird hanging limply between his jaws.

  Instantly recognising his former Master’s underling, Slayer dropped the bird and flew into the fray. He clung on to Jagged Fangs’ back and sought out the Protector’s jugular. Having forgotten Twisted Foot for the moment, Jagged Fangs began to writhe about in an attempt to dislodge Slayer, but he writhed so violently that both he and the little slave-King tumbled over the edge of the cliff and out of sight.

  Neck-Snapper had been too busy taunting his victims to see what had gone on behind him. Still drooling, his one eye fixed on Long Ears, the cripple’s accomplice, he was moving in for his first kill when a loud, gruff voice came from the direction of the trees.

  ‘Why don’t you pick on me instead?’ it challenged.

  Neck-Snapper was slow to recognise the owner of the voice as he emerged into the open.

  ‘You?’ the Protector hissed eventually, although he was still not sure.

  Then another voice came from behind him.

  ‘And why don’t you pick on me, too?’ said Twisted Foot.

  Neck-Snapper was surrounded by four warriors now; he should have been afraid. But instead he seemed to relish the situation. He felt invincible. His back to the cliff edge, he watched as the four of them crept closer to him.

  ‘Come on, misfits!’ he goaded them.

  The stranger was first to move. He charged headlong at Neck-Snapper, searching for his throat. In the same moment, Twisted Foot attacked his right flank, and Long Ears his left. Even Small Face joined in by leaping on the struggling Protector’s back. Despite his bravado, the fight was over in seconds for Neck-Snapper. As he lay gasping on the grass, blood spurting from his torn throat, the stranger gave him a powerful back-kick with both hindlegs, and he went hurtling over the cliff.