Siberia (10 page)

“No, no!” I was thinking fast. “Of course not! It’s a new kind of factory animal. Bugs are very smart these days, they avoid traps and poisons, so this little factory animal has been developed. I’m an apprentice exterminator. I’m traveling north to join my officer, but I lost my travel voucher, as I told you.”

The ruthless slaughter on the office floor continued. Mr. Ismail had a strange expression, of wonder and longing.

“Look,” I said. “I’m in trouble, you have a problem. Maybe we could come to some agreement?”

He looked at me hard. “Are you offering to
sell
government property, little girl?”

“Not at all,” I said. “I meant you could hire us.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and he rubbed his dirty, bristly chin. He reminded me of Kolya the Nail Collector. He could kill me and feed me to the dogs: keep everything, and he’d probably never get caught. But most people aren’t
really
wicked. I thought there was a good chance he’d rather do business.

“You could hire us,” I repeated. “Listen, you see, what’s happened to me is . . . I was robbed, and lost my rail voucher. That’s how I ended up jumping the goods train. I don’t want money, I just want to join up with my officer again. If you’ll trade me supplies for my journey, or, or a voucher if you can issue one, I could stay here, say a week. By that time you’d be free from bugs and roaches. She— I mean, the factory-animal bug killer, eats the nests and eggs too. We guarantee a year’s protection if we have full access to the infested area.”

“Hm.”

“Then I could come back this way with my officer, and he could give you a regular contract.”

“I’ve never heard of traveling exterminators,” said Mr. Ismail. “I would have to see your papers.”

“They were stolen too. If you’re not interested, you’d better just call someone to come and take me back to the. . . . the exterminators’ college. With my bug killer.”

“Not so hasty, not so hasty.”

For a few moments we watched Nosey, at her heroic hunting.

“You’d stay a week? You don’t . . . you don’t notice the, er, smell?”

I looked surprised. “What smell?”

It was a cunning stroke. Mr. Ismail must have lived with the appalling stink for years, people don’t get to change their jobs in the Settlements. He must hate seeing people wad their handkerchiefs and back away from him. He smiled warmly.

“It’s natural when we’re preparing the skins, it’s quite wholesome really. But some people find the smell a little bit offensive.”

Then I had another piece of bad luck. Just when he was wavering, something on the desk started to buzz. Mr. Ismail unearthed a black intercom box, put on the headphones, and listened with a frown.

“You wait here. Something has come up. I won’t be long.”

“Give us half an hour,” I boasted. “And your office will be bug free for a year.”

I heard him turn a key in the lock, jumped down from my chair, grabbed my knapsack, and knelt there hugging it. There was a small window in the wall behind the desk. Was it big enough for me to squeeze through? I’d have to get it open without making much noise. . . . Nosey came scampering up, and hopped onto my knees. She was bigger again, but her eyes were still tiny and dim. I realized she didn’t
need
eyes very much. She was all nose: and bug-munching teeth. I thought she had very good hearing too, from the way she darted straight for the slightest rustle of bug activity.

She must be able to filter out the smells she didn’t need and concentrate on the tasty ones, because the fur farm stink didn’t seem to bother her. She was lucky: I was trying not to think about it, but that guff was
pulverizing.

She scrambled up the front of my dress, and pressed her round, bullet head against my throat. When I caught her and held her, she took my nose between her little naked paws. I thought she was going to bite me: but she only wanted to touch noses. I wished I’d never thought her eyes looked weird, or that she was a kind of rat. She was the second of my magic Lindquist companions, a warrior and a conqueror, as brave as my darling Nivvy.

“You
saved
us, Nosey. You were terrific. But now we have to get out of here, and you have to get back into the nutshell.”

I was not convinced that Mr. Ismail had bought my story. I didn’t know what I was going to do for supplies, but the first priority was to get away, fast. If Mr. Ismail decided Nosey was a mutie, she was
dead
. If he decided to lock me up and send for the police, it was all over. I let Nosey run onto my shoulder, and quickly got out the nutshell. It had filled out some more, the wrinkles fading as the skin swelled up. It would turn from brown, through red, to yellow: and their cycle would be over. The kits were all right, they hadn’t been hurt when Mr. Ismail threw the bag down. But they were huddled into a tight knot of little bodies, looking scared.

“You must be wondering what’s going on,” I whispered, trying to sound soothing and calm. “We’re at a fur farm. This is where they keep factory animals, not real animals like you: and grow them into material for luxury clothes. You probably won’t believe this, but they
make
it cold, in the winter fashion season, in the cities, so that they can wear furs.”

It was magical the way the kits relaxed at the sound of my voice. It made me feel so powerful, as if everything was going to be all right. Nosey scrambled down my arm. I thought she wanted to get back into the shell, so I didn’t grab her. I opened the shield, keeping up a soft murmur so the kits didn’t panic. “We’ll find somewhere to hide. It’ll be dangerous but it will be worth it. I’ll need a few days to find my way around, but I’m a good thief. I’m going to look for a sled, and some furs, and—”

I was used to smells. But if that fancy lady on the calendar knew how this place
stank,
I wondered, would she still want to wear her sables?

The door opened quietly, and Nosey dropped to the floor. I wailed, and grabbed for her. But she was gone, and the nutshell was on the floor, wide open.

“We’re not ready yet.” I gasped, desperately scrabbling it out of sight. “A few more minutes. I have to run a check.”

I’d got the nutshell closed, with five kits safe inside: but too late. Mr. Ismail had seen them. He took me by the elbows, and put me aside. I didn’t struggle, I knew it was all over if I started to struggle: I had to talk my way out of this.

“Ah!” he cried. “What do you have there? I thought so! Stolen fur-bearer kits!”

“No!” I shouted, desperately. Theft of factory animals was a very serious crime. “Not fur-bearers! Exterminators! Bureau . . . Bureau of Extermination property!”

The door of the office was standing open. Nosey had disappeared, and I was done for. Mr. Ismail’s grip on my arms turned me into a child again. He kept hold of me with one hand, shoved the nutshell back into my knapsack, and gathered it up. Then he hustled me out of the office, locking both doors behind us, and shouting for assistance. A young man, in another of those shaggy brown and gray fur coats, came hurrying over.

“What is it, boss? Trouble?”

“Fur-bearers!” hissed Mr. Ismail, excitedly. “Bright brown ones, very fine, alive! I have five of them. The biggest escaped, it’s in my office.”

“They’re
not
fur-bearers!” I wailed. “They’re bug-eating exterminators, I have a license for them and you’ll be in trouble if you take them!”

“What d’you want me to do?” said the guard, ignoring me.

“You be still,” said Mr. Ismail, giving me a shake. “Find the missing kit,” he told the guard. “We can’t have it roaming around loose. Get the staff checking every building. But search quietly. We have a visitor on the premises, remember. . . . But first, fetch Sultan for me!”

The younger man nodded, and opened a gate in the wire mesh dog pen. He beat his way through the mass of yammering animals, and got a chain around the throat of a big one. Mr. Ismail took the chain from him, and hauled me and the dog to one of the big sheds. He shoved me inside, got down on one knee: grabbed the dog’s ruff and pointed to me.

“
On guard,
Sultan. Don’t move, girl, or he’ll have your throat. I’m not joking!”

He slammed the door and left me there.

I was in despair. I was going to end up somewhere worse than New Dawn now, but I didn’t care about that. The Lindquists! If I had lost them, oh, if I had lost them . . . ! I forced myself to stand still. The dog sat on its haunches on the earth floor and stared at me. It was not as big as I had imagined dogs to be, but it was big enough. Its mouth was hanging open: a long pink mouth, with the tongue lolling out between teeth like jagged white knives. I tried half a step forward.

Sultan curled his lip and made a low, menacing noise. I didn’t dare go any farther. A weapon, I thought. I need a weapon. I glanced around, without taking my eyes off the dog. The shed was big and shadowy, lit by a few white tubes strung across the faraway ceiling. There were packing cases stacked against the walls. I could read what it said on some of them.
Dog Skins, Grade 1; Dog Skins, Grade 2 . . .
In front of the cases on the left-hand wall—almost within my reach— stood a metal rack with furs stretched on it: not silky black fur, like the kind the calendar lady wore, but rough and murky brown, like the guards’ coats. They still had the shape of the animal that had borne them: four legs and a tail. Looking from the dog in front of me to those headless skins, I could easily see the connection. On the floor under the rack I could see a gleaming metal bar.

Sultan watched me, with an unwavering cold gaze. He’s
fur stock,
I told myself. He’s basically clothes, growing. He isn’t trained to kill.
. . .
This didn’t make much difference to my courage. To be killed by something that wasn’t even animal seemed a hideous kind of death, like being killed by a ghost. Or a giant roach.

What could I do? I talked to the Lindquists, and my voice soothed them. Was that magic? Had it passed from Mama to me? Would it work on this brute? I was desperate enough to try. “Sultan? You don’t owe these people any loyalty.” I made my voice gentle, crooning, kindly. “Look, those are
dog
skins. They send the fancy furs to the city, but they wear dog skins themselves. You know they do, you see them in their dog skins every day. I bet you think they only take the weaklings, but it’s going to happen to you. They’ll chop your head and paws off, your flesh will be fed to your brothers and sisters.” I didn’t think it mattered what I said, it was my voice that counted, but trying to scare him made me feel better. “You think the humans here care about you? They keep you locked up, they keep you in chains, all they see is a big factory animal, just a
fur-bearer
.”

The dog pricked its ears. I thought it was listening, it was fascinated by the crooning sound. I slid my foot sideways. I just needed to reach that rail of skins, and shove it hard. Once Sultan was down, entangled in the furs, I would grab that bar and club him over the head. “They’ll come for you one morning. They’ll probably give you a special meal, to fool you. Then they’ll pull your teeth, stretch you out on the rack, and
skin you while you’re still alive,
and the other dogs will gather round. The ones that hated you because you were Mr. Ismail’s favorite, they’ll be snapping for bits of your flesh.” Sultan seemed to be taking this horrific future in: I hoped it was making him sweat, because I had cold dews and sick shivers running down my spine. I slid my other foot, I leapt sideways. I grabbed: I shoved with all my strength.

Sultan was on the floor, buried in a mess of partly cured dog hides. I flung myself on the metal bar
. . .
but it wasn’t a loose bar! It was bolted into concrete blocks. It was one of the floor runners that the racks were meant to slide along.

If I could reach the packing cases before he was free, at least I could climb out of reach. But when I jumped up, my right leg, my bad leg, buckled. I barely managed to keep on my feet, holding a half-cured dog hide as a shield as I backed away.

“I’m telling you the truth!” I gasped. “They’re going to skin you!”

The dog no longer seemed impressed. It came on, its front legs braced and the thick ruff standing up behind its head. Trained or not, it looked murderous. But something was happening behind Sultan, something very bizarre. There was a fresh, lengthening hummock in the earth floor. It was
moving
fast.
It had come in under the door, it was zooming along like a mobile, miniature earthquake.

The hummock exploded. Sultan yelped, and leapt into the air. There was something dangling from one of his back paws. It was
Nosey
, twice as big as she had been in Mr. Ismail’s office. Sultan snapped dementedly at his own foot. Nosey let go, but instantly fastened her teeth again, in the tendon of the dog’s heel. She had no fear! Sultan howled and danced in circles. I scrambled up the packing cases, and crawled along the top of them to the doorway. There was a gap between the wooden door and the frame, big enough for me to slip my hand through. I groped, and fumbled, and found the end of the bolt. I started to tug on it, but then I realized.

“Nosey!” I yelled.

She knew my voice. She came straight to me, clambering up the cases. Her naked paws had changed. They were broad and flat, like pink shovels with heavy, curving claws; her pelt was dark gray velvet. Sultan jumped and jumped, furious because he couldn’t reach us. “Nosey,” I gasped, “I think I can open the door, but then I’ll have to get down, and he’s going to come right after me, barking his head off.
I have to find the
kits.
Can you help?”

I knew my mama’s magic would have an answer.

Nosey sniffed at me, her bleary eyes lost in the velvet fur. There was a drop of blood on her twitching nose: but I’m sure it was Sultan’s. She was now about the size of a man’s hand, but it was still a mystery where she’d put all those roaches. She must have eaten twenty times her own weight. But then the mystery was solved, right in front of my eyes.
. . .
The Lindquist sat back and
grew
. She grew: her fur stuck out and thickened into pointed barbs. I saw her eyes grow brighter, and cheekier. She almost seemed to be laughing silently. Then she rolled herself up, dropped from the packing cases, and landed on the floor, a solid mass of blackthorn spines, all pointing outward.