Eritopia

A Tall Tale

The music stopped and Gordon, after a brief word with Martin, gathered the others around. Jod was still sleepy but he sat up. Map hopped upright. Not-Bear, up on his haunches, looked around. The men stooped down to their level.

'I'm going to tell a story,' Gordon said. 'And it concerns you, in particular, Wolf.'

Not-Bear's ears pricked up.

'First, you are not an Insider.'

'I knew it,' Jod exclaimed. Gordon lifted a finger to quieten him.

'What do you mean?' Not-Bear asked.

'You did not start life on the Inside,' Gordon explained.

'I'm an Outsider then?'

'No,' said Gordon. 'You are from a place far away, over the Crystal Mountains. You were born to a noble family of wolves in the Far End, a place none of us have ever been to.

'Noble?'

'Yes, in the sense your family were highly thought of there. Animals with great power and wisdom, living on a vast plain that makes the Outside look small. That's where your home was.'

'Was?'

'Yes, because the peace and tranquility you were born into has been shattered.'

Gordon allowed the words to settle. Not-Bear was confused.

'But why?'

'There is another city there, on the edge of that vast plain,' Gordon continued. 'Bigger than this one, with a greater population, much more prosperous and productive. Over long years every process there, from farming to quarrying, was mechanised. Efficient machines took over the work of animals.

'You would think that was a good thing, but men, being men, decided they wanted more power. Power over animals, much as the first King Barnabas, in our world, desired the same. In this other city, the King, although he is not called that there, wondered how to harness the power of animals. He decided that to subordinate them, to break their spirit, he needed to capture their leader, their talisman. If he could find him and bring him to the city, captive, he could force the rest of the animals to follow.

'In short, he went looking for you.'

'Me?'

Jod gasped and looked at Not-Bear.

Map leapt and shouted. 'I knew it,' he kept saying.

'The prince of the wolves, rightful heir to the dynasty, future ruler of the animals, of field, forest and plain, even of the mountains. You, Not-Bear, were born of royal blood. A prince. Soon to be a king.' He bowed his head.

Not-Bear stared at him. 'What rubbish,' he said.

*****

Beetle hopped and shuffled, twisted and straightened, waiting for Martin to leave. When he still didn't appear, Beetle crept back up the lane to his house. The lamp flickered inside. He looked through a window; there was no-one there. He walked in the door. Still no-one, and a window open. He realised what had happened. That bloody boy has outwitted me, he thought.

What to do now? If he went back to Melos, to the Palace, they might kill him. Or at the least, lock him up in one of those light-starved dungeons. Forever. For a very long time. He shuddered at the thought.

Should he could hide? He could change his appearance. Wander away over the Outside, or to the wastelands where the forgotten people lived in the shadows of the City.

No. He couldn't leave. He loved it too much. The tavern. the gossip, the beer. And he still loved his wife. He also had two boys. One was successful, even if the other was a rotten apple. What would happen if he abandoned them? The King would take revenge. They would face imprisonment or disgrace. No, Beetle wouldn't entertain that thought.

Stirred with an inner loyalty only half understood, he decided to do something. He would find the Brotherhood. See if they knew where Martin was. Somehow get his son to renounce his friends. Then he, Beetle, could go back to the Palace with good news and earn the favour of the King.

Where to find these brothers? Beetle recalled Martin spending a lot of time at the allotment recently. At his mother's behest, granted. Then there was that tall stranger he had seen talking to him over the river-side wall. Could he have something to do with it?

He grabbed his warm coat from the house, and a scarf. Extinguished the lamp, locked the door and shut the window. Stuffed pockets with bread and biscuits. This could be a long night. He then ghosted down the alleyway heading for the allotment.

Once at the allotment he climbed over the wall. Some loose stones dropped out and one went in his boot. He stopped to remove it. Down below on the slopes, the river ran hard past the hazel and aspen trees. The ripple of the bankside water slapped and gurgled as the high flow eddied round the roots. The moon was out and getting full. Clouds drifted across it.

Beetle went down to where he had been with the guards that morning. He could still see the mess they had made, trampling over everything. He wouldn't have been so heavy-handed. By the light of the moon he nosed around, lifting crushed grass and reeds. If the strangers had been here, if Martin had helped them, there would be evidence.

It took a while but he found it. A clear boot print in soft mud, and about twenty yards up stream some paw prints. Something had come this way. Further on, the ground became hard and the steps disappeared, but he found a solitary one. He now knew which direction they were going. Upstream towards the washer pools, where the city drains emptied into the river.

Soon, after steady walking, he entered the area known as Pitside. Here were the huts, shacks, and tents where the poorest and dispossessed of the city gathered. An area of thieves and vagabonds, outside the law, living in shoddy terraces on the river's northern edge. Where even the Longjackets were reluctant to venture.