CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The wagon with its cargo of dwarves, a spritely dressed man named Silas Fox, and an orange haired boy named Tom Forrest, emerged from the tunnel into thick woods, with fir trees and oak trees and nettle and heath and ferns crowding up to the rails. A small animal, like a badger, ran for cover. A large flock of ravens flew overhead. The slope had levelled out and the wagon was moving at a moderate speed. It was possible to look around, absorb the sight of the woods.

One of the dwarfs pointed at the sky and the other dwarf said, ‘The birds of death are back.’

Tom wondered what that meant, but didn’t want to ask.

The wagon banked to the right and dipped under a fallen tree. Ferns brushed past the occupants. More ravens flew overhead, dark against the dark sky.

Again the wagon picked up speed until it exited the woods onto a steep, grassy hill, dotted with large rocks. Brown sheep made long shadows as they chewed on thistle. The sun showed an orange peel slither behind the western mountains. The rail line dipped into a dry creek running through a black soil canyon, then up from the canyon into a grove of orange trees.

Coming out from the orange grove Tom looked down and saw a town built on the bend of a river, where a single ray of sunlight reflected up a myriad of tiny diamonds.

This was Rivertown.

The town consisted of a few hundred cottages with thatched roofs and chimneys that sent curls of wood smoke into the air. The town formed a semi- circle around the bend in the river, with streets radiating away.The streets were narrow and steep, rising to a castle at the top of a hill. The castle was made of black stone, and it flew flags with designs that Tom could barely make out in the fading light.

Down on the river, a wooden jetty jutted from a stone breakwater. A river ship was tethered to the jetty, while smaller boats were roped along the length of the breakwater. Waterbirds rushed into the river for landing. Fish flipped above the river surface, and shone for a moment before plopping back in the water. Two men fished with poles from a small wooden boat.

‘Put the bag on our prisoners head,’ said Fox.

The hairy dwarf started undoing buttons so that his fat little chest and all the black hair that it contained came rolling out into view. Somewhere down the front of its leather vest the bear-like dwarf had stashed a hessian sack. He pulled the sack out and shook it, making the inhabitants of the wagon cough.

‘Shake it outside the wagon,’ said the porridge-nosed dwarf.

A moment later the hairy dwarf put the bag over Tom’s head. Tom didn’t fight it. It seemed that people knew that he was Elion, because of the 'shine'. He didn’t know how this ‘shine’ worked, but they mustn't be able to see it if your face is hidden.

The sack was worn, and in a few places it was split, and Tom found he could easily line up a split to his eye so that he could see a hazy view.

The rail track went into town in the centre of a cobblestone street. The wagon rocked past crowds of men and women, who all had the tired expression of the finish of a work day. The men wore brown tunics and flapping pants and boots made from sheep leather, some with woollen inlays. The women wore longer tunics made of wool, dyed in bright yellows and greens, with hoods that covered half their hair, while the remainder of their hair fell long and dark around their faces and over their shoulders. They were all long haired and long faced with big mouths and long noses.

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There were a lot of dogs scampering amongst the people, their noses quivering into corners and along lines of scent. Tom felt something releasing inside him at the sight of the men and women and dogs - so like the men and women and dogs of England.

Conversations came sharp, then faded. Somewhere in the distance a bell rang. The wagon wheels groaned and clunked. The smell of the river came in gusts.

The dwarves were thrilled by the women on the street.

They watched one woman in a yellow tunic, with bare legs and bare feet. They watched a girl whose hair shone like metal. They got particularly excited by a girl who looked to be a teenager, with large blue eyes and black eyebrows that made dark arches across her forehead. Here came another girl with orange hair and a short spear strapped to her hip.

‘Giddyup giddyup,’ said the bear-like dwarf.

‘No woman, ever, in her correct mind would consider spending time with either of you,’ said Fox.

The dwarves watched Fox with cranky little sultana eyes.

‘It’s Elion that will scare the women off. Shrunk the way he is.’

‘Shut the feck up,’ Fox hissed. ‘Do not say the name out loud.’

The dwarves stayed silent for a second, then giggled, snorting and spluttering, their hands going to their mouths.

The wagon slowed and slowed and entered a dusty storehouse built on stilts that stretched out over the river. A wooden floor was piled with bags and boxes and rows of wooden pallets. A stack of apple crates leaned in the corner beside a pile of potato sacks. A sour smell of apple cider leaked from oak barrels, and piles of apple-wood kegs held honey. The storehouse had a thatched roof with fist sized holes letting through slithers of light.

Lamps had been lit and workers moved between the barrels and bushels and sacks, pushing carts laden with providore and smallgoods.

Tom fell forward when the wagon stopped. A little hand dragged him upright and shoved him from the wagon, then held him tightly when Tom, with limited vision, nearly tripped over a rope laying along the warehouse floor.

All around was the noise of crates smashing into each other, and sacks thudding, and boots on the wooden floor, and the shouts of men. The dwarves’ hauled Tom between cartons of vegetables, following Fox who looked completely out of place in his jaunty costume among the drab workers.

The sounds and conversation paused as the dwarves and their prisoner moved through the storehouse.

Then the noise of feet clumping and sacks dragging and crates thumping drifted into the rear and the dust gave way to fresh air.

*

On the street Tom lifted his feet high to remain steady on the cobblestones. The dwarves continued to talk about women, and Tom could hear the recoil of the women in the street reacting to the dwarves comments, Fox remained silent, but Tom could sense, even with the bag over his head, that Fox was extremely unhappy with the dwarves. Fox thought well of himself. He was like a front pew sitter in church.

The group turned off the main cobblestone path onto a smaller alley, where the clatter of their feet echoed off the alley walls. The street conversations fell behind. The houses were tightly packed together. They passed an Inn with a metal sign hanging from two two rusting curleques of metal. The Inn’s name was ‘The Fluffy Duck’.

They walked past the front door of the Inn and turned left into a narrow lane. A vegetable laden wagon behind a tired horse was coming up the lane, and the hoof-beats of the horses and the metal rasp of metal axles, and the screech of wood on wood echoed off the stone walls. The air had a grassy odour of fresh vegetables and horse dung.

The group came to a side door into the Inn where they waited until the horse and wagon had moved out of sight.

One of the dwarves removed the bag from Tom’s head, and Tom took a large breath of air. He had breathed in a little too much dust. They were alongside a door made of thick slabs with black iron hinges and a black iron latch.

Fox spoke to the dwarves, ‘Remain here while I go in and conduct business. I don’t want you two idiots being seen by respectable people.’