White Eyes (part five)

“He’s still singing that song,” said Morgan out loud. Argo glared over his shoulder at her.

“If you must tag along, at least try to be quiet.”

“I don’t see why I should. What’s the need for secrecy?”

She had caught him. Argo stopped dead in his tracks, looking stuck.

“I … I will tell you at some point,” he said eventually, and walked on.

The two of them began to tiptoe as they grew nearer and nearer their quarry. Pegasus was sauntering along with as much of a swagger as he could manage under the weight of his pack, and all the while, singing.

Soon Argo and Morgan were forced to drop back – they drew so close that if he looked back he would immediately see them. After this they made sure that he stayed one bend ahead of them. There was no problem keeping track of him – his singing did that for them – but they tried to keep as close as possible just in case.

Morgan started to grow tired of this ceaseless chase by the time about three hours had passed. Peg never tired – he trudged on and on, lugging his heavy pack with him, and singing. It occurred to Morgan that the contents of his pack might be what Argo was so curious about. Creeping a little closer to Argo, she whispered in his ear.

“What’s in his pack?”

Argo glared her into silence.

“Be quiet,” he hissed. “You’ll find out.”

As he said this, the two heard Peg heave a great sigh, and they heard a heavy thudding noise that sounded as though he had just dumped his pack on the ground. They heard another, softer thud that told them he had sat down beside it. They listened intently as he started talking.

“Well, young master Peg,” he began, “you’ve done well for the morning. I think you deserve something, don’t you?” He paused, as if thinking. Then, “I’m sure Ben won’t mind if I take a little sip. What harm can it do? There’ll be plenty left. Yes, now I come to think of it … I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Argo and Morgan listened even more intently as the sound of a drawstring was heard. They could distinguish a faint clunking sound from within the pack, then a scraping noise as an object was lifted out of it.

Argo nodded silently to his companion, and the two of them crept forward, inch by inch, until the tops of their heads were peering around the corner, concealed by a clump of leaves. Peg was further away than they had thought – at least twenty metres. He had a long, cylindrical object in his hand. A bottle, Morgan thought it was. Peering closer, Morgan saw its label. West Bridge Herbal Remedy, it read. Puzzled, Morgan leaned towards Argo.

“Why is he drinking an herbal remedy?”

Argo looked at her sharply.

“What …? Oh, right. The label. No, that’s not medicine he’s drinking.”

Morgan did not ask any further questions, not because she wasn’t curious, but because at that moment Peg spoke to himself again. He had taken a long swig from the bottle, and now he was eyeing it with distaste.

“I never did like this stuff,” he muttered, and hurled the bottle over his shoulder into the bushes. It made a muffled thud.

Rising, Pegasus dusted himself of and hitched the pack once more onto his back. The two heard a throaty rasping noise, and then Peg spat on the ground.

“Urgh,” he spluttered, and then resumed his relentless plodding.

Morgan and Argo waited until he was around the next bend, and then followed him without a word. Morgan thanked the heavens the road was so windy.

“Argo,” she said quietly, “do you happen to know where exactly he is leading us?”

Argo did not look at her, but his brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down a little.

“Truthfully?” he asked. Morgan nodded. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve never managed to follow him that far.” When Morgan gave him an inquisitive look, he sighed. “Many times,” he said. “I’ve tried many times. Somehow, he always manages to lose me.”

“How? It has not been very difficult so far.”

“So far. But it will be. You see, Peg here has a tactic. He knows that I am always trying to follow him – and he knows that I’ve never managed. He has a few tricks up his sleeve. He never does anything he wouldn’t mind me seeing when he knows I’m following. He sings very loudly, all the time, letting me keep track of him. And then the singing stops. He just goes deadly quiet. And all the time, every time, he knows I’ll run to catch up with him. And every single time, he’s gone – without a trace. His footprints just end – they simply disappear. And that’s when I lose him. Once I tried the bush – no footprints there, either. I went on for at least a mile up the road, but his footsteps never re-entered the path.”

Morgan thought for a moment.

“Does this happen at the same place, every time?”

Argo shrugged.

“I don’t know. Everything looks the same round here to me. I –” he cut himself short as Morgan held a finger to her lips.

“Listen!” she said urgently. “The singing. Can you hear it?”

Argo’s face grew pallid.

“Oh, that’s just great. Here we go again.” He ran helter-skelter down the path and round the bend, calling to Morgan as he went, “I knew it! I just knew it! Gone again.”

Morgan rounded the bend after him, and ran to him.

“Don’t touch anything!”

Argo stopped in his tracks and Morgan raced on ahead of him, following Peg’s footprints, and skidded to an abrupt halt as they ended. Bending down carefully, she studied them through squinted eyes. Argo caught up to her, hands on his hips.

“What did I tell you? Now, is that a mystery, or what?” Morgan silenced him with a hand gesture as peered even more closely at the footprints.

“Not so much as you think,” she said triumphantly. “He’s left some major clues for us to follow. See here.” She gestured at the footprints, and Argo bent down awkwardly to study them. Looking up, he shrugged.

“I don’t see anything special.”

Morgan carried on.

“Now look at the ones before this set. Do you see a difference?”

She waited as Argo touched his nose to the dusty ground. Eventually he spoke.

“Well – I think the last pair are somewhat lighter. Or is that just me and my floury eyelashes?”

Morgan smiled.

“No, it’s not. You’re right. Now, what might have made Peg lighter on this last set of steps?”

“He could have taken his pack off. But I don’t see it, nor an imprint of it neither.”

“No, you don’t. And that’s because he didn’t put it on the ground. Where else could he have put it?”

Argo shrugged.

“Beats me,” he said.

“Look around you. And more importantly, look above you.”

Argo did, and found himself staring at the underside of a thick branch that jutted high and far over the road.

“You think he lugged it all the way up there?”

Morgan nodded.

“Well, what else could he do? See that fork in the branches? I’m guessing Peg threw his bag to nestle between those two, and then got up himself.”

“But there are no footsteps leading off the path. He can’t have climbed.”

“No, he didn’t, dimwit. Bend down again.”

Argo looked slightly indignant at being labelled a dimwit, but he did as he was ordered. He felt rather foolish, with his nose to the ground at the feet of a very bossy midget girl.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

“Look closer. Is there a difference in the weight or texture of the footprint in any part?”

“Well … yes, there is! At the toes. The weight was heavier at the toes. There’s also a bit of dirt around the tip of the footprint – like it was scuffed.”

Morgan clapped.

“Very good! Bonus point. Now, for another one, can you tell me what that could mean?”

Argo shook his head, nonplussed.

“No.”

“He jumped,” said Morgan simply. “Up to the branch. When you jump, your toes dig into the ground to lever you, don’t they? So that’s exactly what it means.”

Without another word, she hopped lightly onto Argo’s hunched back, leaping into the air and catching hold of the thick branch. She hauled herself up to straddle it, and then peered questioningly down at Argo, who had found himself face down in the dirt. His expression when he looked up was less than cheerful.

“By bouth’s full of dutht, you idthiot. Plurrgh!” He spat on the ground and leapt up after her. He found her studying the branch they sat on.

“See? Look, right there.” Morgan pointed to a very small branch that protruded from the main one at a sideways angle. “It’s bent. And look.” She pointed to a fork made by two branches to their left. “That’s where the sack thing landed. See here. It’s crushed a little bud.” As Morgan crawled over to inspect the spot, Argo heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Are we going to get on with it, or what? He’th prob’ly mileth away by now.” He was still attempting to scrape the remainders of dirt from his tongue.

Morgan looked up, as if from a dream.

“Oh, yes. Silly me. Let’s move.” She scampered away down the length of the branch and swung herself onto the next – a somewhat lower one. She waited for her companion to catch up, and then went more slowly, studying the branches and leaves around her as she went.

Once she stopped quite suddenly, to examine a snapped twig, and Argo cannoned into her, almost sending them both toppling to the ground.

“Watch it,” hissed Morgan, and went on climbing.

Eventually they reached a very low branch that reached out over a grassy bank, and Argo slid down its barky length after his guide. Morgan looked triumphant.

“I’ve got his trail!” she said excitedly. “Look – he leaves a track a blind maggot could follow. This is easier than I thought.”

After attempting to decide whether or not she was insulting him by comparing him to a blind maggot, Argo followed her.

“So, where’s the trail?” he huffed.

“Right here. I’m following it.”

“I don’t see no trail.”

“You’re not looking. Clues everywhere – you just have to try to find them. Honestly, anyone would think he were hauling along a troublesome elephant by the trunk, judging by the track he’s leaving. Obviously he doesn’t know we’re following, or he’d be more careful.”

Argo decided to be the diplomat, and kept his mouth closed. He couldn’t see a trail, but he couldn’t see how pointing it out would help, either. So the two of them trudged along in silence, halting whenever there was a noise, studying the surrounding bush carefully for signs.

After a while Morgan called a halt, in a similar manner to a marching Sergeant ordering troops, and beckoned Argo over to her.

“What do you see here?”

Thinking she was looking for another excuse to humiliate him, Argo peered closer at the spot, determined to impress her.

“I see … a see a sort of twirly green frond, about knee height, in a bed of … of black leaves. The frond is dead, but it’s not brown.”

“Idiot, I see that too. I mean, what do you see that’s odd?”

Stung by her derisory remark, Argo shrugged huffily.

“I dunno. There’s not much more, is there?”

Morgan looked disappointed.

“Pity,” she sighed. “Because I don’t know either.”

Argo was surprised.

“Then why do you think there’s something odd?”

“Well, firstly, what on Earth is a dead frond doing lying in a pit of black leaves – burnt, by the looks of it – but nice and green itself?”

“I du – ’’

“And secondly, why would Peg have made a fire out here in the woods, and then dropped this fern on it? And besides, the leaves don’t look newly burnt – a couple of days ago, I think.”

“Someone else, maybe?”

“Or maybe he’s been here already this week.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. That is a perfectly – perfectly plazzible possibility.”

“Plausible.”

“I said that.”

Morgan decided not to argue. Frowning slightly, she moved on at a brisk pace. She did not show it, but she was becoming increasingly uneasy. She had first heard it in the bushes a while back – a sort of rustling noise, so quiet it was barely audible, even to her keen ears. The first time she had ignored it, but now it was coming more and more frequently, and always directly beside them. Some sensation in the air made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and she kept glancing about warily.

Eventually Argo noticed her discomfort, and told her so.

“What’s the matter?” He did not bother to keep his voice down.

Morgan jumped at the sudden noise, and whispered fiercely back at him.

“Don’t say anything. Someone is following us.”

Before she could add, ‘Act natural’ or ‘Don’t look now’, Argo had twisted his head around sharply, scanning the bushes behind him. He did an awkward little hop skip to catch up with Morgan, and whispered hoarsely in her ear.

“Are you sure?”

Morgan ignored him. Argo kept shooting little worried glances at the greenery on either side, and did not let Morgan get in front of him.

What happened next was so sudden that Morgan and Argo did not know what had hit them. One moment the wood was as silent as the grave, and the next it seemed to be bursting with activity. Several things seemed to happen at once; afterwards Morgan could not put them into a sequence. Something as large as a bear shot out of the bushes on their right, hitting Argo in force and felling him immediately. Then a smaller figure leapt out towards Morgan from the other side, tackling her to the ground. For a split second she heard a harsh rasp of breath in her ear – it stank horribly of dead rat – and then she felt the air whoosh out of her as the figure landed on top of her. Her eyes felt ready to pop out of their sockets, she could not breathe and she could almost feel her ribcage cracking. Morgan heard a strangled yelp as Argo was hauled roughly upright and held with cruel, brutal strength in a headlock. Then she was hauled upright in a similar manner and she felt something very cold and sharp press against her throat. Only when she felt a warm liquid trickle from the point did she realize it was a knife.