The Devil Delivered and Other Tales (37 page)

“More’n that!” Grandma Matchie gritted, starting to pace. “He’ll be wreakin spite on us all afore long! Damn!”

“That explains why none o’ us heared from you ’n ages!” the Major mused, rubbing his whiskered jaw. “Not a story, not e’en a whisper!”

Lunker’s eyes flashed for the briefest of moments, then she shrugged. “And everyone’s no doubt been lamenting on how silent their land is to their frail pleas. After all, you can’t tell there’s roots in the ground unless you see a shoot, or in this particular case, a tree. Such things pain me from time to time, but as you have seen, there’s really very little I can do about it. Until, of course—” And Lunker paused to duck her head forward. “—I’m freed!”

“Aye, so you sent fer us by stealin Ester’s broom—knowin we’d come after it! You always bin a sneakeny one, ain’t ya?”

Lunker shrugged modestly, saying nothing though a spark flashed again in her eyes.

“An I bet One Armed Trapper’s got the key to that lock!” I exclaimed.

“Very astute of you, Jock Junior! The problem, then, is: How will you get it from him? We can be certain that he’s not likely to lay it at your feet with a shy smile and a bow!”

Grandma Matchie stopped pacing suddenly, looked up at all of us with a gleamy shivering in her eyes. “It’s quite simple, now that I done some thinkin on it. Easy pickins for the three a us!” And she let out a wild chackle that echoed through the chamber.

“Pray tell!” Lunker exclaimed breathlessly. “Share with us your genius!”

Grinning, Grandma Matchie winked at me. “We gotta present t’im an offer he can’t refuse! An all it takes is the right kinda bait!” She whirled to the Major: “You! You gotta do us jus one thin, an your part’ll be done!”

The Major blanched, his eyes darting. “What?” he asked weakly.

“Easy, lad, don’t ferget you’re the Major an none other!” And you could see him swell his chest out at that. “So here’s what you gotta do. Climb inta that blarny boat a yours an take out fast as y’can for th’ North Sea—”

“What!?” The Major’s chest collapsed and his knees started wobblering.

“That’s right. The North Sea. An drop that fishin’ line a yours inta the deep—”

“For the love o’ Mike, why?”

Grandma Matchie’s grin grew savage. “You gotta un-do what One Armed Trapper done, long ago! You gotta untie the sea snake’s tail from er head!”

“But, won’t all the water run away, then?” I cried.

“Nope. That ole she-devil was bitin her tail long afore One Armed Trapper played that turrible trick on er, Tyke! She ne’er did need any help holdin the oceans in, right, Major?”

“Eh?” The Major looked up, startled out of some pit of terror. “Eh?”

“Never mind,” Grandma Matchie said, then turned to me. “You’n me, Tyke, we gotta handle th’other thin, an it won’t be as easy as what the Major’s gotta do! But there’s two a us, ain’t there?” And she roared a laugh that sent waves through the water.

It was only a second before I threw back my own head and laughed almost as loud as she’d done. When there’s important things to be done, you just got to be in the right frame of mind, Grandma Matchie always told me. And she’s right. So we danced a little jig on our way out of the throne room, leaving the Major and Lunker behind.

And the journey took seven days and eight nights, riding the backs of lamp rays all the way, until finally we came to the sandy shore of Lake Winnipeg, and stood there watching the dawn turn that muddy water into sunlipped fiery gold.

Lake Winnipeg’s as big as an ocean, I bet, because we couldn’t even see the other side, even when I got up on Grandma Matchie’s shoulders while she got up on mine and we added it all together to make us exactly twenty feet tall.

After breakfast Grandma Matchie picked up a piece of driftwood from the beach and pulled out her whittlin’ knife and carved up a horn, which she then put to her lips and blew as hard as she could. And that moaning cry went out a thousand million two hundred nine fifty miles in all direction, going right round the Earth and coming back to us as loud as it was when it left.

Then we waited.

At high noon Grandma Matchie jumped up from the log she’d been sitting on and cried: “Here they come, Tyke!”

Looking out over the lake I could see the dust cloud rising up on the horizon, and then a terrible rumble shivered up my legs and rappled my bones, and the lake got all chipchoppy and murky. It wasn’t long after that when we could see them plain as day. All the buffalo in the world, crossing that lake in answer to Grandma Matchie’s call. And these weren’t regular buffalo, either. These were buffalo from ten thousand years ago—big as garbage trucks.

The next time you see a garbage truck in your back lane try and imagine it covered in shaggy brown hair, with big horns coming out of the cab. Go do that then come back, so that way I’ll know you know what I mean when I say they were as big as hairy garbage trucks.

But the one leading the stampede was even bigger. Glue two garbage trucks together and glue a VW Bug on top and paint its headlamps to look like angry red eyes. Then go down to the river and find an old sofa that somebody threw away and pull out all the muddy filling and come back and paste it to the trucks and the Bug. Go do that then come back, okay?

When that stampede got close enough so that I could almost smell those buffalo, Grandma Matchie blew that horn again and they all came to a splashing stop right on the edge of the lake. And the big bull stomped forward, snorting fire from his nostrils and glavering murderously at Grandma Matchie.

“Whadya want?” the king buffalo demanded in a voice that sounded just like you’d figure a buffalo’s voice would sound if that buffalo was as big as two garbage trucks glued together with a VW Bug for a head. He pawed the shallows and snorted some more.

“Well, well,” said Grandma Matchie, grinnering. “No kind words for your old friend who’s come to pay you a visit?”

The king buffalo just grunted.

Turning to me, Grandma Matchie said, “Tyke, I’d like you to meet Bjugstad, the buff’lo of buff’los!”

“Hello,” I said respectfully.

“An this, Bjugstad, is Jock Junior. Grunt ‘hello,’ Bjugstad, afore I brain ya!”

Bjugstad grunted and fire blasted from his nostrils. “Brain me, ay? I’d like t’see ya try!”

“You will,” Grandma Matchie promised, folding her arms. “Y’see, Bjugstad, this ain’t jus a friennly visit for ole time’s sake. I’ve come t’bring you all back wi’ me! One Armed Trapper’s on the rampage again an he’s got Lunker chained up in er throne room. And you gotta come wi’ us, or else!”

“We’ll see about that!” And Bjugstad bunched his shoulders and tore huge gouts of muck from the lake bottom as he plawed, plawed, plawed. And then he roared and flames poured out and turned all the water into steam for miles around.

Grandma Matchie roared back a challenge and hunched her shoulders and, ducking her head, charged. And then Bjugstad charged, and they were going straight for each other.

Everything you could think of and pile together happened when they collided. There was lightning, and thunderous shock waves, and fire, and steam, and mud, and falling trees, and tidal waves, and volcanoes, and birds scattering everywhere from swamps like you see in movies about Africa, and lots of other things you should think about before I go on.

When the smoke cleared there was Grandma Matchie, standing over Bjugstad with her hands on her hips. “I tole you you was comin wi’ us!”

Bjugstad didn’t even have the strength to grunt. He just lobbled there, panthing with his white tongue hanging on the ground. All the other buffalo muthered and grumbled but couldn’t do much else since most of them were dog-paddling like crazy. After a while Bjugstad was able to stand up, and then me and Grandma Matchie climbed up behind his head and sat down on his hairy shoulders.

“Now it’s your turn, Tyke,” Grandma Matchie said over her shoulder. “I gotta be steerin Bjugstad wi’ an iron hand so he don’t try nothin. An you gotta keep your eyes peeled in case someone tries somethin.”

“Who?”

“Mebee One Armed Trapper, mebee someone else. I got an itchin there’s more to this than what meets the eye. I gotta suspicious nature, Tyke, and right now I’m smellin more’n the fact that Bjugstad here don’t know anythin ’bout takin baths.”

Putting her heels to Bjugstad’s flanks, we jolted forward and were on our way. And all the buffalo followed, pushing up onto land even though you could tell by all the crashbanging and all the swearing that they didn’t like solid ground one bit. Nosiree, give a buffalo a bridge and he’ll jump right off it.

Fishing for buffalo’s dangerous business, as Grandma Matchie told me last summer when we went trolling for them in Shoal Lake. You got to know what kind of weeds to snag on your hook too. Not any old weed will do, because buffalo will be the first to tell you they have sophisticated tastes.

Seven days and eight nights it took us to get back to Westhawk Lake, and we didn’t see One Armed Trapper or anyone else the whole way, which had Grandma Matchie frowning something fierce.

Boy did those buffalo cheer when they plungered into that lake, and it wasn’t long before you couldn’t even see the water for all the buffalo heads. All the people who had cottages went down to their docks and shook their fists and tore their hair, but it didn’t help one bit.

Bjugstad took us right out to the middle and then we dived down, swimming and swimming until we finally reached the bottom, where all the demon fish and lamp rays scattered in panic. Hooves thumpening the rock, up we marched to Lunker’s cage door, and with a tap from Bjugstad’s head the doors flew open and once again we were face-to-face with Lunker.

“Is the Major back yet?” Grandma Matchie asked, all business like.

“No, I’m afraid not.” Lunker sighed, all depressed.

Grandma Matchie rubbed her jaw. “One Armed Trapper been down here lately?”

“Oh, yes!” Lunker’s fins wriggled in sudden excitement. “In fact, he’s here now!”

Bjugstad groaned. “Great, that’s just great!” And you could hear his knees knocking. Just then we heard a scream from outside and the sound of running footsteps. Spinning around, we saw the Major stumble into the room. “I done it!” he cried. “Hee hee! I done it!”

“Course you did,” Grandma Matchie snapped. “You’re the Major, ain’t ya?”

The Major’s navy blues was all in tatters, and his hair stuck out in all directions. And his nose blazed red too. “You should seen me!” he exclaimed, all breathless. “That was the biggest knot I e’er did see! An it was days o’ strugglin an—”

“Save it for another time!” Grandma Matchie griped, turning back to Lunker. “Did you say what I thought you said? One Armed Trapper’s here, now?”

“Oh yes. He is. Isn’t that a wonderful coincidence?”

“I don’t like the sounds o’ that,” the Major muthered, all serious now.

“Me neither,” Grandma Matchie grumpled, eyeing Lunker like you would a wood tick.

“And now that we’re all here—” Lunker smiled, her teeth grivdening together with pleasure. “—we can get down to business!” And with that a door opened behind her and in stepped One Armed Trapper, grinning from ear to ear, and even though he had the biggest ears I’ve ever seen, the grin was bigger.

“Hah?” the Major cried. “We bin tricked!”

And it was true, because up stood Lunker then, and all those chains just fell away, and she was smiling even harder, and those fangs were grivdening so much that dust drifted away on the current in a white cloud.

“Now that I’ve got all the storytellers here, in one place, I can put an end to them once and for all! And I’ll have all the stories myself! Or, rather, my story will be the only one anyone will ever hear in this land! My power will be complete! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

One Armed Trapper began advancing towards us, black chains dangling from his hand. “Joy, oh joy!” he crooned. “Now even the old tale about the sea snake is done with, and we can all forget about her too!” His eyes burned merrily. “It was a childish prank of mine, in the days of my youth. Had I known better—”

“Had you known better,” Lunker snarled, “you would have listened to me!” Then she smiled again. “Of course, now all that’s taken care of, thanks to Grandma Matchie’s cunning little brain.” And she flaclapped her fins. “Isn’t it simply wonderful how all things come round in the end!”

All this time Grandma Matchie’s eyes had been narrow like slits, and sparks flashered out of them every now and then. Bjugstad’s bones rattled so bad I figured he would fall to pieces under us, so off I crawpelled and stood beside him.

The Major had fullen to his knees and was whimpering and bawbling his eyes out. Disgusted, I decided to ignore him.

“Only one story to tell!” Lunker laughed. “And it’s mine! All mine! And you’ll hear it from border to border, shore to shore, shining sea to shining sea! You’ll hear it even more than you do already! Oh, I’m so proud!”

“Grandma Matchie!” I cried. “You can’t let her get away with this!”

She leaned forward on Bjugstad’s shoulders. “I left this place once, Lunker,” she gritted, “an you couldn’t stop me then!”

“Oh, but then One Armed Trapper wasn’t with me, was he? This time you won’t get away, I’m afraid.” And she shook her head in sorrow, all her red hair flowing about like fire.

Grandma Matchie frowned. “You gotta point, there, Lunker. But somethin’s bin itchin me, so’s I gotta ask. There’s more’n jus you two involved ’ere, ain’t there?”

Lunker fluthered her eyelashes, looking down. “Well, I must admit that our mutual dragon acquaintance, Satan Himself, was very helpful in the formulation of our plans—”

“I knew it!” Grandma Matchie drove her fist into the palm of her hand. “He’s bin meddlin all along!” Then she shook her head, frowning again. “Somethin’s gripin him … wonder what?”

All this time I was thinking fast, real fast because time was running out for all of us. And I studied Lunker, narrowing my eyes like the cowboys do when there’s Indians about and they suddenly smell smoke coming from Old Lady Helpless’s farm. And of course Old Lady Helpless has a daughter, Young Lady Useless, who faints at the sight of dirty toenails. Yesiree, I kept my eyes narrow and studied her face, those giant eyes all kind and evil at the same time, that giant nose with the big nostril slits, turning this way and that as if she smelled something bad. That flaming hair, so red it’s just not natural. The way her fins gripped the ends of the robe, making sure it flowed just an inch above the dusty floor. The reddish tinge in her teeth from the lipstick. The splotches of rouge on her gills so thick they looked like the melted wax of a thousand crayons, and—wait a minute.