Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

She glanced around. There was a bucket and milking stool to one side. But first she turned and searched for the grain that would be used for the chicken feed. There was a sack nearby. That task over, she turned her attention to the goats. There was a stack of hay, which she knew to be the primary source of nutrients for goats during the winter months, and she distributed it in their feeding trough, making sure that neither of the two does were in need of milking. There was still water available. It did not take long to place the cow’s feed ready, but the animal was still lowing and it was obvious what the priority was.

With a sigh, she placed the three-legged stool and took the bucket. She had not milked a cow since she was a young girl but she had not forgotten the technique. Finally, with the cow content and the bucket full of warm milk, she turned to her next task. Aonbharr would have to accept being stabled next to the cow. She led her horse in and unsaddled him. Then, finding a soft brush, vigorously took the snow from his coat and dried it as best she could with handfuls of hay. Then she spotted a heavy, ageing horse blanket tucked away in the corner of some rafters. She covered Aonbharr with it and managed to find a small sack of oats, making sure that he was able to reach the trough of water. A contented quiet had descended on the inhabitants of the barn and so, with tasks fulfilled, she took the storm-lantern and the bucket of milk and went outside, closing the door behind her.

Night had fully descended now but the wind was still gusting and howling, causing the snow to come almost horizontally across the valley. She stood for a moment, storm-lantern in hand, head to one side listening to the sound of the tempest. Now and then she turned, thinking she detected the cries of the wolves amidst the mountains. That reminded her, and she retraced her steps back to where the body of the terrier lay. She paused, shaking her head sadly before she passed into the bóthan and placed the milk on the table. The fire was blazing away now. She searched quickly hoping to find a spade or any similar implement.

She was tired now, cold and hungry. The task would have to wait until morning, but she had a practical duty first. She went outside again with the storm-lantern. She set it by the dead animal, untied the leash and wiped the falling snow away as much as she could. Then she examined her surroundings. There was little choice. She had half-dragged, half-carried the carcass of the animal to a depression she could see a little way down the hill from the cabin, and pushed the body into it, before looking around for rocks and stones under the covering of snow. These she placed over the remains, packing them with as much snow as she could.

“Sorry, boy,” she said grimly. “That’s as much as I can do this night.”

Her main purpose was to prevent scavengers from savaging the body, until she could bury it properly. With wolves in the vicinity it was dangerous to leave a carcass in the open, especially when there was a barn of live animals nearby.

Her duty to the livestock complete, she collected the storm-lantern and returned to the cabin, securing the door behind her. She went to the fire and placed more logs on it. Then, glancing round to ensure all was secure, she stood before the fire, took off her clothes and drew a blanket she had taken from the cot around her, using it to rub her cold limbs vigorously. Finally dry and warm, she turned, took an earthenware mug and helped herself to the fresh milk.

One of the cupboards revealed some slightly stale bread, cheese and cold meats. They seemed completely edible. She made herself a meal then, drawing a large wooden chair with arms on it before the fire, sat there eating her frugal meal and staring into the flames. As she did so, she allowed her mind to consider the problem that confronted her.

What had happened to the occupants of the bóthan ?

She used the plural because she had discovered female items of clothing and toiletry as well as male. She presumed that they were husband and wife, existing in this lonely hill-farm. They had deserted the place for no more than a day or so before her arrival, leaving the cow to be milked and the animals unfed. Why? She could accept the idea that the man had gone off to look for one of his animals in the snowstorm and come to some grief. That was not impossible in these mountains. Perhaps his wife, in desperation, had gone to look for him.

There was only one thing that made her uncomfortable about that explanation. The dead guard dog; the terrier outside the door with his skull smashed in.

She moved forward and placed another log on the fire, watching it crackle a little with the sparks flying upwards into the chimney. She meditated on the problem for a while, listening to the whispering wail of the wind around the eaves of the cabin and, now and again, the lonely howl of the wolves.

Sleep crept up on her unawares.

When she awoke she felt suddenly cold and with that half-dreaming, half-waking sensation that there were other people in the room talking to her; a laugh, a cry, a strange thumping sound. She lay for a moment, that moment between sleep and waking when dreams seem as real as actuality. Then she stiffened. She was fully awake and she could hear people talking; again she could hear an odd thumping sound. Her eyes stared into the semi-gloom around her. The embers of the fire lighted the cabin for she had extinguished the oil lamp. She could see nothing. The interior of the cabin was as empty as when she had arrived.

Slowly she sat up, feeling stiff and uncomfortable, took the oil lamp and, igniting it from the embers of the fire, stood up holding it high, and peered round again.

She distinctly heard a laugh. It was far away but not outside the cabin. It seemed to come from under her very feet. It was harsh, without humour, almost … almost evil. Fidelma hardly ever applied that word to anything. Then there came two thuds, in quick succession, which seemed to cause the very cabin to shake. The floor seemed to vibrate. She waited, lamp in hand, every nerve tensed, her senses alert. But there was quiet now. An eternity seemed to pass and she could hear nothing more than the wailing of the wind. She moved quietly to the small window but it was blocked with snow. She hesitated a moment, placed the lamp on the table and went to the door, removing the wooden bar which fastened it.

Outside, the snow was still gusting in the wind but it remained dark. She could not tell how near dawn it was, only that there was no glimmer of light in the sky. The snow-clouds hid the moon as well as the stars. Then, near at hand, came the eerie howl of a wolf and, so it seemed, another animal close by answered the cry. She peered forward, suddenly nervous. The cry started again, and was answered again. It was clear that this was no lone wolf, weak and banished from the pack. These sounds were of hunting wolves, which meant perhaps as many as ten. She knew that country folk were liable to exaggerate the stories of wolf attacks on livestock and on people. Tradition painted the wolves as the incarnation of evil and malevolence, and, while Fidelma knew more than most about woodcraft, she admitted to having respect for ancient tales. She swiftly pushed the door shut again and put the bar back in place, making certain that it was secure.

She stood for a moment in uncertainty. Finally she turned, to build up the fire again before sitting down in the chair and pulling the blanket around her for more warmth. Somehow she had no inclination to go to lay down on the bed of the absent occupants.

There were only two possibilities for what had occurred. She had either imagined things or they had been real. And if they were real, then there must be an explanation. She had not been imagining things. Of that, she was absolutely sure. She had heard voices, and she had heard the thuds that shook the cabin.