Mark Dunn - Under the Harrow

“You mean that I am to climb into her cage?”

“Aye.”

Newman said nothing else. He knew not at that moment just how it should feel to be sharing so small a space with so very large a snake, no matter how docile she should be.

“It is the perfect place to put you, Newman. And I will go and tell Miss Wolf where you are so that she can come and get you when the coast is clear.”

Newman thought about this and then said in a small and reedy voice— not at all the sort of voice befitting a bluff and manly explorer of the Outland: “What if I were to remain a bit longer here in the Terra Incognita?”

“But did I not hear you to say that you wished to go home to your family?”

“Yes, but what if for a little while longer I were to stay on the Outside, and could do so by taking myself far from this place to some other place where there are not people who are looking for me so that they should kill me?”

“My, but are you not the conflicted little man! Not unlike my own adventurous younger self. My boy, I regret to inform you that there are agents of the T-Project throughout the world. You cannot escape their reach no matter how hard you try. I warrant that you will spend your final days skirting shadows and jumping at noises that are made behind you until that last one, which will auger the end of you. It is no way to live. I should know, for I lived in the very same way until such time as it was decided that I was merely a raving fool who could do no one harm. Besides, they were much more lenient with escaped Dinglians in those early days. At worst, they placed us into the state mental institution where I myself have been interned more than once. There is an additional advantage to my case, in that most of these Beyonders think that I do not come from Dingley Dell at all, but have merely created that history for myself from the bits I have heard about it over the years, to give myself a colourful ‘character.’ You are young and have many, many good years ahead of you, and I would not wish to see you forfeit them in such a foolhardy way. Therefore, do as I advise: go with Miss Wolf when the time comes. But first, let us get you into Bubbles’ cage. We have chatted far too long and I am growing concerned that we won’t be alone for much longer. Bubbles will like you, and she will be especially fond of you if you come bearing a dead rabbit or two to reward her rejuvenated appetite.”

The old man reached out his bony hand to solicit assistance from Newman in rising from his chair at just the moment that both heard the front door to the building being opened. “Sit there for now!” Mr. Rugg whispered with low-toned urgency, whilst signalling Newman to duck beneath a nearby table. “We haven’t time yet to—”

Mr. Rugg broke off his dictate as Newman secreted himself beneath the table. The very next moment young Clive Peller appeared in the doorway that joined the two rooms.

“David cornered the mamba in Evans’ office. But not before being bitten on the ankle. Where’s the kid who was here earlier? He lied about the snake leaving the north building.”

Young Clive disappeared into the other room but did not suspend his enquiry and commentary. Along with his voice came the sound of rattling and clinking as Clive prepared another hypodermic of antivenom solution. “I also think he’s the one responsible for all this. They said it was some dirty kid in trailer park clothes.”

Mr. Rugg walked to the doorway to speak face-to-face with the son of the Reptilarium’s owners. “The child was here, Mr. Peller, but he fled only a moment ago.”

“Probably for the best. They’re gonna arrest his little delinquent ass. The police are already on their way.”

“He was a quite frightened — a most frightened little man.”

“Now he’s going to be a most incarcerated little man. Dad’s gonna be pissed to the rafters. There are like twenty people out there with all kinds of scrapes and bruises and potential lawsuits dancing like sugarplums in their litigious heads. I can see my inheritance evaporating before my eyes. I could wring the kid’s Goddamned neck myself right now.”

A moment later young Clive was gone. In the succeeding silence Mr. Rugg returned to Newman, who sat upon the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, his trembling hands gripping both legs.

“Upsy daisy,” said the old man.

“Can I not stay right here?”

“I would not recommend it, Newman. Let us put Bubbles to work to protect you. You’re not one of those occasional little boys who is afraid of snakes and snails and puppy-dog tails, now are you?”

Newman shook his head.

“So make haste, lad. We haven’t much time.”

Bubbles was sluggish. It took a bit of pulling and coaxing to get her to relinquish her preferred spot at the front of the cage long enough for Newman to squeeze and crawl past her. But once the two dead rabbits were produced, her nostrils flared and her tongue flicked, and Newman was well on his way to making himself a new friend. He had to admit that Bubbles was a most beautiful and colourful creature, possessed of ruddy brown skin overlaid with a series of large tan-coloured saddles. Closer to the tail the saddles became progressively lighter before breaking into half rings of cream, these contrasting most sharply with the stark redness at the tip.

“Don’t give the dead bunnies to her until you’re safely situated behind her. Then she’ll know for certain the reason you’ve come to visit and will be most appreciative.”

“And how will she shew her appreciation?” asked Newman, struggling through his fear to bring his question to full voice.

Mr. Rugg smiled. “But is it not obvious? She won’t eat you!”

It took scarcely a moment for the old man to rescind his bit of levity, but the damage had been done and Newman’s face had blanched.

“Now I know for certain that you’re a Dinglian,” said Newman as Mr. Rugg closed the door to the cage.“For no Beyonder at such a moment would have jollied me so.”

“I jollied you, Newman, to keep your spirits up. Now you sit tight and make no noise that a snake wouldn’t make, and enjoy your visit with Miss Bubbles. I’ll go off to find Miss Wolf and we will both pray that she’ll be able to safely deliver you from this land that does not love the Dinglian.”

us sat upon the couch next to the plain-looking young woman named Annette and was for a brief period quite happy. The oblong biscuits, which had mint-flavoured chocolate cream sandwiched inside, proved to be a most tasty delicacy, much appreciated by Gus’s unsophisticated palate. But this pleasure paled in comparison to that produced by the liquid delight that accompanied it: coffee — pure and unadulterated. And cups and cups of it! Enough, in fact, to make a Dinglian swoon.

“You like it? It’s ‘Breakfast Blend.’ Not too robust. I don’t like my coffee too bold.” Annette kept her head in an inquisitive tilt to one side, waiting patiently for some response from her coffee-gulping and biscuit-bolting matutinal guest.

“I do. I like it very much.”

“Glad to hear it. There are people who come here — my mother will back me up on this — who wear strange clothing, just like you’re wearing, and are always in a big hurry to be going Heaven-knows-where, until — that is — they get a whiff of the coffee brewing in my Mr. Coffee coffee maker and then suddenly it’s like they’ve just won the lottery! And we’ll sit here for an hour or two and drink our coffee in this most perfect and blissful silence until, you know, something finally motivates them to go, but I always think to myself: what a special little moment that was!”