luck -and his – held that night. Melanie caught the whiff of blood within an hour.
Her nose led her to him, lying in the open, collapsed over a heap of rubble not far from where he had been welded up.
At first sight it looked as though he wasn't worth bothering with, he was so broken. The odds were certainly against his surviving. Melanie prodded him with her trotter and pushed him over with her paw. His mouth gaped open, a broken mess of tooth stubs, swelling and bloody. A thin column of steam rose above it.
The old woman grumbled under her breath, it really was barely worth it. But… Oh, well. She heaved a length of damp old carpet out of the trolley, laid it on the ground and lifted Siggy up in her arms carefully. She jiggled him gently to see how broken his limbs were before she put him down on the carpet and rolled him up in it. She tucked in the corners to make sure no part of the body was showing, picked up the whole bundle and put him in the trolley. Then she set off back home.
Sure enough, just as she had expected, the old Pig heard her trundling about on the way and came rushing and screaming through the undergrowth towards her. Melanie cast an anxious glance at the carpet; the noise was enough to wake the dead, let alone the badly injured. The poor boy would certainly start screaming if he knew who was near. But the carpet remained still.
The Pig came screeching up to her and stopped suddenly when he saw who it was. He began pawing at the ground and scratching his beard, all the time casting interested glances at the carpet. His nose, Melanie noticed, was half bitten off. It made her wince to look at it.
'Pig! Pig! Melanie!' said Melanie, just in case he'd forgotten. Then she dropped to all fours. The two of them walked round in little circles, nose to bums, sniffing at each other politely.
The Pig grunted. 'Wotcha got? Wotcha got?'
'Bit a old carpet.'
'Smell good. Good.'
'Leave off.'
'Lost me dinna. Gone.'
'Don eat carpet. Eh?'
'OINK!'
'Yeah.'
'OINK!' The Pig was edging his way towards the trolley, and Melanie had to squeeze in, between him and it.
'Poor nose,' she said, trying to change the subject. 'Poor nose!'
'Poor nose!' agreed the Pig tearfully. 'Man did it,' he added. 'Biter!' But he was still peering round at the carpet. He began to glare at her. 'Mmmm,' he growled greedily.
'Mine!' squealed Melanie. 'Always stealin. Always pinchin. My carpet!'
'Mmm. Smell good, good,' explained the Pig. 'Wotcha got in there?'
Melanie didn't bother answering. She got back on her hind legs and took hold of the trolley handle. The Pig stood up as well and stood there glaring at her, all wobbly. He wasn't very good at this standing up business and only did it to impress. Melanie pushed forwards, bumping the trolley over the broken tarmac. The Pig watched her go, squealing angrily under his breath. But he didn't try to stop her.
It took her an hour to wheel him home, and she was exhausted by the end of it. It felt like a hundred years since she'd had a decent meal. She put a funnel in the human's mouth and poured a little water down him, wrapped him up in dry rags and went to bed. In the morning when she got up, she was surprised to find him still alive.
For the first few days she fed him on bitter teas made from healing herbs with a little precious honey stirred into it. She bathed his wounds, made poultices to bring the swelling down and treated his fever. At first, the poor boy was delirious, raving on about all sorts of people she'd never heard about. It was touch and go, but after a week the fever eased and he began to wake up for brief periods. Of course, his wounds could still go septic at any time and that would be that. But the odds were moving in his favour.
There were huge problems to be solved, however, before he was saleable. His face and his hands had been wrecked. She had to reset both, especially the hands. Melanie knew her politics; she kept in touch with people further in who knew what was going on and she had by this time heard how great the rout of Val's troops had been, how complete the subjugation of his lands. No one on the other side of the Wall would be willing now to pay for Siggy's return. There were unlikely to be any of them left. His only value would be as a slave to a rich halfman, but the one thing a slave needed was a decent pair of hands. They would have to be fixed or Siggy would be worth nothing but his weight in meat, and after four days starving on the girder watching his brothers eaten, and a week in fever, that wasn't much.
37
Siggy
There was a darkness so thick I could feel it. It was like silt coating my skin. It was as moist and as warm as blood and it stank of piss and pigs. When I opened my mouth it seemed to fall in. My face had grown enormous. It seemed to fill up the darkness. But mostly there was pain. Every bone and muscle and every fleck of skin, every corpuscle of blood was pain. I tried to work my vast mouth but it hurt so much. I heard someone screaming… it must have been me. Then I fainted.
There was someone else there with me. I could feel the heat of them on my skin in the darkness. The darkness had changed to a dull red. I tried to see into it but nothing had any shape. I tried to open my eyes wider but they were so fat. Everything about my face was so fat. I realised I was seeing light through my closed eyes.
There was something very big moving in the darkness next to me.
I made a huge effort and lifted my eyes open by the slightest slit and I saw that the Pig had come back. I screamed and tried to crawl away but he had me by the face. He held my face in his fingers hard and began squeezing and squashing my crushed face. And I died for about the nth time that day.
38
Melanie
Well, I done is oinky face n tied it all, and I done is hands, wot fingers e ad left, n I thought, not bad, as you could make out with all that swellin. Groink. Oh, you poor liddle thing, I coulda eated im up right there. Worra mess, all cept fer is liddle toes, all neat in a row like babies they was. Made I thinka my liddle piggies, wot Big Piggy drove off all them years past.
Mind, this oinky-uman, he ain't gonna be worth a penny fer is looks. But even ugly folk gotta eat, innit?
'Little Tammy told a joke
When e was building bridges,
He laughed so much he fell and tore
His brand new moleskin britches.'
Tell ou oinky-wot, though. I'm feelin sorry for im already. My big eart, wot use is it out ere, it's a curse a me life. Groink!
I couldn elp it, I popped im onta me lap and rocked im like a baby. An guess wot, typical uman – e starts screamin! Ahhhhhhhhhhh, aahhhhhhhh, e goes. Think I be ol Piggy, I reckons, but e were so elpless lying there, I couldn elp lovin im.
'Where am I?' e goes.
'Oh, liddle man,' I says, an I sighs. Why's I gotta go feel asorry fer anything live I gets? It don't make no sense.
'Who… are… you?' e goes, or summat like.
'Arr, you be quiet, groink. Get yerself some kip, my dear. Melanie'll make it all right, you'm see.'
'Melanie,' e goes. 'Pig. Melanie Pig.'
