Terry Pratchett - The Long War

He couldn’t step. And presumably none of his kind could, either. Jansson had to cling to that thought, that she could do something he couldn’t—

She coughed, and shivered, a wave of weakness passing over her.

The beagle turned on her. “Your name?”

His language was distorted, a mix of dog-like growls and whines. Hrr-your-rrh ne-rr-mmhh? Yet he clearly spoke English, his words understandable. Another astonishing conceptual leap for an ex-cop like Jansson to absorb.

Jansson tried to stand straight. “Monica Jansson. Formerly Lieutenant, Madison PD.”

The beagle cocked his head on one side, evidently puzzled. He turned to Sally. “You?”

“Sally Linsay.”

The beagle raised his fore-limb, his arm, and pointed at his chest. Jansson saw that his paw, his hand, had four extended finger-like appendages, nothing like a thumb, and he wore a kind of leathery glove over his palm. Protection for when he went on all fours, perhaps. “My name,” he said now. “Snowy.”

Sally clearly tried not to, but burst out laughing.

Jansson turned to the kobold. “ Snowy? ”

The kobold grinned nervously. “Other pathless-ss ones came befo-rre… Gave na-mme.”

Sally said, “And I know your name. Finn McCool, right?” She glanced at Jansson. “One of the smarter of his breed. Good with humans. I might have known you’d be involved in this, chasing some angle.”

The kobold just grinned. “Josh-shua.”

Sally scowled. “What about Joshua?”

But the kobold would not reply.

Snowy studied them. “You,” he said to Sally, “crotch-stink human-nn.”

“Thanks.”

“Smell same as befor-rre. Like othe-hhrs of your kind. But-tt you …”

He came closer to Jansson. She tried not to flinch as, his eyes half-closed, he sniffed her breath. He smelled of wet fur and a kind of musk.

“St-hhrange. Sick. You smell sick-hrr.”

“Very perceptive,” murmured Jansson.

He stepped back, raised his head and howled, a sharp, supremely loud noise that made Jansson wince, and Sally cover her ears. It was answered within a few seconds by another howl coming from the east.

Snowy turned and pointed that way. “My Den. Smell of my litter-hrr. Name, Eye of Hunter-rrh. Cart coming, ca-rrhy you. Granddaughter of Den, name Petra. Sh-she see you. Granddaughter back from Den of Mother, fa-hhr from here.”

Sally asked, “Does this Granddaughter know about us?”

“Not yet. Surp-hhrrise by Snowy.” He pulled back his lips to reveal very canine teeth in a kind of smile. “Rewar-rrd for Snowy, for gi-ffft.” He sounded breathless, agitated.

Sally murmured to Jansson, “Don’t look down.”

“Why not?”

“If you do you’ll see how he’s already anticipating the reward he’s going to get from this Granddaughter, whoever she is.”

Snowy walked away, to Jansson’s relief, a big priapic animal backing off and looking out for the cart.

The kobold was still here, grinning at them.

Jansson said wearily, “So am I allowed to ask questions?”

Sally laughed. “If you can figure out where to begin.”

Jansson jabbed a finger at McCool. “I know of your kind. The police agencies across the Low Earths keep records of you. Partial sightings, fragmentary reports, scratchy CCTV images… What are you doing here?”

McCool shrugged. “Hel-pp you. For price.” Prei-sss .

“Of course, for a price,” Sally said. “I knew that the kobolds were always going to know where the trolls are hiding out, Monica.”

“So you went to them and asked—”

“They all know each other. They swap information. The trolls have their long call. With the kobolds it’s more like the long snitch. Anything they know is swapped around and sold to the highest bidder. So I followed the rumour trail, one scrawny kobold to the next. At last I found one who told me to bring Mary to the Rectangles. And then—well, you know the rest. From there we were brought here, to this arid world, this Joker, full of these dog-like sapients.”

“Beagles,” McCool said. “Called beagles-ss.”

Jansson asked, “Who by? Why beagles?”

“Who? Other pathless-ss ones, here before. They call them beagles-ss.”

Sally said, “Somebody’s having a joke. I bet we can blame Charles Darwin for that .”

Finn McCool shrugged. It was an unnatural motion, Jansson thought, less like a human gesture than a monkey performing a circus trick.

Jansson asked, “And is that how he got his ‘name’? Snowy?”

Another shrug. “Human na-mme. Not true name. Beagles-ss not speak true na-mme to human-nn. Kobolds not ss-peak true name to pathless-ss ones.”

“How is it he speaks English at all? Learned from humans?”

“No. Kobolds here first. Kobolds sell beagles ss-tuff.”

Jansson nodded. “You already spoke English. So the beagles were the first to learn your language rather than the other way around.”

“Beagles are smarter than kobolds, then,” Sally said with a satisfied grin.

McCool looked away, edgy, nervous.

There was a plume of dust, coming from the east. Snowy spotted it, sniffed the air, howled again. There was an answering howl from off in the distance, and what sounded like a throaty caw to Jansson, like the cry of some tremendous bird. Jansson shivered again, having no real idea what she was getting into.

She turned back to McCool. “Tell me one more thing. That beagle, Snowy, was carrying a stone-tipped spear—and a ray gun.”

Sally grunted. “Actually it looked like a compact laser projector.”

“We just got here. But I don’t see any cities, any planes in the sky. How did some kind of Stone Age warrior get a laser gun?”

Sally said to McCool, “From some other world, stepwise. From you kobolds. Right? So is that your angle here?”

The kobold grinned again. “Beagles not ss-tep. Smart but no toolss. Only ss-tone. Buy tool-ss from us-ss, all kinda stuff.”

“Including a weapon,” Sally murmured, “that looked like it came from a society more advanced even than Datum Earth. Where did you get it, monkey boy?”

“Dug up,” Finn McCool said simply, and he grinned, and would say no more.

That approaching dust plume resolved into a cart, a heavy frame of wood running on four solid wooden wheels that seemed to be rimmed with rusty iron. Another beagle, perhaps slighter than Snowy, stood on the cart’s bed, wielding reins. Taller than Jansson, taller even than Snowy, the bird things had fat feathered bodies with stubby wings, muscular legs, feet tipped with claws like sickles, long pillar-like necks, and heads that looked all beak. Yet they were harnessed up and appeared obedient.

“That would be an astonishing sight,” Jansson murmured. “A dog riding a cart. Even if it wasn’t being drawn by two huge birds. If you filmed that and put it on the outernet it would be a comedy sensation.”

Sally touched Jansson’s arm, surprisingly sympathetic. “Just let the strangeness wash over you, Lieutenant Jansson. Come on…”

Hastily they packed up their few bits of gear.

The cart slowed to a stop. The beagle driver jumped to the ground, and she—nude save for a kind of belt of pockets, you could see she was female—greeted Snowy. They ran around each other briefly, and Snowy even dropped for a moment to all fours, wagging a stub of tail.

“The females are dominant,” Sally murmured.

“What?”

“Look at the two of them. He’s more pleased to see her than the other way around. Something worth noting.”

“Hmm. Maybe you’re jumping to conclusions.”

Sally snorted. “You could learn all you need to know about human males from one miserable specimen. Why not the same here? Listen, we need to find an angle of our own.”