The Plague Dogs (45 page)

White Side on the rocks of the Tongue but, undeterred, pressed on into the gully and so to the cascades of Ruthwaite Beck. He returned northward across the valleys and ridges east of the Helvellyn heights; straight over peat and ling, rock and grass, stones and moss; G rise dale Forest, Nether-: 5t Cove Beck, Birkhouse Moor and Stang End.

There no least sign of the dogs; and he met no one all day. regained the car by way of Sticks Pass, wondering sther his best course would be to spend the following on the Dodds to the north. He was still wondering he got back to Windermere, to hear from Mrs.; n the news that on Sunday afternoon the dogs had sn encountered in the high valley of Levers Water by a listen farmer looking for odd sheep to bring down out the snow. He had recognised them at once and taken 'iis heels, but not before observing that they appeared and fair shrammed with the cold. Digby Driver, hastening back to Coniston to learn nothing different from what he had already heard from other witnesses on previous occasions, left this fanner after more than fifteen minutes and, back in his room, fairly; with frustration.

"The bloody brutes—they're just going to fizzle out—up there—the whole thing'll collapse without one story, yucky or otherwise! Simpson'll be livid! What load of crap! Come on, Driver, you're not beat yet! lat to do? What to do? Well, we'll just have to try the; arch Station and hope for some sort of indiscretion, port in a storm!" le rang up Lawson Park and this time, by some curious of the wheel, found himself talking to Dr. Boycott, offered to see him by appointment forty-eight hours sr, on the afternoon of Wednesday the 24th. As has been said, Digby Driver had little time for set-, formal press interviews with official representa-In his view—a not altogether inaccurate one—such views were often designed to soft-pedal or even to conceal things likely to provide material for news copy.

' Was usually more profitable to talk to the boot-boy or cleaning-woman, but in this case he already had an better contact, if only he could get at him. "Look, Mr. Boycott," he said, "it's good of you to offer see me, but the man I'd really like to talk to is Stephen. Is he still off sick?"

"I'm afraid he is," answered Dr. Boycott. ''Why do you want to talk to Mr. Powell so particularly?"

"Because he was so darned helpful when I met him before, the day I drove him back from Dunnerdale. It was him that—oh, well, never mind. But I don't want to waste your time unnecessarily, and it'll suit me perfectly well just to have a word with Powell. Could you give me his address, perhaps?"

"Well, he'll be back tomorrow or the next day, I understand," said Dr. Boycott, "so if you like we'll both see you on Wednesday afternoon. Will three o'clock suit you? Excellent. Well, until then, good-bye."

Tuesday the 23rd November

The following morning was more than a little misty on the tops, but nevertheless Mr. Westcott set out even earlier than before. Having reached Little Langdale, he was able to see that the northern end of the Coniston range was considerably less obscured by mist than the Old Man itself Accordingly he ran up to the Wreynus Pass, left the Volvo and climbed the Grey Friar by way of Wetside Edge. The weather had become warmer and damp, with a light west wind, and he sweated in his anorak as he stood swinging his binoculars this way and that across the slopes above Seathwaite Tarn and Cockley Beck.

There were no dogs to be seen. He crossed the saddle to Carrs ate an early lunch and tramped southward to Swirral, Great How Crags and the Levers Hause. Here the mist was troublesome, and Westcott, knowing himself to be immediately above Levers Water and the very place where the dogs had last been seen two days before, went down as far as Cove Beck and covered that area very thoroughly indeed. He found nothing and climbed back to the Hause. His tenacious and obsessive nature was not yet dispirited but, like a fisherman who has not had a rise all day, he now made a deliberate demand on his concentration, persistence and staying-power to play the game out to the end and finish the day in style, win or lose. Who could tell? Mist or no mist, he might even now run slap into the dogs sheltering in a peat-rift or under a thorn. This, apparently, was what the farmer had done.

Making use of his prismatic compass in the mist, he set off for Brim Fell, Goat's Hause and the Dow Crag.

"I'm very glad you've felt well enough to come back today, Stephen," said Dr. Boycott. "There are several important things. I trust you're quite recovered, by the way?"

"Yeah, more or less, I think," replied Mr. Powell. "A bit post-influenzal, you know, but it'll pass offf I dare say." In point of fact he felt dizzy and off colour "Well, work's often a good thing to put you back on your feet, as long as you don't overdo it," said Dr. Boycott. "You should certainly go home early tonight, but I'd like you to be familiarising yourself today with the details of this new project that we've been asked to set up. I shall want you to take entire charge of it in due course."

"What's the present position with those dogs, chief, by the way? Are they still at large?"

"Oh, yes, the dogs—I'm glad you mentioned that. Yes, they're still very much at large, I'm afraid; they seem to keep turning up all over the place. On Saturday, apparently, they actually robbed a car of a load of groceries. There've been a lot of phone calls, and I dare say you may very well get some more today. Mind you, we're still not admitting that those dogs are ours. Ours may be dead long ago."

"What about Whitehall?"

"Oh, they're still blathering away. There's going to be some sort of debate in Parliament, I gather. That Michael What's-His-Name was up here last Friday, as you know. He wanted to see Goodner's laboratory and then he was pressing me to give an assurance that the dogs couldn't have been in contact with any plague-infected fleas." Mr. Powell made an effort to show interest. "Did you give it?"

"Certainly not. How could I? How could anyone? Anyway, we're scientists here—we don't get mixed up in politics. We've got work to do, and we're not to be run from Westminster or Whitehall or anywhere else."

"That's where the money comes from, I suppose." Dr. Boycott waved the triviality away with one hand.

"That's quite incidental. This work's got to be done, so the money's got to be found. You might just as well say the money for water-borne sewage comes from Westminster and Whitehall."

"It does—some of it, anyway."

Dr. Boycott looked sharply at Mr. Powell for a moment, but then continued. "Well—well. No, I think the principal thing that's bothering the Ministry is having to admit that bubonic plague's being studied here at all—as a Ministry of Defence project, that is. It was secret, of course. No one was supposed to know—even you weren't supposed to know."

"I didn't know—well, hardly."

"I still can't imagine how it got out," said Dr. Boycott. "But I suppose the press will continue to make all they can of it. And talking of the press, that reminds me. I've agreed to see this Orator man, Driver, tomorrow afternoon at three. I'd like you to join me. If I'm going to talk to a fellow like that, there ought to be a witness, in case he misrepresents us later. "

"O.K. chief, I'll be there."

"Now, this new project I was starting to tell you about," said Dr. Boycott. "It's a pretty big one, with American money behind it—another defence thing, of course. We're going to construct a specially large refrigeration unit, the interior of which will simulate tundra; or steppe-like conditions, anyway.

There'll be a wind tunnel, too, and some means of precipitating blizzard. These will be near-arctic conditions, you understand. There'll be food and some kind of shelter situated in one place, and a built-in escalator whose effect will be that the subject animals have to cover the equivalent of anything from thirty to sixty miles to reach it. We may install certain deterrents—fear-precipitants and so on. Actually, we're not quite agreed yet on that aspect of the work, but—"

"What subject animals, chief?"

"Dogs, almost certainly. Much the most suitable. Now as to timing—" Mr. Powell closed his eyes. He had come over faint and his head was swimming. He began to realise that he was more post-influenzal than he had thought. As he made an effort to concentrate once more on what Dr. Boycott was saying, there came from outside a sudden burst of tommy-gun fire. He started, sat up quickly and looked out of the window. Tyson's boy Tom, emerging with a pail of bran mash from the shed across the way, was idly running the mixing-stick along a sheet of corrugated iron which had been used to patch the wall.

"—As to timing, Stephen, I was saying—'' . Mr. Powell hesitated. "I—I—it's kind of—wonder, chief—only, you see—look, do you think you could possibly put someone else on this? The thing is—"

"Put someone else on it?" asked Dr. Boycott, puzzled. "How d'you mean?"

"Well, I can't explain exactly, but—" Mr. Powell buried his face in his hands for a moment.

When he looked up he said, "Perhaps I'm not quite back to normal yet. I only meant—well, you see—"

To his horror, Dr. Boycott saw—or thought he saw—tears standing in Mr. Powell eyes.

Hurriedly he said, "Well, we needn't go into that any more just now. We'll come back to it another time.

You'll want to be having a look at your other stuff. By the way, Avril finally finished off that hairspray thing while you were away yesterday. The stuff was absolutely hopeless—the second lot of rabbits all had to be destroyed. I can't imagine how anyone ever supposed he could get away with marketing a product like that to the public. Just wasting our time and everybody else's. We shall charge him for the rabbits, naturally. Anyway, if I don't see you again before, we'll meet at three tomorrow afternoon."

In a confused fantasy of mist and hunger, Snitter was hunting for the tod across the hills and rocks of dream. A bitter rain was falling and twice, as he topped a slope, he glimpsed momentarily but never winded, disappearing over the next, the familiar, grey-haired figure with yellow scarf and walking-stick.

"Ah ha!" said Snitter to the vanishing figure, "I know better than to run after you! You look real, but you're not real. I've got to find the tod, or else we're going to die in this horrible place."

He knew now where he was; on the long, heathery slope that led down to the road winding up out of the green dale—the empty road that crossed the pass by the square stone post set upright in the turf. He remembered the post: he had lifted his leg against it for luck when the tod had led them across the pass on their way to Helvellyn. The wind was tugging in uneven gusts over the ling and up from below wavered the falling of the becks. A curlew cried, "Whaup, whaup," in the hills and as he came down to the road a blackcock went rocketing away from almost under his paws. It was all just as he remembered. He paused, looking about him and sniffing the wet ground for some trace of the tod.

Suddenly he saw, below him, a blue car ascending the pass, threading in and out of sight, steadily climbing the steep edge of the hillside, crossing the bridge and coming on towards the stone where he stood watching. As it reached level ground and drew to a halt on the short grass of the verge, he saw that the driver was a merry-looking, pretty girl, who smiled at him, calling and beckoning. Snitter ran up eagerly and jumped into the car by the near-side door which she leant across to hold open. She smelt deliciously of soap, scent, leather and femininity. He put his muddy paws in her lap and licked her face and she laughed, scratching his ears.

"You're a friendly chap, aren't you?" she said. "Poor doggie, you've hurt your head, haven't you?

And where have you sprung from, mmh? I bet your master's worried to death about you." His old, original collar had apparently come back and she read it, twisting round the little brass plaque with two slim, cool fingers pressed against his neck. "Would you like me to take you home? D'you suppose there's a reward, mmh?"

Head close to hers, Snitter wagged his tail, smelling her hairspray and the trace of wax in one small, dainty ear. 'I'll give you a reward," she said, and popped a toffee into his mouth. He bit it. It had no taste at all and he shook his head, teeth squelching in the sticky gluten.

"It's dream toffee," she said, laughing and kissing him. "This is all just a dream, you know. Are you hungry? Poor old chap, then—it's no good looking in the back of this car. There's nothing there—

only my bag."

She started the engine and backed to the road, leaving the still-unclosed passenger door to swing back and forth as she did so. "You can help me if you like," she said. "D'you know what I'm looking for? I need a mouse—a live one."

Snitter found speech. "I've got a mouse; he's in my head."

"Could he be injected? Only, you see, I'm overdue and of course my boy-friend and I want to kncrtv as quick as we can." She looked at her watch. "Oo, gosh, I'd better be getting on. He'll be home soon. We're living together, you know." She laughed. "Living in sin, as they used to say."

"Sin?" said Snitter. "I don't understand, but then I'm only a dog, of course.'

' A kind of house you live in, is it? The men have taken all the houses away, you know. I don't believe there's a house for miles."

She patted him, leaning across, about to close the door.

"Why," she said, "we both believe the very same. There's no such thing as sin, is there? No such thing any more."

Suddenly Snitter realised that they were not alone in the car. The shining fur coat pressed against them began to writhe and hunch into folds, which resolved themselves into odorous, furry, fox-like creatures leaping past him into the back seat. On the instant there started up among them a great, brown lizard, with burnished neck of verdant gold, smooth, supple scales and forked tongue flickering in and out between its eyes. From the girl's feet, pressed to the controls, two tawny snakes came writhing.

The girl drew a knife from the top of her skirt.

"You don't mind blood, do you?" she said. "I was explaining, wasn't I, it's what I hope I'm going to see quite soon."

Snitter flung up his head, howling in terror.

"What's the matter now?" growled Rowf, startled out of sleep beside him. "Why on earth can't you keep quiet?"