The Hounds of the Morrigan (50 page)

And then there was suddenly the sound of a cheerful brass band.

Brigit began to dance. She skipped about, full of excitement.

‘Do you hear the band?’ she cried.

‘More Tap-Dancing,’ observed the little brown duck genially, and they all skittered out of the way of her lively feet.

Pidge stole a considering look at the Poor Woman, examining her appearance. He looked at the tattered green dress and the bare feet and he looked at the fox draped over her shoulders. A ragged woman with bare feet wearing a fur, he thought; now we’ll get some funny looks.

He was surprised and mortified then, when he noticed her eyes peeping at him and dancing with merriment, from behind the matted hair that had fallen across her face.

Oh dear, he said to himself. I believe she read my mind.

There was a dip down in the road before them and they could now see the little town. It was dressed in sunshine and bunting, banners and flowers. He looked quickly at the Poor Woman again; but she had a bright smile on her face and she was looking eagerly ahead and he was relieved.

Near the town there were many small fields, one with wheatsheaves in stooks. As they were going by, the stooks got up and danced out on to the road. They were strawboys!

‘Oh, good!’ Brigit said.

Each one wore a suit made from straw and cone-shaped hats, also made of straw, that were bedecked with ribbons; and they carried rattles made of rushes to hit people with, for fun. Two of the strawboys were musicians—one beat a flat, one-sided drum while the other played the fiddle. The group danced up to Brigit and to her great pleasure, their leader gave her a tap on the head with his rattle and then away they went ahead of them, into Baile-na-gCeard.

Hundreds of delighted people thronged the main street and the market square and not one of them gave the Poor Woman and Cooroo a second look. Pidge felt a chuckle bubble inside him. He began to enjoy the idea of hoodwinking everyone with Cooroo posing as a fur; it was part of the celebrations.

Brigit took out her box of swapping sweets and carried it in her hands. Her face was beaming and she tried to see everything at once. She tugged at the lid of her box, but it wouldn’t open yet. Pidge said he thought it might open at a special time and that they would just have to wait and see.

The brass band was in its full glory of scarlet and white with gold braiding on hats, shoulders and chests; and it sat on a dais while the individual members blew a frisky gale of music. Their cheeks were puffed out as if hiding small turnips and each face was as red as ten sunsets. All around the sides of the square, people had set up stalls, hung with flags and flowers and selling all desirable things to satisfy hunger; as well as toys and knick-knacks, fancies and farings. The sound of celebration billowed out of the little town and the smells of hot coffee, roasted meats, boiling sugar, oranges and hot currant bread fought each other to prove which was the mightiest and most delicious. The best smells of all came from a cafe called The Amber Apple.

Brigit was wildly excited and Pidge was thrilled. The whole town seemed to be rejoicing. Cooroo had the greatest difficulty in keeping still; the smell of the meat was so strong and tantalizing and he thought the smell of the people so terrible and threatening. Against all his instincts he forced himself to lie still and make his clever eyes look empty. The Poor Woman felt his heart pounding and racing away like a mad pocket watch.

‘It’s all right—be calm,’ she whispered; and he gained courage from her words.

Still nobody took any special notice of the ‘fur’ around the Poor Woman’s neck or the state of her clothing. It was as if they were all quite accustomed to seeing ragged people with the habit of wearing live foxes on their shoulders.

‘Keep together, lads—and watch out for The Boots,’ warned the little brown duck.

‘We will, oh we will,’ the others answered fervently and nodded their heads up and down to show how serious they were.

Once Pidge thought for a moment or two that he saw the face of a friend in the crowd—a man that looked familiar, who was selling apples and paper windmills from a cart—but he couldn’t find out for sure, as his companions were moving through the press of people and he had to follow them or lose them.

All around, people were having a great time swapping things. They saw a postman swapping three letters for kisses from a blushing young beauty; half a dozen clergymen swapped custard pies as they dodged and hid in shop doorways; two big strong men, stripped to the waist, swapped punches—each swaying rigidly and not budging an inch. The strawboys danced everywhere and there was a fortune-teller’s tent where everyone was getting their fortunes told—even a cat; and a man selling those whistling yellow birds made from papier-mâché, that you swing round from a string on a stick as fast as you like, so that they whistle; and the hucksters and stallholders were clamouring their goods.

‘Sugar Twists! Lovely Sugar Twists—three a penny!’ the nearest one cried.

And there were two small boys, freckled and red-haired, swapping insults and challenges; and two old women in shawls swapping whispers—secrets or recipes or gossip or terrible truths. Three elderly gentlemen in tweed knickerbockers swapped foreign stamps, and a group of young men swapped lies and boasts. A gang of middle-aged ladies stood in the middle of the street and gaily swapped hats, and everyone was wearing a posy or a single flower pinned on somewhere. There were ribbons and streamers and a notice saying that there was a flute competition in one field and that you could climb the greasy pole for a pig in another.

A man with a great cloud of coloured balloons floating over his head called out:

‘Balloo—ins! Get yer Balloo—ins. All colours—all sizes!’

And a woman with a basket was shouting:

‘Brown Sugar! Paper Pokes of Brown Sugar! Buy a tusheen of Brown Sugar—one penny only!’

Another woman in competition with her was bawling:

‘Peggy’s Leg and Money Balls. Buy a Lucky Money Ball.’ But they were all good-natured and enjoying themselves.

Brigit was trying the lid of her box again, her face fixed in a fierce expression as she used all her strength; but it still wouldn’t open. She turned a woebegone look to Pidge.

‘I’ve been very patient,’ she complained.

‘Don’t worry. We just haven’t reached that part yet,’ he guessed, hoping it was true or there’d be murder from Brigit. She cheered up anyway and enjoyed what there was. They kept moving through the crowds.

Then came the sideshows and fire-eaters and tumblers, and an escapologist, and a man who was so double-jointed that he could knot himself like a scarf and still smile because it didn’t hurt a bit. All of the people knocked as much fun as they could out of everything, as if life had no other purpose.

Then, as they turned a corner, a tall thin person was leaning casually against the wall of a shop. With a start, Pidge recognized him as the man who had wanted to buy the book that day, just after everything had seemed to start.
So the hounds were here, too!
A shiver ran through Pidge at being so close to one of them. This one had pretended to be a pedlar. The man bared his teeth in a smile and there were the pointy teeth shining again. The tongue flicked over the teeth and lips, the eyes flicked to Cooroo and a tremor ran through the man. Pidge saw it. Cooroo went as rigid as death, but the woman whispered to him and she glared at the man who forced himself to look away. Pidge shuddered as they passed him by. This was the hound named Fierce—although Pidge didn’t know it.

They can’t touch us here with all these people—even if we run, he thought after a few minutes, and he chuckled aloud.

After this, he glimpsed many people who were unusually tall and thin and he knew who they were. They were the hounds.

Now, someone had started up a barrel-organ and the throng of people were pressing all around, buzzing with talk and singing with laughter, and rattling the paving-stones with their brogues.

A farmer came and asked the woman if she would swap her lovely ducks and geese for a nanny-goat and kid. There was a moment of panic among the ducks and geese, but the Poor Woman explained very politely that they were not hers at all, and so she had no right to swap them for anything, although the nanny had a lot of personality and the kid was a little darling. The farmer tipped his hat and went away.

Pidge noticed that as soon as the farmer had approached them, three of the tall thin ones had appeared from nowhere out of the crowd, and had edged in to hear what was being said.

So that’s their game—spying and prying! he said to himself.

The hounds’ eyes kept flicking all the time to Cooroo in spite of themselves. Although they kept control, they were forced by their very nature to watch him and this they did with eyes as big as grapes. They moved away when the farmer tipped his hat.

There was a terrible moment as well when two women admired Cooroo, and a tall thin person was there as if he’d come out of a conjuror’s hat. One of the women asked if she could just try on the beautiful fur.

‘It’s alive with fleas,’ Brigit said, and they hastily backed away.

After this they listened for a while to the flute competition, and they moved over to stand on a low wall to watch a troupe of dancers doing hornpipes and jigs on a stage made of planks. The wall was entirely occupied by people all watching the nimble figures. Nearby people were buying gooseberries for a penny a pint and cider for tuppence out of a cask, and there was porter out of tubs, and a Try Your Strength Machine that rang a bell if you were strong, and a Three Card Trick and a Find The Lady stall. From the press of the crowd on the wall, a tall thin person was pushed off and he slipped down into some mud where the ground had been churned up by people’s shoes. Before he realized what he was doing, Pidge had jumped down to help him up. There was a strange moment when he found himself looking into startled brown eyes that suddenly took on a questioning and confused expression. Pidge gave a half-smile and went back up on the wall. This tall thin person was Fowler; but Pidge didn’t know that either.

They left the dancing and carried on exploring until suddenly, Pidge and Brigit realized that they had somehow lost their companions somewhere among the swarming people. They stood still and looked about, hoping that they could pick Cooroo out in the throng, but there wasn’t a sight of them anywhere.

They moved on again towards the music of the swings and merry-go-rounds, and they had gone no distance at all, when a single strawboy came dancing along to them. He twirled around a few times, made a low bow and came to stand right in front of Brigit. She closed her eyes and waited to be hit on the head again, as a favour. But the strawboy held out an opened paper bag and said:

‘Swap me a sweet!’

Her face showed excited disbelief as she reached inside the bag and took a sweet. It was a conversation lozenge and the message on it was:

The box of sweets that Brigit had carried so carefully in her hands all through the fair, sprang open. And her face said: ‘At last!’ if ever a face said anything. She handed the strawboy’s sweet to Pidge who read it; and then she peeped into her box and saw that her own sweets were conversation lozenges, too. Pidge put his lips to her ear and whispered that she was to say nothing.

He frowned when a group of tall thin people were suddenly close by and he whispered again to Brigit and told her that they were the hounds. She stared at them rudely and stuck out her tongue. The dog people were near enough to overhear anything said in normal speech, but not near enough to hear the very quiet kind of whisper that Pidge could do, or to get a glimpse of what was written on the sweets. One of them couldn’t help giving a little whine of anxiety, only to be softly growled at by another.

Brigit now offered the strawboy a sweet that asked:

The sweet that she got back was yellow with a blue edge and blue writing, and it replied: