White Eyes (part six)

Spoiler! :

:!: I do not want to disuade you from reading this, but I do want to warn you that if you have not read the previous sections of my story, you will have trouble keeping pace with the storyline. Just a warning . But if you are prepared to read and review anyway, your time and efforts would be enormously appreciated.

Thank you so much, and God bless,

Ignis

P.S - in the first paragraph, I write ' ... an equally sharp knife ...' without reference to the knife that the aforementioned is compared with. This is because this was mentioned in the last section.

Suddenly all movement ceased. The two children were held incredibly still as the two men eyed them. Morgan noticed an equally sharp knife pressing against Argo’s skinny neck – she was afraid it might slice through one of his very prominent veins. His eyes were wide with terror, trying to look at the men, whilst at the same time attempting to keep both his eyes on the knife that sat just above his collarbone.

Argo’s captor spoke. Morgan thought it was a vaguely familiar voice; it reminded her strangely of the smell of strong, pungent wine.

“Well? This was your bright idea, gnat-face. What do you plan to do next?”

“I dunno, do I? ‘Twas your idea, not mine. Whadda we do wif ‘em?”

“I say it was your idea, and I also say we slit their throats, right here and now, to avoid any kind of trouble.”

“Trouble, is it? That’s exactly wot yer’ll get into, if ye do anyfink like t’at. They was followin’ the boy. We needs that kid alive, and this scum might be exactly wot we needs if we wants ter find ‘im.”

“We’ll get no truth out of these two. There’s no point – we know where he’s going, anyway.”

“I finks yore an idjit, be’aving like that. Ignorrygance, that’s wot it is, and no good never came to nobody ‘oo was lazy enuf ter fall fer it.”

“I’ll give you ignorance, you snotty-nosed excuse for a rat! I’ll give you lazy, you illiterate little pig!”

“Rat, is it? Pig, is that it, now? I’ll give yer something ter fink about when we’re done wif dis lot, you flabby, carrot-nosed, bug-eyed little maggot!”

Morgan saw the broad chest behind Argo swell enormously.

“Is that right, my poor, deluded little popinjay? Well, I think it’s time you bought yourself a mirror!”

“Hah! Dat’s funny. I wouldn’t tink you’d never seen no mirrer – I wouldn’t think it’d last fer long enuf wifout cracking.”

“Is that so? Well, I’m surprised you’ve ever even been allowed near a mirror. If I was your mother, I would keep you well away from anything that might crack at the sight of you!”

“Aye, and if I were yer mother, ye wouldn’t even know me, cos I’d have died us soon as I saw yer great ugly mug in yer first wee little bonnet!”

As the two fuming men stood facing each other, their two captives completely forgotten, Argo began to think. If he could make them so angry with each other that they released himself and Morgan to charge each other, they might just be able to make their escape. A brilliant idea struck him, and he put it into action without thinking.

He shouted.

“He’s right, actually, Morgan. Only I disagree with him on one thing – there wouldn’t be a bonnet on him, ‘cause nobody would dare to get close enough to him!”

The man holding Argo huffed loudly and turned red under his black mask. Morgan caught on and immediately started defending Argo’s captor.

“You keep your nose out of this, dimwit. The funny-looking shrimpy character over here ticks all the boxes for fatal ugliness.” Argo’s captor smiled gleefully.

“I think you’re right, actually,” said Argo. “And his breath does pong something awful.” Morgan’s captor looked ready to do murder.

“Nah, what are you on about, Argo? He looks a pretty handsome chap to me. That idiot doesn’t even know how to hold a knife – he’s pressing it against your throat backwards!” The knife was swiftly re-handled and pressed even harder against Argo the wrong way around.

Argo was enjoying himself.

“Yes, you’re right. Look at him, you’d think his head was a pumpkin, the way it swells like that!” The thin man behind Morgan gave a raucous laugh.

Morgan shook her head.

“Idiot, his head is perfectly normal-sized. This one’s the one with a head that looks like it’s been clamped in a vice.”

“Quite right. And look at his ears! I wonder how big the elephant he got them from was.”

The thin man snarled.

“I teach you to talk ter me like that!” He raised the hand with the knife.

“Just joking. Honestly, you think I’d side with this one? He’s a right idiot – look at the way he’s standing there, jaw agape. You’d think he might get on with the actual fighting instead of standing around like a gob-stopped goldfish.”

His remark spurred his captor into action. His would-be victim completely forgotten, he advanced, snarling, upon his opponent.

“Good on you, mate!” Argo shouted after him. “I knew you’d be the sensible one. Get him, before he decides to stop blinking like a dimwitted gorilla!”

In turn, Rat-face left Morgan and stalked forward, his black mask scrunched up horribly in a scowl.

“Slit their throats, would yer? Call me pig, would yer? I’ll teach you ter slit throats proper, and then ya can tell me I’m a pig.”

“Shut your trap, idiot. Where’s your backbone, snake? Lost a bit of colour have you, yellow-belly? I’ll colour you nicely, I will, if you come any closer. I hope you like red, you lily-livered toad!”

“Aye, an’ I hopes you likes diseases, cos there’s a big, fat, ugly rat comin’ right at yer!”

The two children did not wait to see the charge. They were already scampering down the road like desperate foxes evading a hunt, hardly noticing the pained shrieks and roars that cut through the air from behind them.

Soon all noise of the fight was left behind them, and they collapsed, both of them, against a nearby elm, gasping for breath and struggling to keep their heads.

Argo was the first to recover – having longer legs had made the scramble easier for him.

“What about … Peg?”

Morgan looked up sharply.

“Oh … almost … forgot …” Argo waited patiently as she regained her breath.

“We must have lost him,” she said finally. “There is no way we could find him now. He’s far, far ahead.”

Argo was determined, however. He had got further than ever before in this chase, and he was not going to give up lightly.

“We just have to follow the path. It’ll be easy. Come on. Besides, Peg has that enormous pack – how fast can he possibly go?” He waited as Morgan thought.

“All right,” she sighed at last. “But really don’t want to be caught by those two skulking idiots again – that was, in case you didn’t notice, a very close call.”

“I did notice,” said Argo wryly. “But we’ll be more careful this time.”

And so they set off briskly, now running, now walking, now pausing for a rest. After a while Argo stopped in his tracks and peered at the bush on one side of the road.

Morgan prayed that they were not going to be beset again.

“What is it?” she ventured warily.

Argo caught her tone and shook his head.

“Nothing life-threatening,” he said, “but granted, it’s very interesting.” Peering closer, he beckoned Morgan to him and pointed. “What do you see there?”

“I see … hold on. Yes, I do see something. Wait – that boulder looks exactly like a fox’s head!”

“Yes,” nodded Argo. “That’s what I see too. What’s interesting is that I’ve seen it before.”

Morgan looked up at him eagerly.

“You have? When? Where?”

“Well, it must have been here, mustn’t it? I’m just trying to remember where this place is. Hold on …” suddenly Argo’s face brightened. “Of course. I rested here once, on my way to …” his eyes widened dramatically. “On my way to North Bridge! I remember now!”

Argo danced an excited little jig on the spot, waving his arms.

“We are not lost, I know where we are! We’re on our way to North Bridge! See, I told you so, I told you we’d only have to follow the road.” In his relieved joy, he grasped Morgan by the arms and swung her around in a circle, laughing.

Suddenly he became sullen again, and released her, looking slightly embarrassed. “We’ll have to be quiet now,” he mumbled. “We’re very close.” Argo set off down the road.

It was not long before the quiet, tranquil sounds of the peaceful forest were disturbed by cruder, louder, more earthy noises – those of people laughing and shouting, and of heavy wheeled wagons being dragged along rugged rural roads. These were the sounds of the outskirts of North Bridge, the town that was labelled the heart of the trade and business of Halzar – the very small country within which Morgan had spent her whole short life. Beyond the town of North Bridge, across the Helz’yne River, lay Farthsward, the wide, flat plain that stretched for miles on end as far as the eye could see; a rolling, lonely expanse of emptiness that had known nothing but the soft sigh of the wind, the gentle ripple of blades of grass in the morning breeze, and maybe the weary tramp of a traveller’s boots. Beyond that land was said to lie a vast courtyard, old and crumbling and forever blanketed in mist; its tiles were cracked and faded, and in their places, long grass grew, and swayed sadly in the breeze, forever a testament to the times long past in which noble courtiers and princes would have strode proudly through that place, whilst trumpets blared and children laughed. Beyond there Morgan knew only of darkness.

Argo turned to his companion, smiling broadly, as they breached the last trailing evidence of woodlands. Before them lay a long, wide, dusty road, crisscrossed here and there by parked mules and wagons, and alive with the bustle of little children running about freely, laughing and playing. Morgan returned the smile without knowing; it was so good to be back in the company of people. Even she grew tired of nothing but endless trees after a while.

“I told you so,” said Argo smugly.

“Yes, you did,” admitted Morgan freely. “Are we even now?” she stuck out her hand in front of his swollen chest, offering it to him.

Argo blinked at it rapidly for a moment, and then his eyes seemed to pop out of his head.

“You mean …?”

Morgan nodded, waiting. Argo’s astonished expression transformed suddenly, and his face broke into an incredibly broad grin. He clasped her hand tightly and shook it fiercely.

“We’re even,” he said.

Morgan smiled. “Then let’s cut the formalities and get on with it!”

*

It was already early afternoon by the time they had passed the last traces of the open countryside and farmland. In front of them stretched a long line of peasants trickling slowly down the hill – all of them farmers, hoping to sell their produce amidst the bustle of the main town. At the foot of the hill, the road continued to stretch for about fifty metres – and then it passed right through the main gates of the town, where it became very heavily packed and well-trodden. Morgan eyed the scruffy battlements of the fort with distaste.

“I tell you, I don’t like it. It’s got a really shifty look about it, if you ask me. I’ll bet it’s the centre for thieves and scallywags and well as trade and business. Mind you, it’s not uncommon for the three to go together.”

Argo looked at her with curiosity.

“Why? What’s wrong with it? I think it’s jolly interesting.”

“I’m a country kid,” said Morgan. “I don’t like all this nasty shoving and pushing, and people yelling at each other and gambling.”

Argo shrugged.

“I’ve always thought it’s rather exciting.” He looked puzzled for a moment. Then, “Oh well. We can’t hang around – we have a Pegasus to catch, remember?”

Morgan grinned wryly at the pun.

“Oh, very funny; very funny indeed.” Without another word, she was off, racing down the hill as fast as her legs and gravity combined could carry her, shouting back over her shoulder as she went: “Last one through the gate’s a flying horse’s rotten egg!”

Argo went tumbling after her, his long legs tangling and twisting underneath him as he strove to keep his balance. He set his eyes on the figure of Morgan, whirling down the slope, gaining on the gate. He swung his legs even faster, determined to catch up with her…

WHUMP!

Argo found himself flying through the air in a confusion of limbs, having collided with a very sturdy object he took to be a wagon. He landed heavily in the dust, and looked up, coughing and spluttering. He saw no wagon – indeed, nothing that seemed solid enough to have sent him flying like that. All he saw was a rather flimsy looking middle-aged man, peering down at him severely. His hair was thick and auburn, and both it and his beard were riddled with twigs and leaves, giving him the odd appearance of a cross between a tree and a beanstalk. Argo eyed him sceptically. He refused to believe that this twig of a man could possibly have sent him on such a remarkable flight.

“Who bumped me?” he demanded gruffly.

The man looked indignant and strangely aloof at the same time.

“Who bumped you, did you say?” he had a distinct rustic accent, but it was mixed in with something Argo thought sounded very posh. “Rather! ‘Who bumped me’, he says, and doesn’t even give the slightest fig for the thought that he might have been the jolly bumper.” He continued to peer sternly down at him, and Argo was reminded of a strict father reprimanding his little son.

“Sorry,” mumbled Argo, abashed.

“Sorry! I should jolly well think so. D’you realise you flippin’ well almost knocked me brains out?”

“No. Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”

“I should hope not! By the by, who are you with? Your Pa?”

Argo was taken by surprise.

“Er … no. No, my – my second uncle’s wife twice … twice removed …”

The man did not seem at all bothered by his uncertainty.

“Jolly good. You can tell your ol’ auntie’s husband’s son’s great grand-daddy thrice removed that you’ve jolly well had a brush with the infamous Mauga the Mad, wot!” He put on a ferocious scowl, and, with a would-be-elegant turn on his toes, he strode off with a slightly tipsy swagger.

Argo stared after him, and felt the corner of his right eye twitch with incredulity. “Mad he is,” he muttered to himself, and then, picking himself up, he proceeded to stroll more cautiously down the slope.