Chapter Thirteen

My reaction was drowned by the screech of the train whistle. I tottered in place as much from the movement of the locomotive as from the staggering reappearance of the cyclopean harpy. (Two classical references in one - who says my writing has no literary merit? Well, everyone; alas!)

“Look here!” I pointed a finger.

“No; you look here,” she pointed a gnarled one back. I glanced over my shoulder and then, when my brain had registered the information from my retinas, turned around for a longer look.

Miss Pepper was standing behind the door, her eyes wide with terror. A hairy hand was around her throat and over her shoulder loomed the furry, canine features of Tommy, the dog-headed youth. His tongue hung loosely from the side of his mouth. Miss Pepper’s skin glistened wetly; he had already given her a good licking.

“Now look here!”

“You said that already.”

“Release Miss Pepper at once.”

“Unlikely.” One-Eyed Helen produced her ugly knife. She was keen to have us better acquainted with it.

“What is it you want, damn you?”

Helen sneered. “There’s my diary, for one thing.”

“Take your damned diary. More tedious, sensationalist rubbish I have never read.”

“Oh, I have,” she scowled. “I’ve read Kiss of the Water Nymph.”

That cut me to the quick. I was on the brink of rolling up my sleeves and giving her what for, when the door slid open again. All four of us froze as the conductor’s head peered in.

“Say, Hilary, your friends need their tickets punched?”

“I’ll say,” I said. I dodged and feinted, seized the old bird’s knife arm and threw her over her own shoulder to the floor - Moves I had learned from Cuthbert. (He was eager to teach me self-defence and is forever tossing me around.)

Tommy barked in anger. He shoved Miss Pepper into the arms of the bewildered railwayman and leapt at yours truly. I thought I’d had it but, luckily, Tommy tripped over his fallen mistress. While he was disentangling himself, I could see no other means of escape: I heaved the window open and climbed outwards and upwards. Tommy snapped at my heels. Seconds later, he joined me on the roof of the train.

My choices were two. I could stand and fight or I could flee.

I fled.

Tommy - and, no doubt, his fleas - came after me.

I don’t know whether you have ever run along the roof of a moving locomotive against the direction of travel. Let me save you the bother and tell you it is not the wisest or easiest undertaking. The roof is curved, for one thing. Bevelled, you might say or even cambered, if pressed, making it difficult for a chap to get any purchase let alone move at speed. Tommy, although sporting hobnail boots advanced with apparent ease. Perhaps there was something of the nimble-footed llama in his make-up. I did not stop to ask. I scrambled as best as I could along the length of the carriage, trying to pick up speed enough to give me the momentum necessary for the leap to the next carriage. I was certain I would bounce off and be flung to the ground. The grassy fields of North (or was it South by now?) Carolina were rolling by below us in a blur. Despite their apparent softness, I was sure the impact of my landing would cause me considerable discomfort - to put it mildly.

I looked over my shoulder in time to see Tommy spring across the gap as though it was nothing. There was a burning look in his eyes that I didn’t care for; it spurred me to keep running. I threw myself at the next carriage but I landed awkwardly, losing my footing. I was flat on my front, trying to attach myself to the roof like a limpet. Tommy was gaining on me. I could hear the low growls in the back of his throat. At any second, he could pounce on me and that would be it for Hector Mortlake.

The astute reader will guess that I lived beyond that moment. Here’s how.

I rolled over so that Tommy landed on the wood. Unfortunately, the rolling took me to the edge and over it, but Providence was not entirely set against me. I hung on by my fingertips with my legs and torso hanging against a window. I heard Tommy grunt in surprise and confusion - I knew it would not take him long to work out where I was, so I began to sidle along, hand over hand. I made little progress before Tommy was swiping at me with a hefty paw. It was all I could do to evade his blows.

Meanwhile, in the compartment, a woman was screaming. The window was opened - by the woman’s husband, I imagine - but instead of helping me inside, the blighter began to swat me with a parasol, cursing about stowaways and fare dodgers.

I had no time to argue my case. Still hanging by one hand, I snatched the parasol with the other and gave the fellow a hearty poke in the sternum with it. He backed away. And closed the window.

I used the hook of the handle to attach myself to the roof and continued, with greater urgency, to flee from Tommy’s clutches.

The fields fell away and I peered ahead. The train was approaching a bridge, spanning a deep gorge. It occurred to me the parasol might, if opened, enable me to float down to relative safety (or to perils new) but I elected not to risk it. And perhaps some minuscule portion of me did not wish to abandon Miss Pepper, who was probably having a hard time of it with old One-Eyed Helen at that very minute.

I reached, no thanks to Tommy’s exertions, the end of the carriage and turned the corner. The next carriage was only a couple of feet away, if I could steel myself to leap from the links between the two. A length of chain suspended between the cars assisted me - the parasol, alas, was dropped onto the track and in an instant crushed and obliterated. I swayed perilously between the two carriages, teetering between life and death. Tommy was watching with an almost bemused expression from the roof. He was not going to risk pouncing on me and taking us both beneath the thundering wheels. I relinquished the length of chain and hurled myself to the next carriage. It was the box car!

A narrow ladder was affixed to the side. I scaled it quickly and reached the roof while Tommy was preparing to leap. As he landed where only seconds before I had been standing, I threw myself at a hatch in the roof and tugged it open. I dropped into the carriage, plunging into darkness. I landed awkwardly - my ankle would not thank me for it - and sought to conceal myself among the crates and cases.

I don’t know what the score is with dogs and seeing in the dark. I rather think that’s cats, isn’t it? I saw the silhouette of Tommy’s dog head framed in the square of sunlight. His growling filled the car - louder it seemed than the rattling of the train on the tracks. There was a soft thud as Tommy lowered himself to the floor. The growls were superseded by a more dreadful sound, given the circumstances. Tommy sniffed the warm, dry air of the box car. You see, it’s not eyes with dogs; it’s noses. And I have no doubt, Tommy’s sense of smell would not be hampered in the slightest by the low levels of lighting. Add to that, the perspiration that resulted from my pains and I was both a sitting and a stinking duck.

And I had trapped myself behind some crates!

Tommy stopped sniffing. Which could only mean he knew where I was. It could only be a matter of time and not much of it. I froze. The sweat on my body turned cold. Tommy stalked slowly and deliberately toward my hiding place - he was enjoying it!

That made one of us.

I shrank back and my calves struck something, bumping me into a sitting position. I was on my trunk! That is to say the trunk containing the remains of King Xolotl.

An idea!

There wasn’t enough room for the two of us in there and so, making silent apologies to the old boy, I opened the lid and heaved him out. He didn’t take much heaving - as I may have mentioned earlier, he was more bandage than anything; those bandages felt like paper and the bones they covered were as light as dry twigs. Made my job a lot easier, I can tell you. I stepped into the trunk and hunkered down but before I could see to pulling the lid down after me, the large case that had afforded me concealment was flung aside. Tommy gave a yip of triumph. I am not entirely certain but I think gobbets of foam and saliva dripped from his fearsome jaws.

“Nice doggy...” I muttered feebly.

Tommy lunged. His teeth clamped on the arm of the mummy and so began a macabre tug-o’-war. I don’t know why I allowed it to go on for as long as it did - out of respect for His Maj, I expect - but eventually there was a ripping sound and Tommy stumbled backwards with King Xolotl’s desiccated arm between his teeth. He shook his head, snarling menacingly. I took advantage of the momentary distraction to steal away. Climbing on boxes and chests put me in with a good chance of reaching the hatch and the roof beyond. It also meant I was creating a means of egress for my canine pursuer too. It didn’t take him long to cotton on to what I was up to and come after me.

There was no time to close the hatch. I concentrated on getting my body away from there - at least this time I wasn’t fighting against the direction of travel, but I had injured my ankle and that slowed my progress and marred my agility to no small degree. Tommy was dogging my footsteps. I leapt to the next carriage and came down hard, jarring my knees. What with that and the ankle, I could go no further.

The moment had come for Hector Mortlake to choose his fate. I could be torn apart by a slavering beast or I could save Tommy the trouble and fling myself from the train.

Decisions, decisions!

I would have liked to have seen Cuthbert one last time - Odd the thoughts that occur to one in times of duress.

The relentless Tommy landed nimbly and, perceiving, I was no longer running away, slowed to a more measured but no less terrifying pace. It was then that I saw he was still carrying the arm of Xolotl in his mouth. It seemed sacrilegious.

And then, the most extraordinary thing!

Tommy knelt before me and looked up with an expectant expression, calling to mind Cuthbert for some reason... Now, I haven’t interacted with a dog since I was a wee boy but there is an understanding between man and mutt that is unmistakable. I knew what I had to do.

“Good boy; good boy, Tommy,” I smiled. I took the arm from him; he kept his eyes on it and panted in eager anticipation.

I raised the arm high above my head, almost losing my balance in the process. Steam was billowing around me in such a way I was anxious Tommy would not see what I was doing. I flung that arm as high and as far as I could. Tommy’s eyes never left it - he leapt like a coiled spring, elongating his body to go after it.

And that was that.

Tommy was gone. All right, we were down by one mummified limb but on the whole I was pleased with the result.