Barking (44 page)

Simple lesson. Fear is worse than death. We have nothing to fear but fear itself. And scary things, of course.

Ferris was looking at him. Then he said, ‘I ought to smash your stupid face in.'

- Which was, by all meaningful criteria, an admission of defeat. It said,
I should do this but I'm not going to
. Or,
but I can't
. Maybe Ferris had seen it in Duncan's eyes, the Oh-well moment, the great comfort and reassurance that comes from knowing that this is as bad as it gets and things can't get any worse. In other words, the fast, dribbling puncture of fear.

I've won
, Duncan thought.
I've beaten him
.

And he was just congratulating himself on standing up to the bully, or at least having the good instinctive judgement to back up against an immovable wall so he'd had no choice but to stand up to him, when Ferris swung back his right arm and punched him extremely hard in the solar plexus.

It had been a bit like being a fish. There was nothing he could breathe. He was drowning in air, and he could feel his eyes trying to push their way out of their sockets. He swayed for a moment, feeling slightly bemused but not particularly panicky or anything, and then dropped to the floor. The opposite wall became the ceiling. His head bashed hard against something solid. A bright light came on at the opposite end of his head from his eyes, which was odd. It was so bright that it flooded everything for a moment. Then it switched off, and he was looking up at Ferris, who was staring down at him with a look of utter, wet-underpants terror.

Strange, Duncan thought, it's not like he's got anything to be afraid of. But he really didn't look good at all. His face was as white as paper, and he was shaking. Like a bad dose of the flu, except it didn't come on as quickly as that, surely. Duncan decided he didn't like the look of it. What if Ferris was really ill? Shouldn't he be doing something?

‘You all right?' he asked.

For a moment, Ferris opened and shut his mouth like an albino goldfish. Then he said, ‘Am I all right?'

‘Yes.'

‘Fine. What about you?'

‘Me?' Funny question to ask, when you've just thumped someone. Would it be rude to say,
Yes, I'm fine
? (The implication being that Ferris couldn't hit for toffee.) ‘Sort of,' he hedged.

Ferris was looking past him, at the wall, with a gormless-stunned expression on his face as though he'd seen a ghost. Duncan sat up (no aches and pains, so nothing broken) and looked over his shoulder to see what was so fascinating. First, he noted that the solid thing he'd hit his head on was an iron water pipe that supplied the radiatior. Second, there was blood.

He reached up and felt the back of his head. Wet and sticky, like the glue they used in the art room. He looked at his hand, which was red.

‘Cut myself,' he said. Then his brain clicked in, and he realised why Ferris was so upset. If someone came in, a teacher, and saw all that mess everywhere, they'd be in dead trouble. Detention, probably. ‘We'd better get it cleared up,' he said.

‘What?'

‘The blood,' Duncan said. ‘We'd better clean up the blood before anybody sees.'

For a moment or so Ferris had stared at him, as though he was having trouble understanding what he was saying. Then he nodded sharply, the decisive leader. ‘Get the board-rubber thing,' he said, quickly kneeling and pulling out his handkerchief. Duncan hurried to obey. This was better: Ferris giving orders, him carrying them out. The thing about Ferris was that he always knew what to do. They'd managed to wipe off all the blood, and nobody ever said anything . . .

 

‘That's it, isn't it?' Duncan said. ‘Luke killed me. By accident, of course. I bashed my head on that pipe and it killed me. Only I didn't die.'

Caroline nodded slowly. ‘That would make sense,' she said, and he could tell she hated herself for having to say it. ‘You died for a fraction of a second - when the bright light came on in your head - and then you shook it off somehow and came back to life.' She frowned. ‘The tape-measure,' she said.

‘What?'

‘The tape-measure. The one that stopped the silver bullet. Can I see it, please?'

Obviously someone else who knew how to give orders. He felt in his pocket, found it and handed it over. Caroline looked at it briefly, then gave it back. ‘Would you mind,' she said, rather quietly, ‘taking off your jacket and unbuttoning your shirt? Pretend I'm a doctor, if it'll help.'

Orders are orders. Wishing (not for the first time) that he wasn't quite so habitually scruffy, Duncan did as he was told. She looked at his chest, then nodded.

‘There,' she said, pointing.

Duncan looked down. There indeed: on the skin of his chest, on the left-hand side, about where his inside jacket pocket would be, a small round red scab, about the same diameter as the bullet hole in the tape-measure.

‘She fired two shots,' Caroline said.

‘Oh.'

‘I wouldn't have thought she'd have missed. She's very good at anything involving aiming, things like that. Did she tell you she's on the darts team?'

Duncan looked down at the scab, then back at her. ‘She shot me and I didn't—?'

‘Apparently not.'

‘Oh.'

 

It was maybe a full half-second before the dam broke inside his head. When the roaring and the turbulence had died down a little, he said, ‘Did I tell you about the unicorn?'

Caroline shook her head. ‘But I assume you're talking about Bowden Allshapes,' she said. ‘It's the body she uses when she wants to kill werewolves. It's a hobby of hers, I don't know why she does it. Probably she just doesn't like your lot very much. We all have a good laugh about it—' She stopped. ‘You've met her,' she said flatly.

‘Yes.'

Suddenly, it was hard to imagine her ever laughing again. ‘You met her and chased her,' she said. ‘But she didn't kill you. Or at least, you didn't die. Do your shirt up, by the way, you'll catch your death.'

‘Well, I was pretty well out of breath—' No wordplay intended, he thought. ‘That's right,' he said. ‘Actually, I kept chasing her till I hit a tree.'

Caroline nodded. ‘And I suppose everything went white for a moment, and then you had a nice little chat. In other words, you did it again. Like with the water pipe. Bashed your head in, but no lasting harm done.' She shook her head, as if it was a watch that had stopped. ‘You know what this means. You're—'

The door opened, and in came nice-looking Veronica. Vee, not Ronnie. She was still wearing the rubber gloves, and the welding mask hung from her wrist. ‘She was just waking up when I got there,' she said. ‘She wasn't happy.' She looked at Duncan, then at Caroline (note the order). ‘Have I missed something?' she said.

Duncan wanted to run away and hide, for some reason. ‘We were just chatting,' Caroline said. ‘Guess what. Mr Hughes here is going to join us.'

‘Really?' Genuinely pleased; then - ‘But what about Sally? Won't that be a bit awkward?'

Caroline's face had that Mount Rushmore look. ‘I don't think so. Sally may well be leaving us soon. A better offer, as I understand it.'

No
, something yelled inside Duncan's head. But when it looked round for support, it realised it was in a very small minority and resolved to keep its mouth shut in future. ‘Oh,' Veronica said. ‘You mean, the dead people—'

Caroline nodded firmly. ‘I think Sally believes she has a future with them. Well,' she added briskly, ‘we've all got a future with them sooner or later, if you see what I mean, but—' Pause, slight frown. ‘Nearly all of us, anyhow. But yes, I don't think Sally will be a problem. Now, since Mr Hughes's speciality is probate, tax and trusts, we'll have to do a bit of reshuffling. I suggest you take over matrimonial finance from Sally; Rose can do your commercial litigation and personal insolvency, I'll do Rose's commercial landlord and tenant; that leaves a bit of a gap in product liability, but we'll all have to huddle together like willows aslant a brook and cover it as best we can. Does that seem all right? Vee?'

‘Fine,' Veronica said brightly. ‘Well, this is a—'

‘Hold on,' Duncan said.

Really, he didn't want to cause difficulties. It would have been so nice, so neat. After all, he couldn't go back to the Ferris Gang, not now that he'd actually committed the crime they suspected him of, and he needed somebody to protect him against Bowden Allshapes, he was pretty well convinced of that. Apparently, these people were prepared to do that. Which was odd: hadn't Wesley Loop offered to pay for his damaged furniture with a Crosswoods office account cheque? Didn't that mean—?

But instead, he said, ‘I don't want to seem ungrateful, but what about the - well, let's call them cultural differences. No offence, but I sort of got the impression that my lot and your lot don't get on terribly well.'

‘Fight like bats and dogs, you mean?' Caroline shrugged. ‘You know what the watchword of the twenty-first century is, Mr Hughes? Diversity. The melting pot.' She looked at Veronica, then back at Duncan. ‘Cross-pollination,' she said, with a face so straight it was practically obscene. ‘I think it's high time we challenged these outmoded species stereotypes and embraced an environment where skin, fur and feather can coexist in mutually beneficial harmony.' She frowned. ‘Strictly speaking it should be membrane rather than feather,' she added, ‘but it hasn't got that ring. Look,' she went on, ‘the bottom line is this. What choice have you got?'

New Mexico, protested the little voice that had made itself so unpopular a short while ago. It didn't get a noticeably better reception this time. ‘Fine by me, then,' Duncan heard himself say. ‘So long as your people—'

‘You can leave them to me,' Caroline said firmly. ‘Though to be honest I don't think they'll have any objections. You might find things a bit strained for a while,' she added, and Duncan noticed a curiously resolute expression on Veronica's face, ‘but I'm sure it'll all shake down soon enough. The important thing,' she added, ‘is getting the work done. Looking after our clients, especially the old and valued ones.'

Oh, Duncan thought. Like that, then. And for a moment there, he'd imagined they wanted him for his legal acumen. ‘Of course,' he said. ‘Though I should point out,' he added hopefully, ‘I think there may be a bit of aggravation about my existing clients following me here. I'm thinking of, you know, the big, long-drawn-out probate jobs.'

Caroline nodded. ‘Me too,' she said. ‘Just the sort of work we need to attract here.'

‘Ah. You think they'll want to come?'

‘I don't think they have any choice.' The smile Caroline gave him was all eyes and teeth, proving beyond question that there are worse things that kindly old grandmothers can turn out to be than disguised wolves. ‘The work's got to be done. You're - well, the only man for the job. You know that, don't you?'

Eek, he thought. ‘Yes, but I really don't think it'd be—'

‘Just a second,' Veronica broke in. ‘Are we talking about Bowden Allshapes?'

‘Yes. Be quiet, Vee.'

Didn't work. Maybe vampires were stroppier with their leaders than werewolves, or maybe she had some other motivation. ‘But that's crazy,' she said. ‘You know they're out to kill him. It'd be—'

‘Not such a big deal as you might think,' Caroline interrupted smoothly. ‘And no, I'm not being cruel and heartless. Am I, Mr Hughes?'

For some reason, Duncan blushed. ‘Actually, no,' he said. ‘At least, it's possible that—'

‘Oh, I think it's been proved. To my satisfaction, anyway.'

Duncan looked hard at her, trying to get
So are we not telling her about the me-being-unkillable thing, then?
into one slightly simpering frown. But she wasn't looking at him, so it was a complete waste of time. ‘Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Vee,' Caroline said. ‘It's important for this firm that we build up our substantial private client base with long-term high-yield ongoing—Don't look at me like that,' she snapped. ‘All right, so you fancy Dog Boy here. Fine.' Duncan didn't see the expression on Veronica's face, because he was too busy staring very hard indeed at the carpet. Nice carpet. Good thick weave. Years of wear in a carpet like that. ‘As far as I'm concerned, he's our chance of getting the Allshapes people. That's an awful lot of money, for ever and ever. Apparently they want him, very badly. Don't know why, but it takes all sorts. My guess is they want to cut costs by getting him -' she paused to relish the words ‘- in house. Fair play to them, we're all in business to make money, not spend it. But they won't get the chance, I'll see to that. In return, we're going to look after Mr Hughes. We're going to cherish him - that can be your job, if you want - and make sure that no nasty big dogs or dead people push him around. He's got nowhere else to go, so he's happy with the deal. We're happy; we get Bowden Allshapes, plus a nice bonus which I won't go into now. Is there anything there that you - either of you - have a problem with?'

Before Duncan could say,
well, actually, yes
, Veronica stood up. She was still wearing the gloves. ‘I'd better go and check on Sally,' she said. ‘I had to use all the garlic just to keep her quiet - she may be having a bad reaction to it or something.'

Caroline didn't look at her. ‘No, don't do that,' she said.

‘But she might get really sick. She could—'