C Fletcher - A Boy and His Dog at the End of the World

The thought made me look away. It had the nasty finality of an unwelcome truth. I felt ashamed of being human.

Dogs were with us from the very beginning. And of all the animals that walked the long centuries beside us, they always walked the closest.

And then they paid the price. Fuck us.

Maybe the Gelding wasn’t an accident. Maybe it was just desserts.

That’s what makes her a commodity, he said.

What’s a commodity? I said.

I knew. Sort of. But I wasn’t sure he did. And I wanted time to get my thoughts together and get away from the sad thought of the millions of dogs that must have wondered why they couldn’t have litters any more.

It’s something you trade, he said.

And you’re a trader, I said. When you’re not being a thief.

Sometimes, he said, nodding. Mostly I’m just a traveller. I don’t meet enough people to trade with.

But you meet enough to thieve from, I said.

Do I? he said.

Yes, I said.

That converter. For the wind turbine. The one I came to trade with your dad, he said.

What about it? I said.

You came aboard my boat, he said. Like a thief yourself. No invitation. Took my chart.

That’s different, I said.

You see that converter while you were there? he said.

I let the silence suck a little more air from the room as I thought.

I wasn’t looking for it, I said. It was dark.

You didn’t see where I left it on the beach on your island then, he said.

I stared at him. He grinned some more and then shrugged magnanimously.

I mean, fair enough—you came after me like your arse was on fire, so you probably didn’t have time to have a good look around, he said.

But, I said.

And you were well asleep while me and your dad were still up talking by the fire, he said. So you don’t really know what deals were done. Do you?

Dad would never have given up Jess, I said. Jess is my dog.

Sure about that, are you? he said. Sure your dad would never make a deal where he sacrificed one thing to save a bigger one?

Jess is mine, I said. She’s not anyone’s to trade.

Okay, he said. If you say so.

Liars lie. That’s what they do. That’s what he was doing. Lying, and in so doing trying to make me lie to myself. Trying to make me not trust my family. Liars lie by cutting you loose from what you thought was so and persuading you this other thing they are waving in front of you is the new truth. You will have come across many liars in your crowded world. I expect you knew this from the get-go. I imagine you were prepared for them, and knew how to deal with them. I hadn’t met a liar until Brand sailed into our lives. But I already knew this about how they work and what they feed on. Liars want you off balance and alone, so you can drown in self-doubt.

Brand already had me halfway there before I noticed what he was doing.

If you’re doing so well, I said, what are you doing in here?

That, he said, is a good question. But before I answer it, you answer my question. Man to man. Are you going to try and kill me?

What? I said. His directness had again winded me.

You’re glaring at me like you are going to leap at me at any moment and it’s a small enough space we seem to find ourselves in, and we should get this out of the way, otherwise it’s going to be exhausting. So I’ll ask again. Man to man. Are you going to try to kill me?

You’re bigger than me, I said. And violence is stupid anyway. And you stole my dog. You didn’t kill my family.

I paused for a moment and wondered if they had recovered. I had after all left them distinctly vomitous and grey-faced.

So? he said, blue eyes glittering.

So, I said. Man to man? I won’t kill you.

He nodded.

Okay, he said. Well, that’s reasonable if we’re to be locked up in here for a while.

Especially if you give me back my dog, I said.

He didn’t quite know what to make of that. He decided to hang a smile on it, but it hung a little more lopsided than normal and I had the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t quite sure of me.

So what are you doing in here? I said.

It’s as they said, he said. A lone traveller, a Freeman came through carrying a disease that raised boils in the armpits and killed three of them after he left and went north.

This had to be the same traveller John Dark had told me about. The one who caused la pest , the Freeman whose key I wore round my neck.

So the Cons have decided anyone from outside has to sit in quarantine and not be ill for a month before they let them into the compound, he said. That’s why they were wearing the masks and scarves. They don’t want to breathe our air until they know we’re clean.

The Cons? I said.

Conservators, he said. It’s what they call themselves. They’re not the nicest people in the world. They don’t have much of a sense of humour. They have a mission instead. But though they don’t travel much now, they are great traders for the few of us who go about the world.

What’s their mission? I said.

They want to conserve the human race, he said. They want to repopulate the world. They want to fix what has changed because they think that “changed” is the same as “broken” and that the glories of what once was must always be better than the excitement of what might be in the future. Great breeders they are, and they want to put the clock back, and there’s no telling them it can’t be done. They’re stubborn—like you. But with less heart.

That was typical of Brand. Unsettle you and then slide in a compliment to make you trust him a little bit.

And that was never a good thing to do. As I was about to find out. Again.

Forewarned is not always forearmed. Sometimes you spend so much effort looking out for the trap you know is there that you miss the other one you didn’t know about.

I had to tell them about Jip. I figured he would be all right for a day maybe even two, but the pan of water I had left him wouldn’t last, and it would be better for them to have him than for him to die a long nasty death of thirst. And then the packhorse had to be unhobbled too, taken in or allowed to roam free.

I decided, however, that I would wait out that first day in case I could find a way to escape, that Jip would forgive me this. I did, after all have my Leatherman. They hadn’t searched me because they had been scared to touch me.

Have you tried to escape? I said to Brand.

Why would I? he said. They’ll let me out eventually. I haven’t got the plague. They feed me well here. It’s quite restful. I catch up on my sleep, nothing to worry about. And they like me.

So they don’t know you very well, I said.

Again that flash of white parted his beard, the little grin that now put my teeth on edge.

They’ve stopped travelling, he said. They used to. But then the three best sailors among them went off on a fine summer’s day, dropped over the horizon into a dark storm that lasted a day and a night and never came back. My guess is the sea took them. And now those that remain, they think it’s too dangerous. So they like me because I can go out into the world they’re scared of and bring them back useful things.

Like my dog, I said.

Well yes, he said. They like the idea of being able to breed guard dogs. And then he sighed. There have been wolves around that attack their sheep and they worry that one day the wolves might attack them, which is stupid, because wolves don’t attack people. I read that in a book.

I didn’t tell him he was wrong. Maybe one day he’d trust a wolf, believing the lie he’d read, and that would be as good a way for him to get the nasty surprise I wished on him as any other.