The Caldera by John Flanagan
4
IT WAS THE SHEEP THAT SOUNDED THE ALARM. THEY WERE milling nervously in the paddock, bunched together and circling inside the fence in lock step. Something was making them nervous, and she had a fairly good idea what it was.
A second later, Bumper snorted a warning from his stall.
“I heard them,” she said softly. She had slept almost fully clothed. Now she sat up and tugged her boots on, then moved toward the door. Her bow and quiver were hanging from a wooden peg and she unhooked them, slinging the quiver over her shoulder and quickly stringing the bow.
She’d found the hinges of the barn door were old and rusted when she’d inspected them earlier, so she had coated them liberally with grease and left them open a few inches to avoid unnecessary movement. Now she peered through the narrow gap and studied the farmyard. Her vision was limited but from what she could see, there was nothing untoward in sight. The sheep, however, continued to run in nervous circles, their little hooves beating a soft tattoo on the hard-packed earth of the paddock. The torches were guttering and smoking and casting an uncertain light across the farmyard. She leaned her shoulder against the door and eased it open another half meter, grateful that her earlier precautions made sure it moved with only the slightest noise.
Maddie slipped sideways out through the door, staying close to the barn wall, under the shadow of the eaves. One of the torches finally went out with a low pop, sending a greasy-smelling ribbon of smoke spiraling into the night sky.
Ting!
It was the silvery note of the little bell she’d tied to the sapling. Just a small noise and not sufficiently threatening, she hoped, to discourage the predator. She peered at the sapling, her eyes screwed up for maximum vision. There seemed to be a large form by the base, still in the shadows of the trees. The joint of venison was still wedged in the fork of the sapling.
Then the shadowy form moved, coming out more into the starlight. Her heartbeat accelerated as she saw it more clearly.
It was undoubtedly a large cat—similar to the old drawing George had shown her—and the size of a small bear.
As the beast moved to get a better purchase on the venison, she saw that it was favoring its right forepaw. A glint of metal came from that paw—just above where it joined the leg. Maddie frowned. It was almost as if the animal were wearing a bracelet. Nocking an arrow to her bowstring, she stepped forward silently for a closer look.
Ting! Ting! went the bell as the creature gripped the joint more firmly and heaved at it, using the strength of its hindquarters to gain purchase. She noted that while it exerted more force on the joint, the right forepaw hung limp and useless. And now she could see that the metal bracelet was actually a small trap, clamped on the creature’s foot just above the paw itself.
So I was right, she thought. It’s injured and looking for easy prey. In the course of their conversations around the fire in their little cabin, Will had told her how his first horse had been injured by a wolf that had been disabled by a trap and had been unable to hunt its normal prey. Instead, it had taken to killing farm animals.
She’d made tentative plans based on this supposition, and they depended on the cat’s returning in the next few days. Accordingly, she couldn’t afford to let it take the joint. She needed it to be hungry enough to return for it the following night. She took a breath, preparing to shout at it and drive it away, when the situation was resolved by the farmhouse door opening noisily.
As she’d noticed earlier, the hinges on the door had sagged, allowing the bottom to scrape on the earth when it opened and closed. The noise was startling in the silence of the night. Hec emerged, a torch in one hand, a heavy cudgel in the other.
He advanced a pace or two, the torch held high. With the source of light so close to his eyes, it was doubtful that he could see the creature by the edge of the clearing, but he shouted and stamped his foot nonetheless.
“Hey, hey, hey!” he cried, and the large cat instantly let go of the venison shoulder, then turned and disappeared into the shadows under the trees. It moved quickly, but Maddie could see that it was limping, holding that forepaw clear of the ground.
Hec ran to the paddock, holding the torch high, making sure the sheep were unharmed.
“They’re all right,” Maddie reassured him.
He jumped at the sound of her voice and turned to illuminate her with the burning torch in his hand. “What are you doing?” he asked, although the answer was relatively obvious.
She gestured to the sheep in the paddock, still moving in nervous circles, still bunched together. “Keeping an eye on things. You were right. It was a giant cat.”
Hec sniffed derisively. “Why didn’t you shoot it then?” he demanded, indicating the bow in her hand, an arrow nocked on the string.
Maddie shrugged. “I was about to when you came blundering out shouting, Hey, hey, hey!” she told him. He glowered at her as she moved across the clearing, unfastened the venison shoulder and hoisted it on a rope high into the trees. She didn’t want the cougar taking it later in the night. At first, she had thought of keeping the venison in the barn with her, but decided that might be inviting trouble.
In truth, she didn’t want to kill the creature. It might well be the last of its kind, and she didn’t want to be the one to end that line. She had prepared another course of action and for that she needed the beast to return to the farmhouse in the next few nights. And for that, she needed it hungry.
She watched as Hec renewed the torches around the paddock fence.
“I doubt it’ll be back tonight,” she said.
Again, the old farmer sniffed disdainfully. “Like you’d know.”
She shrugged. It was no good talking to him, she thought. She went back into the barn and rearranged her blankets on the straw, muttering to herself.
Bumper shook his mane. He’s got under your skin, hasn’t he?
The little horse sounded amused. Maddie turned a baleful look on him. “Why don’t you keep your observations to yourself?” she said. She was almost certain Bumper grinned at her—if a horse could be said to do such a thing.
Just saying.
“Well, don’t.”
She tugged angrily at the blankets. One fold was caught under her and it took several tugs to loosen it.
Be easier if you sat up, Bumper told her.
“Be better if you shut up,” she said.
He shook his head. This time she was sure he was grinning.
• • • • •
The following morning, Maddie studied the tracks the big cat had left by the sapling.
It was definitely walking on three legs, she thought, favoring one front paw. Then she smiled to herself. It was definite as far as she was concerned, although Will might have had something to say about that. He was at times scathing about her ability to read tracks.
But the impressions in the soft earth around the base of the sapling, coupled with her observations of the creature, made her sure of her facts. She was kneeling by the sapling, lightly tracing the impressions in the ground with her forefinger, when Hec approached her. Gert was a few paces behind him, watching and listening eagerly.
Maddie looked up and greeted them both.
“I was right,” she said. “It’s injured. There’s something that looks like a small trap caught on its right forepaw. That’s why it’s been attacking your stock.”
Hec frowned, not making the connection. “Why’s that then?”
Maddie straightened, dusting loose dirt from the knees of her breeches. “With its forepaw disabled, it can’t run down its normal prey. So it’s gone after your sheep instead. They’re an easier target.”
“You think it’ll be back then?” Gert asked.
Maddie nodded. “I think so. It must be hungry and it didn’t get any of the venison last night—just enough of a taste to whet its appetite. Leastways, I h
“You hope so?” Gert said, moving forward to join them, her voice rising to a shrill note. “You hope that . . . thing will come back here killing our animals?”
But Maddie shook her head. “I hope it comes back so I can deal with it once and for all,” she said. Gert looked mollified, although she failed to notice that Maddie had said “deal with it,” not “kill it.”
Gert nudged Hec with her elbow. “Tell her,” she ordered. Hec gave her an exasperated look, then turned to Maddie.
“I was thinking,” he said, “with this beast prowling around—”
“You was thinking?” Gert interrupted. “It was me that thought it—as it always is.”
Hec hesitated, her interruption disrupting his train of thought. His mouth opened and closed several times as he sought the words he wanted to say. Maddie held up a hand to calm him, then turned to his wife. She had really had enough of the argumentative old biddy.
“Gert, with all due respect and with regard for your mature years, why don’t you shut up for once?” she said firmly.
Gert actually recoiled. This girl, this child, this person masquerading as a Ranger, was telling her to shut up.
Maddie forestalled her reply, guessing what was on their minds. “I take it, Hec, you’d like to put the sheep in the barn tonight?” It didn’t take a genius to know that was what he was thinking. And it made sense. The barn was there to protect farm stock from the bitter cold of winter—and from predators like the cougar.
“Well . . . yes,” he said uncertainly, clearly aware that there would be little extra room in the barn with the three sheep in there. He was less aware of the fact that the atmosphere in the barn would be somewhat . . . close. It would be nearly as bad as the farmhouse.
“Good idea,” Maddie said. “I was planning on staying outside anyway tonight, to keep watch. I’ll leave my horse in the barn, of course.” The second statement wasn’t a request, and her tone made sure he knew it. Hec nodded his head several times, pleased that the matter had been resolved so easily.
“One thing, though,” Maddie added. “I’d like you to light the torches around the paddock again tonight.”
He frowned again. “But why? If the sheep are in the barn, there’s no need for the torches.”
Maddie smiled thinly. “Humor me,” she said.
5
BEFORE SHE SET OUT FROM REDMONT, MADDIE HAD PAID A visit to the apothecary in the little village that nestled under the shadow of the castle, explaining her needs and asking his advice.
“I need something to knock out a large animal,” she had told him. “Something to put it to sleep for several hours.”
The apothecary sucked in his bottom lip. “How big?” he asked. “And how active?”
“About the size of a small bear,” she said. “A wild animal. Not a domestic one.”
“Hmm,” he said, frowning thoughtfully. Then he led the way to the rear of his storeroom and began pulling down jars and studying them. Finally, he selected one and pried open the lid. A pungent odor filled the air.
“This should do it. Use a gob about the size of your thumb. Smear it on an arrowhead and shoot it into a leg or a shoulder. I assume you’ll want to keep your distance while you do it?”
Maddie smiled. “I didn’t plan to say open wide and put a spoon down its throat,” she told him.
He nodded seriously—humor wasn’t his strong suit. “Very wise. Use this then. It’s a highly concentrated derivative of warmweed. It should take effect a few minutes after the drug gets into the bloodstream.”
He measured a small amount of the thick, sticky paste from the jar into a smaller clay pot. He sealed the pot with a cork lid and handed it over.
“I’ll charge it to the castle?” he asked.
She nodded. Supplies for Rangers were paid for by the Baron’s seneschal. She gathered up the pot, wrapped it carefully in a cloth to protect it and stowed it into her saddlebags. The apothecary followed her out of his store to where Bumper stood, waiting patiently. He noted the bedroll and full saddlebags.
“Going away for a few days?” he asked.
“To the Spiny Mountains,” she told him.
“Take care,” he warned her. “That’s dangerous country.”
She nodded in reply, then touched her heels to Bumper’s flanks and cantered away.
• • • • •
Maddie remained in the barn for the rest of the day. Hec wouldn’t herd the sheep inside until late afternoon, and she wanted to sort out her equipment away from the prying eyes of Hec and, particularly, Gert.
She took the small clay pot from her saddlebag and removed the cork stopper. The pungent smell assailed her senses, and she coughed several times before hastily re-stoppering the pot. Taking two arrows from her quiver, she removed the barbed warheads from them. In their place, she attached to each shaft a lighter length of wood, whose end swelled out into a pointed bulb. There were three grooves running along the bulb, and these would hold the apothecary’s paste. When the arrow struck the cougar, the drug would be driven into the wound and then carried into the cougar’s bloodstream.
The lighter structure of the arrowhead also meant that the points would break off easily, leaving the cougar unencumbered by a long arrow shaft. Not only would a long shaft be inconvenient, it would move around as the animal ran, catching in the undergrowth and causing further injury. This way, the damage would be confined to a simple puncture wound, easily treated and quick to heal.
She unrolled her standard Ranger’s medical kit, making sure she had ample supplies of bandages, needles and thread, and the all-purpose painkiller, a less potent form of warmweed. There was a small flask of potent alcoholic spirit as well, which she could use to clean her knife when she worked on the predator’s wounded paw.
Satisfied that she had everything she needed, she set the equipment on a bench in the barn. She would smear the narcotic paste onto the arrows later in the day, leaving it less time to dry out, thus ensuring it retained its potency.
Then she took her sling and pouch of lead shot and heaved the barn door open. Bumper looked up at her curiously.
“Just going to see if I can find some small game,” she told him, and he shrugged. It didn’t matter to him. He didn’t eat meat.
Much as she had been annoyed by Hec’s and Gert’s cantankerous attitude, she realized that it was probably a result of their living alone, far from other people. She also knew that there would be little meat in their diet. If she could bring back a hare or a rabbit for the pot, it should be a welcome addition—although she doubted that they would show gratitude.
She moved silently through the woods, following a game trail that had been created by deer and smaller animals heading for the nearest water source. En route, she bagged two fat rabbits and a mallard with her sling. She missed a second mallard, overconfidence leading her to attempt an almost impossible shot at one on the fly as it took off. The lead ball splashed just behind the bird, skipping several times across the small lake where it had been resting.
She skinned and field dressed the rabbits, wrapping the entrails in the pelts and throwing them into the lake. The fish would take care of them. The mallard she decided to leave for Gert to prepare. It would be easier to pluck after it had been dipped in boiling water, and Maddie had no way of doing that here in the woods.
On the way back, she picked some wild onions and greens. She still had potatoes in her ration pack, and they, combined with one of the rabbits, would make a decent evening meal for herself.
She dropped the mallard and the other rabbit off at the farmhouse. Gert was a little nonplussed by the generous gesture, while Hec murmured his pleasure at having meat two days running. Maddie brushed aside Gert’s awkward thanks and headed back to the barn, where she forked hay into Bumper’s feed bin and filled his drinking trough with water she fetched from
Looking around the barn, she took note of the amount of hay that was piled against the walls in one corner. Not the place to light a fire, she thought. She took her cooking kit out into the farmyard and built a fireplace in the open, hauling a small log over from the forest’s edge to use as a seat. She gathered kindling and piled it into the circle of rocks she had built, then fetched half a dozen more substantial pieces from the stacked firewood beside the barn.
Gert emerged from the farmhouse, the mallard hanging head down from her hands. She sat on a stool and began to pluck the bird, letting the feathers fly in the breeze. She had obviously scalded it in boiling water to loosen the feathers, Maddie thought.
“You’re welcome to eat with us,” Gert called eventually. Even she couldn’t maintain her unwelcoming ways in the face of Maddie’s generosity.
Maddie smiled her thanks but declined. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I want an early night. I’ll be awake later to see if the cougar returns.”
In truth, the prospect of eating with the surly, uncommunicative pair was less than appealing. She was used to eating on her own, or with Will for company. But what she said was true. She planned to eat before sundown, then get a few hours’ sleep. She didn’t think the beast would return before the small hours of the morning and there was no point sitting wide-awake waiting for it. If it did return, Bumper would warn her.
She jointed the rabbit and rolled the joints in flour, then heated a large dab of butter in her iron frying pan. Will was an excellent camp cook and he had taught her well. She set several potatoes to boil in a small pot in the ashes at the side of the fire. When they were well under way, she dropped the floured joints into the sizzling butter, watching them as they browned, her mouth watering at the delicious aroma.
She sliced two of the small wild onions and dropped them in with the frying meat. The aromas coming from her little fire became even more mouthwatering. When the food was cooked, she slid it onto her platter and ate quickly. She was hungry and didn’t wait for the meat to cool, scalding her mouth as a result. But it was a small penalty for the enjoyment she derived from the meal.