ISOF (14 page)

As their eyes became more accustomed to lack of light, the four could just about make out clumps of hair sticking out from various parts of the creature. Noj, coughing to clear his throat, nodded to the creature.

‘We'd appreciate an explanation for being brought here against our will,' began Noj. ‘And we would also like to know…' His question was left unfinished as words tumbled silently out of an open mouth. He stared in amazement as a pair of bright blue eyes suddenly opened in the middle of the creature's form. Two clumps of hair, haphazardly arranged above the eyes, twitched slightly as a dusky red tongue slipped from a slit that opened directly under the eyes. The tongue flicked from side to side momentarily, as if tasting the air and then disappeared from view. Ben, unable to contain his shock, raised his hand and pointed at the creature.

‘What is that?' he breathed.

The creature's eyes closed as its whole body began to quiver. Noj placed a restraining arm across Ben's chest to prevent his curiosity causing further reaction. The creature continued to quiver and quake as an eerie series of grunts began to reverberate around the tent. With his arm still across Ben's chest, Noj beckoned Mak and Trep to move behind him. Two of the Cutters, who happened to be standing close to the four captives started to edge towards the exit. Still the eerie grunts rumbled around the tent. Noj began to shuffle the group away from the creature and into the shadow of the tent wall. The grunting suddenly stopped and two bright blues eyes once again looked at the captives.

‘There's no need to be afraid,' wheezed the voice. ‘I haven't been so amused for a long time.' The creature grunted a few more times.

‘You two!' snapped the creature harshly. ‘Get back in here and sit yourselves down.' The voice paused and its eyelids slipped towards the floor, leaving a narrow slit for the striking blue eyes to peer at the Cutters. ‘That is if you know what's good for you,' said the creature in a quiet, threatening manner. The two Cutters didn't hesitate and immediately placed their ample backsides onto a bench that ran alongside a roughly hewn table.

The table was cluttered with the detritus of an earlier meal. Plates with remnants of food lay lazily against empty jugs. The two Cutters surreptitiously examined the remains on the plates and coaxed the potentially edible bits towards their mouths. Suddenly, the voice barked a question, causing the Cutters to quickly swallow the few crumbs that had managed to locate their mouths.

‘Have these lads been fed and watered?' asked the creature.

‘No, Sir ' replied one of the Cutters mid-way through swallowing. A cough wracked his body as his mate quickly searched again for any liquid in the jugs. Finding nothing worth calling a liquid, the second Cutter resorted to slapping his friend smartly on the back, which only caused the puce-faced Cutter to cough even more.

During the coughing escapade, the creature had picked up a jug that had stood by his side. Lifting the large vessel to its lips, the creature swore irritably and slammed the vessel onto the floor.

‘Emergency!' cried the creature. ‘Empty tankard about to shatter an unsuspecting head.'

Just as the last words escaped his mouth, a short, wizened old man seemed to appear from nowhere, carrying a jug, almost as big as he was, he ran to fill the creature's tankard to overflowing.

‘Careful as she goes Slackjaw,' snarled the creature. ‘You mustn't go wasting a drop of the amber rambler now.'

The old man obediently slackened his pace and immediately found himself face down in the mud as the leg of a Cutter stretched out to arrest the old man's progress. The large jug landed upright just in front of the old man. His hands scrabbled after the jug, desperately trying to stop it from emptying its contents onto the floor.

‘Up you come Slackjaw,' said the Cutter grinning. ‘Careful as you go, there's a nice drop of stuff in that jug. Don't go wastin' it now.'

The old man hurriedly got to his feet holding the jug firmly against his chest. The Cutter aimed a swift kick at the old man who raced forward, fearful of being propelled to the ground for a second time.

The other Cutter began to snigger and then collapsed in a coughing fit. With the two Cutters preoccupied, Noj stepped forward.

‘Something the matter boy?' asked the creature.

Noj stood as tall as his bones would let him. He swallowed to clear his throat.

‘What do you want from us?' he asked.

The creature blinked a couple of times and then its eyes suddenly shot forward, propelled by a wrinkled neck that began somewhere in the middle of the creature's body. Noj gulped but bravely stood still as the eyes bobbed up and down on the elongated neck.

‘Now,' mused the creature. ‘What do I want from you?' The neck retracted slightly as the eyes gazed thoughtfully at Noj. ‘Well, Noj,' began the creature. ‘That is an interesting question.'

Noj leaned towards the creature.

‘How do you know my name?' he asked, oblivious to the creature's staring eyes. ‘Wouldn't it be polite for you to inform us of your name?'

The creature grunted in amusement.

‘Good point,' it replied. A craggy finger scratched a clump of hair near the creature's mouth. ‘Some,' continued the creature. ‘Some call me
Gaffa
, while others call me
Arodiron
. And some call me by other names with is rather imprudent and decidedly bad for their health.' The creature, amused by its own joke, grunted again.

‘Arodiron,' said Noj, as the creature's body shook with mirth. The neck suddenly shot forward again and Arodiron's eyes examined Noj's face.

‘Yes?' answered Arodiron cordially.

Noj took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. ‘Why exactly are we here? He asked.

Arodiron's eyes sparkled and rocked from side-to-side. Noj watched Arodiron's movements until he felt himself begin to feel queasy. He closed his eyes and sighed. Arodiron steadied his eyes and looked at Noj.

‘Quite simply, it's been requested that I detain you for a short time,' he answered.

Noj opened his eyes and looked hard at Arodiron.

‘Requested?' he queried. ‘By whom?'

‘Oooh!' mocked Arodiron. ‘Aren't we the grammatically correct one?' His neck moved upwards forcing the mass of hair and large eyes to peer down at Noj. ‘Requested,' continued Arodiron, ‘by persons unknown, to encourage you to delay your journey for a little while, for reasons unknown but,' he paused, with his head tilting slightly. ‘Ours is to do as bid and no questions asked.'

‘Delay us?' said Noj, his face contorted with puzzlement.

‘Yes, delay,' replied Arodiron crisply. ‘I know of no reason for your existence let alone why I should delay you. But,' he said in a resigned sort of way. ‘Delay you is what I must do and delay you I shall.' His eyes observed Noj for a moment and then the neck retracted causing the eyes to rest firmly in the middle of his form. ‘Now,' mumbled Arodiron. ‘I'm tired and need to sleep. I suggest you refresh yourselves whilst you can and then allow my Cutters to escort you to your accommodation.' And, without waiting for a response, Arodiron allowed his eyes to close and promptly subsided into a low-pitched snore.

Mak pulled his hands out of his pockets and began picking at his fingernails.

‘Brilliant!' he moaned. ‘Held captive by something obnoxious on cushions and stuck in the middle of a sea of gyrating lemmings.'

‘Steady on,' said one of the Cutters sternly. ‘This is a respectable gathering, ain't that right?' he asked his mate who was still having trouble clearing his throat. He nodded.

‘Yeah,' he rasped. ‘That's right.'

‘See,' said the first Cutter smugly. ‘The Festival of Heights is an annual celebration of the Arts.' He winked theatrically. ‘And a chance to eye up some talent.'

Mak raised an eyebrow.

‘I didn't see where the animal enclosure was, did you?' he enquired of his fellow captives.

‘Why you cheeky guttersnipe,' growled the first Cutter. He lifted his hand to smack Mak across the face when a gnarled finger suddenly jabbed him in the ribs.

‘Temper, temper,' chided Arodiron. ‘No profit in damaged goods.' The finger returned to rest on his stomach. ‘Now, sleep is what I'm after and,' he said, his voice beginning to become harsh. ‘What you're after is some food for our guest.' Arodiron's eyes stared angrily at the two Cutters. ‘At once!' he snapped.

The two Cutters scurried out of the tent, with one holding his ribs where Arodiron's intervention had saved Mak's face.

‘I thought you were asleep,' said Ben looking closely at Arodiron's half-closed eyes.

‘Mmm, sleep,' mumbled Arodiron. One eye turned directly to look at Ben. ‘I power-nap you know.' The eye winked. ‘Time I got a little bit of beauty sleep. See you later.' The eyelids flickered and then fell firmly shut as the rumbling snore began once again.

Moments later, Slackjaw stood in the doorway.

‘Anyone fancy a Shunty?' he enquired waving a crescent of pastry in the air.

Ben's stomach lurched forward at the pastry smell wafting through the air. He trotted over to the old man.

‘Yes please.' And before the old man could blink, Ben had grabbed the Shunty and was busily gnawing away at the pastry. The others quickly forgot their predicament and joined Ben in putting their teeth around a pile of Shunties from a plate that the old man placed on the table. The old man's wizened features grew more crevices as his mouth curved upwards in a gummy smile.

‘Oi be thinking you like ‘em then boys?'

Four heads munched in unison.

‘That be a grand sight to see, healthy ‘arts and eager tums.' He chuckled revealing pink gums uncluttered with teeth.

‘Alpak! Fetch these young uns zum juice.'

A flap opened at the side of the tent as a young girl brought a tray of drinks through to the four occupied mouths. Her features were similar to those of the old man except the crevices were something she would encounter many years ahead. Her striking blue eyes were framed by flowing blonde hair through which peeped two slightly pointed ears. Ben, sucking the remains of the shunty from between his teeth, reached for a tankard and took a large gulp of the liquid.

‘Phraagh!' he spat, the liquid dribbling from his chin. ‘What do you call that?'

Noj licked his lips and grinned.

‘Ben, I think you've just had your first encounter with Pugwort juice.

Laughter filled the tent as Ben desperately mopped his mouth on the sleeve of his cloak.

‘You actually drink this stuff?' he mumbled through a mouthful of cloth as his three companions tried desperately to stifle their consuming laughter.

‘It's an acquired taste, certainly' said the girl, a smile playing along her lips.

‘I'd prefer a can of Coke,' replied Ben, scratching his tongue against his teeth while trying to ignore the choked laughter.

The girl's eyes searched Ben's face. She tilted her head slightly to one side.

‘I've never heard of such a thing. Is it popular with your tribe?' she asked.

Ben threw his hands in the air.

‘I give up. Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.' He sat down heavily on an upturned bucket. His shoulders gave a pronounced sigh. ‘This is all getting a bit tedious,' he breathed with hands covering his face. The old man looked at the forlorn figure of Ben and smiled. His tongue searched his gums for imaginary teeth.

‘Praps you'd be liking a drop of Pomagnade young un?' suggested the old man producing another jug from underneath the table.

‘If it's anything like Pugwort, count me out,' snapped Ben. ‘I haven't tasted anything so foul since I drank the liquid from the cup Gran used to keep her teeth in.'

The old man looked bemused.

‘Teeth?' he queried. ‘You mean like teeth that you could take out, put in, take out and put in again?' His hand mimicked his words as his fingers moved in a rocking motion towards his toothless mouth. Ben closed his eyes and shook his head gently.

‘They weren't her teeth,' he explained with a hint of exasperation in his voice. ‘She lost her own teeth years ago.'

‘What!' the old man cried. ‘She used someone else's teeth?' He placed his hands over his face. ‘That's absolutely disgusting,' he muttered. ‘I've never heard anything so awful. Someone else's teeth?' He looked at Ben through the tips of his fingers. ‘Is that common in your tribe?' he asked. ‘Like the Jaresh who collect any teeth they take a fancy too?'

Ben let out a long sigh. He thought things has been odd enough when he'd met Shakespeare earlier, but this was something different, this was bizarre!'

‘No, no,' said Ben more calmly than he felt. ‘We're nothing like the Jaresh. We don't collect the odd tooth here and there. If we lose our teeth we get a whole new replacement set.'

The old man recoiled in horror.

‘You mean you take the whole lot?' he asked incredulously. ‘You're nothing but savages,' ranted the old man. ‘No more than barbarians, worse than those dung head Cutters.' He wagged a finger at Ben. ‘And let me tell you, that takes some doing!'

Ben felt as of his head would explode. He looked at the old man whose eyes blazed with disgust.

‘Look,' said Ben. ‘They're not real teeth.'

‘What?' screeched the old man spraying Ben with spittle. ‘You just pretend you have teeth?' He glared at Ben. ‘Madness, that's what I call it.'

Ben used his sleeve to wipe his face. He could feel the anger building inside. His lips began to tremble.

‘Now just look here...' he began.

‘Easy,' soothed the young female voice as he felt a hand rest on his arm.

‘Whatever!' growled Ben jerking his arm away from her touch.

‘I'm Alpak,' replied the girl. ‘And this,' she indicated with a resigned smile. ‘Is my father, who has a tendency to get things a trifle muddled.'

‘Muddled you say?' snapped the old man. ‘Never been muddled in my life. It's other people who don't explain themselves properly,' he blustered.

‘As you say, father,' said Alpak this time her arm resting gently on her father's cheek. ‘How are the pies doing?'

‘Aargh!' roared the old man clutching his head. ‘While this young idiot has been talking gibberish I'd forgotten all about my pies.' He began to trot out of the tent. ‘They'll be burnt to a cinder,' he grumbled.

As the old man hurried away still muttering to himself, Ben tried a smile, which didn't seem to fit very well.

‘Don't fret,' said Alpak producing a smile of her own that lit up her face. ‘You should be used to being misunderstood at your age.'

Ben shrugged.

‘Being misunderstood is one thing but accused of acting like a predatory tooth fairy is another,' he said gruffly.

‘Good grief,' groaned Trep. ‘Ben's off on one of his verbal fantasies again.' He took Alpak by the hand and led her towards the table. ‘Take a seat and tell me about yourself.'

Alpak looked enquiringly at Ben who simply shrugged in reply. She turned to Trep and smiled politely.

‘We come from a land far to the west, close to the ‘Water of the Horizon' where we once lived a peaceful existence, free from prying eyes. There the trees shimmer in the sun and then drop their leaves to form a rich carpet for our feet to walk upon. It's a place we call home,' she said dreamily.

‘So what are you doing here then?' asked Trep.

‘Doing what we don't want to,' answered Alpak her face growing dark. ‘Father and I ventured beyond the known lands in search of fresh grass for our sheep. Before we knew what was happening a group of them hairy dung heads grabbed us and carted us away.'

‘That's terrible,' said Trep with genuine concern in his voice. ‘Haven't the Cutters any sense of shame?”

Alpak shook her head.

‘We are a shy people. Around here we're known as the Shun, famed for our culinary skills but little else.'

Ben nodded in agreement. ‘If your pasties are anything to go by I'll second that,' he grinned. Alpak smiled weakly.

‘And known for our natural reticence,' she added softly. ‘Since the Cutters tasted our meat pies, they've dragged us around after them getting us to prepare and cook food to fill their cavernous stomachs.'

‘Never mind,' said Trep laying his hand over hers. ‘I'm sure we'll find a way out of all this and then you can come with us.'

Alpak smiled sweetly, removed her hand from Trep's grasp and winked at Ben.

‘Is he always so nauseatingly charming?' she asked mischievously.

Ben almost choked with laughter. Noj and Mak turned to face the walls of the tent but their heaving shoulders gave them away.

‘Thanks a lot I'm sure,' snapped Trep angrily.

‘Well, that's blown you out of the water,' said Ben, struggling to contain a further bout of laughter.

‘You little…' stormed Trep as Alpak quickly grasped his hands.

‘I was just teasing,' she said softly. ‘You must understand that compared to the Cutters you're like sunshine after the rain.'

Trep snorted. ‘Now who's being nauseating?'

Alpak laughed gently, her eyes glistened in the dim light. A rush of cold air stole her words of reply. In the entrance to the tent stood two grizzled Cutters.

‘Oi you lot!' growled one of the Cutters through a mattress of whiskers. ‘You'm not needed until tomorrow. You'm to be locked up for the night,' he snapped with a jerk of his head towards the outside and the cold.

Alpak had mysteriously melted into the shadows as the four left the relative warmth of the tent. Wading through the mud, Ben could see the crowd of heads still bobbing to the throbbing rhythms. Some people had climbed onto the shoulders of their friends and were waving flags around their heads or had removed their shirts to wave. In the centre of the huge pyramid-like structure, a group of Cutters were thrashing giant metal drums with cudgels. Ben covered his ears. The noise was almost too painful to bear. The thrashing Cutters beat the drums to a crescendo and then stopped suddenly. Just as suddenly the last remaining vestiges of day disappeared to be replaced by a thick, cloying darkness. The air around them was shocked into stillness. Then, as if by some predetermined signal, the drums resumed their rhythmic pattern across the airwaves. A gigantic roar erupted from the sea of bobbing heads. Ben winced at the tide of sound that assailed his ears. Turning his head away he trudged after the others, his eyes assailed by the multitude of images that slowly slipped out of sight as they followed the Cutter's lead.

In one particularly busy throng of people and tents, the two Cutters stopped to make sure that their charges were close by. Satisfied that the four captives were within grasping range should the need arise, the Cutters silently turned their heads once more towards the seemingly endless hordes of revellers.

As if becoming gradually fatigued by the relentless journey, Mak leaned on Noj's shoulder and began an urgently whispered conversation. Ben, intrigued and curious, edged closer to try and overhear the exchange. Mak appeared to be saying something, which Noj obviously disagreed with. After a particularly heated exchange of nods and shakes, Mak dismissed Noj with a flick of the hand and trudged forward a few paces to strike up a conversation with one of the Cutters. Without a word, the Cutter suddenly grasped hold of Mak by the scruff of his neck and hauled him between two stalls and out of sight.

Momentarily startled, Ben made to shout after the disappearing Mak but Noj quickly clamped a hand over Ben's mouth.

‘Hush,' hissed Noj. ‘Keep quiet and ignore it.'

After a few minutes of dodging and skipping the shuffling antics of people pretending to be interested in the produce on the various stalls, the remaining group finally reached the edge of the gathering. All around were caravans of different shapes and sizes sitting in haphazard rows. Each caravan had a covering of some metallic substance that dully reflected the newly emerged stars. Some of the vehicles supported small towers, which leaned dangerously in all directions. The scene reminded Ben of some of the holidays he'd spent as a toddler running around a caravan park and getting into trouble for knocking over gorged rubbish bins. Despite the cooling darkness of the evening, a smile crept onto Ben's face as the memories played out in his head. Without warning a more recent memory darkened his thoughts. Slowly turning his head, Ben looked at the mass of people behind him. Each of them appeared totally absorbed in the performances going on at the various stages, the individual entertainers either juggling an assortment of kitchen paraphernalia or carrying out a range of tricks and illusions that both alarmed and astonished onlookers. Nudging Noj, he jerked his head at the crowd.

‘Did you notice?' he asked, his voice a thin quaver.

‘Notice what?' frowned Noj.

‘Nobody has noticed us,' hissed Ben. He tugged at Noj's sleeve. ‘Don't you realise that at no point has anyone given us a glance, not even a polite nod of the head in passing.'

Noj shrugged. He seemed more concerned with the whereabouts of Mak than gaining the attention of any passing reveller. Ben tugged at his sleeve again.

‘Don't you understand,' he said urgently. ‘Nobody has noticed that we're here!'

‘Well, they did earlier,' grinned Noj. ‘Almost famous for a few minutes.' He looked at the concern that shaped Ben's face. ‘We're here now,' he added with a reassuring nudge at Ben's shoulder, ‘that's for certain.'

‘But if no-one has noticed we're here,' replied Ben, ‘then we might as well not be here.'

Noj looked at Ben curiously.

‘I think you've caught the sun,' he joked.

Ben stamped the muddy ground in frustration.

‘If nobody is at all concerned about us being here, what's to stop the Cutters making sure that we're not here,' growled Ben making a cutting motion across his throat.

Noj shook his head.

‘You really don't think …'

‘Yes I do,' interrupted Ben. He turned to look Noj full in the face. ‘Am I the only one bothered about our welfare?'

Noj put his hand on Ben's shoulder.

‘Let's just see what happens, shall we?' he smiled.

Before Ben's mouth could open to gasp in amazement at Noj's apparent calmness, the remaining Cutter gave Trep a rough shove in the back towards a row of roughly hewn wooden caravans. Each of the caravan windows was decorated with a series of vertical steel bars, behind which hung dilapidated curtains made from hessian sacks. To one side of the caravans stood a row of cages. Within each cage lay a dozing grey shape, which gently snorted a narrow plume of smoke with every breath. Ben nudged Noj.

‘Look, they've got dragons in those cages.'

‘Where else are they going to keep them?' replied Noj with a shrug of his shoulders.

‘Couldn't they let them go free-range sort of thing?'

‘What?' hissed Noj a hint of amusement in his voice, ‘and let them nibble and singe everything and everyone in sight?'

Ben shook his head.

‘No, just let them be natural.'

Noj could hardly contain a rumble of laughter that began to build up in his chest.

‘Eating and scorching
is
them being natural,' he replied. ‘Don't forget, they're just young dragons, very playful and full of energy.' Noj nudged Ben's arm. ‘Bit of a combustible mixture eh?' he joked.

Ben allowed his eyes to roll skywards.

‘Was that supposed to be a joke?' he asked sarcastically. He pointed at the sleeping forms in the cages. ‘They haven't got a lot of room to grow.'

‘Enough for now,' replied Noj. ‘While they're young the Cutters use them to clear the forests and to power their machines. When they get too big and old for the cages, they're made to pull the caravans and heavy machinery around.' Noj nodded towards the darkness surrounding the cages. ‘Look behind the cages, can you see those larger shapes held in chains?'

Ben peered into the gloom. Noj was right. Behind the smaller cages, large dark shapes loomed, their bodies rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep. Before Ben could make any further observations on the dragons' sleeping conditions, rough hands pushed him towards a short flight of wooden steps leading to a large door in the side of the caravan.