CHAPTER ELEVEN

THOMAS WOLF’S TALE

 

 

THOMAS WOLF WALKED out into the chamber, followed by Evelyn War. Walter Sickert’s grandfather and Reuben Blades disappeared into the crowd behind them.

The throng of Warschauer Pack parted as they realised their tale-teller had come among them. They stared at Evelyn, following in his wake, and looked to one another for reassurance.

Thomas Wolf took up a position several metres in front of where the two pack leaders sat together. Evelyn noticed, for the first time, that he did not have a staff of office; that he did not need one.

The heavy-set Aux stretched his massive arms out on either side of his barrel chest and brought his meaty hands together in a resounding clap that echoed around the chamber. Any Aux that had not already fallen silent soon did so.

Then the tale-teller turned his head, casting his eyes around the room to make sure that he had everyone’s attention. When he was satisfied, he began.

“Gene the Hackman, top dog, him done the great Walk Around. Not for him the darkness, not for him the cold, not for him the Time of Ice. Gene the Hackman, him got whet. Gene the Hackman, him got whet and walked the Earth, and him killed Them.”

Evelyn was confused. This was not what she expected.

There followed a long silence.

“This is not that,” Thomas Wolf said in a lower voice.

The gathered Warschauer, and the Zoo Packers among them, swayed and shuffled, waiting to hear the tale that they were expecting.

“The Time of Ice, him were long and him is old and tired, and him is dying, deader and dead,” said the tale-teller. The words were new, never before spoken, not by him, not by anyone. Never before heard by the Warschauer Pack.

Evelyn had not moved from where she stood, slightly apart, in the front rank of listeners.

Thomas Wolf stopped again. He glanced at Evelyn, as if for confirmation. She did not know what to do, so she simply looked at him with firm eyes. She hoped that she could fill him with some of the intent that she felt, some of the intent that her father had passed on to her.

“There is strength in numbers,” said the tale-teller. He stopped abruptly, and there were some low murmurs from several Aux in the crowd.

“The ice, him creaks and him moans. Him hurt bad. Him dying. The sun, him hot and bright. The sun, him new again. Him reborn in a new age. Him reborn in the age of wet. It is time to get whet.”

The tale-teller breathed hard, mustering his confidence. He was speaking plainly, in his low, musical tones. Everyone in the huge chamber could hear him, but Evelyn was afraid.

Evelyn was afraid that without conviction, without phlegm, Thomas Wolf’s words would carry no meaning. He would not speak with the confidence of a legend learned, of words deeply embedded in his consciousness.

“It is time to get whet,” said the tale-teller again. “The Warschauer Packers, them walk the tunnels and them take blades and crossbows and them never return. Them scrap with blades and them scrap with crossbows, tougher and tough, and them never return. How many? Them get whet and them never return, deader and dead.”

The tale-teller’s voice was steady now, firm and strong as he remembered the scrappers the Pack had lost in the last days and weeks.

Evelyn could feel his mettle growing, and she could feel the Aux around her being drawn into the story. They knew he was right. They knew he was speaking the truth. They wanted answers.

“Raymond Carver, him tougher and tough. Him much loved. Him strong and brave. Him gone, deader and dead. Him gone underground. Him never return,” said Thomas Wolf.

“We know Raymond Carver, him not killed by an Aux. Him could scrap with any Aux and return. Him not killed by a beast. Him a killer of beasts. Him our best hunter. Him skittle-scuttle fast. Him tougher and tough.

“Raymond Carver, him killed by the times. Him killed by Them what whistle. Him killed by THEM! All Warschauer scrappers deader and dead, them all killed by the times. Them all killed by Them what whistle. Them kill the Aux, deader and dead. Them kill the Aux. Them take our brothers and sisters.”

“Enough!” bellowed the Warschauer leader, and then in a quieter, resigned tone, “Enough. You sound like Walter Sickert. Walter Sickert, him mad, him shameful to the Warschauer.”

The crowd, still reeling, fell silent once more as Thomas Wolf turned to face the pack leader.

“I am the tale-teller and my words are truth. Walter Sickert, him tell a truth, too.”

The leader glared at Thomas Wolf, baring his teeth, a silent threat in his expression. “You should not hear this shame,” he said to Ezra Pound. “The tale-teller, him will tell another tale. Him will tell a fable of Gene the Hackman.”

Evelyn stepped forward.

“I will tell a tale,” she said. “I will tell of Ezra Pound, him scrapping with the Aux on our long Walk Around to the Warschauer. I will tell a story of my father, Oberon War, him meeting with the Kade Pack. I will tell a tale of Oberon War, the Hearer, him deader and dead, killed by the Zoo Pack.”

Ezra Pound stood abruptly as Evelyn said her last words. He glared down at her, his expression no less threatening than Saul Bellow’s. Then he smiled at the leader of the Warschauer Pack.

“Warschauer Pack, it bears no shame,” he said. “The tale-teller, him will speak. You and I, we will speak.” The Warschauer Pack leader nodded gratefully, unaware that Ezra Pound had been driven to his largesse by Evelyn.

“In private,” said Saul Bellow, wheeling and striding off. Pound fell in beside him. The silent crowd parted, and Thomas Wolf waited for a moment, before walking out behind them.

“And bring the useless omega bitch,” said Ezra Pound over his shoulder, loudly enough for the entire room to hear him.

Evelyn War was the useless omega bitch again. She’d taken a risk; name-calling was the least she might have expected. She didn’t care.

She stepped into line several metres behind Thomas Wolf. She didn’t want him to suffer by association with her.

The nearest of the Warschauer Packers drew a little closer to her, curious as to who this strange dam was and what she had done to turn the tide of events.

Reuben Blades caught Evelyn’s eye very briefly as she walked past him, then quickly looked away. He soon disappeared into the crowd; his job was done.

Evelyn looked for Oswald Sickert, but she did not see him anywhere.