front She looked like so much butcher's meat. That was the idea.
I heard Skunk groan, but it was too late. The Vermin were on us. This one marched up in his nice orange uniform, all sneers and smiles, like he was in for a good time.
'Found your mother, son?' he began. Then he stopped and jarred when I looked at him. My face, see? It's not animal, it's worse than that.
'Right…' He reached out to take me but he wasn't going to lay a hand on me. Like I say, firearms take them by surprise. I banged him straight through the cheek. I heard Skunk yell. Half the Vermin didn't get guns, either. They were needed at the front. I had to pop off another couple and then did a bunk for it. The crowd split in two for me like the Red Sea; a cheer went up. Conor is not a popular man, not even in his own country.
I did a few enquiries after that and found out which garrison had been involved. Me and Styr paid a couple of them a visit – found their beat, caught up with them on the pavement outside Graveries' supermarket. I tapped one on the shoulder and we showed them what we were holding in our hands.
'You're mad,' one of them said in surprise. But when they saw my face they looked really scared.
'You're going to die, now,' I told him. I said to the other one, 'As for you, here's a message for King Conor. Tell him, Siggy's back.' Then I shot them, one through the head and the other in the knee.
After that, me and my son had a journey to make.
26
It was a three-day inarch west down a stripe of yellow grass and seeding wildflowers a hundred miles long. A thin soil had been slowly building up on the M4 for a couple of generations. It was still too thin for grass, but the wildflowers loved it. Siggy and Styr, father and son, what a pair! United in warfare and – loyalty? Well, Siggy believed it. They walked their way scattering seeds and grasshoppers in their wake. On each side the wilderness had covered the pastures in tangles of bramble, scatterings of silver birch, and here and there a young oak wood. The forests were returning, but there were still squares of pasture with sheep and cows, and quiet plantations of cabbages and other crops. People had to eat, even in wartime.
They walked mainly in silence; Styr was never one to talk, but on a hillside scattered with the ruins of old housing, there was a furious argument. Siggy wanted his son to understand what all this was about, this journey to join Dag Aggerman in the good fight. Not because the gods willed it. Not because Signy wanted it. Not for the greater glory of the house of Volson. Nothing, nothing, nothing of those. If anything they were reasons to turn away from this war. Siggy despised revenge and he despised glory. What good did such things ever do?
This was for justice, for Melanie, for mankind. Conor was a piece of evil who had to be removed forever from the surface of the earth, not just because of what he had done to the Volsons, but because of what he did to everybody. Standing among the broken walls on the outskirts of the halfman lands, with the Wall towering above the trees behind them, Siggy raged against the gods and pleaded for justice in his son's dark heart. Siggy knew that the gods had lined him up for the role of warlord and he hated the knowledge that his hatred of injustice was nothing more than a net to catch him. But what did the gods matter, their wills and whys? Justice was what counted, justice and the giving of all of yourself to make life one jot better for the millions who suffered because Conor had power.
Styr swore allegiance – to Siggy, to justice, to the cause. Struck the ground with his fist and promised his life for his father's fight But Siggy was not fooled by his fervour. None of these ideals meant anything to Styr. It was like trying to persuade an ant that it was good to die for the glory of the nest. Styr would die, but not for the cause. It was an instinct in him. Just as he had known so thoroughly how to bend his father to his will, he knew Conor had to die. It was as simple as that.
Siggy raged; Styr was uncomprehending. Hadn't he agreed with everything his father said? The truth was Styr would be happy if the Volsons came to power even if they ruled ten times more harshly than Conor had.
So they stumped their way forward, stealing cabbages and carrots, until at last they stood on the ledge of a long, low hill and looked down at their destination – a smoky camp, struggling to hold itself out of the trees, brambles and ivy that crawled over the rubble in which it stood. Like many halfmen towns, there were not many full houses. Some of them just slept in shelters, but it was a matter of choice. The halfmen were not such tropical animals as full humans, and had less need of warmth and cover.
In among the crooked houses and stables the creatures of the halflands walked. Pigs' heads, birds' wings, dogs and cats strolling around in each other's bodies. In paddocks realcows grazed, real chickens clucked – or were they? Where the animal ended and the halfman began was as difficult to define as where the halfman ended and the human began. And who knew where the halfmen themselves drew the line? Maybe a lamb with a human face was as toothsome to a dogman as one without.
'Seems like a good reason for going vegetarian,' Siggy muttered to himself.
This was Dag Aggerman's camp, the centre of the resistance against Conor. From his vantage point, Siggy and Styr could see the divisions of the army: the army of the dog people, the pig people, and to one side the smaller army of the humans. To one side of this camp was a field with neat row after neat row of gibbets. Hanging from them, a familiar sight in these pagan days, row after row of bodies, upside down, hanging from one heel, sacrifices to Odin.
'Looks like everyone loves Odin these days,' said Siggy. 'Except me…' He noticed that the sacrifices were not just human.
Siggy sighed and led his son downhill.
27
Dag Aggerman
I pissed on the walls three times before I went near him, twice to let him know who I was, once for luck. He could be a good thing for us, yes. Ah! Let it happen! I'd give the gods my pups!
He was standing with the clone. Yuk. Had hold of a young dog, had him by the neck in the air, just to let me know who he was. I knew, I knew. Ah! And he knew I knew or he wouldn't have risked it. A human, in my yard, pawing my soldiers! Nah nah! I'd have to want them bad. I wanted him bad!
I came rushing up, hair up. He turned to look at me and up went my hair again. That face! Not human, not animal. Nothing on this earth. And he knew how to use it, too – ah ah! Pulling faces, twisting it, ugh! It made you growl to look at it! And the clone, Styr, standing there – the pair of 'em, enough to make you eat shit.
'Leave my guard! Leave my guard!' I barked.
'He's lippy for a guard,' he said. 'Do your guards treat everyone like that, or just humans?'
'What's it to you?'
'You know who I am.'
I thought, yeah! 'What if I hadn't?' I said.
'But you did.'
'Yes, yes, yes. Ah!' And I laughed! I thought, yes, yes, you're a soldier. You'll do. And he respected me. He knew I'd have good spies. How else would a human walk into my camp? Only if I wanted him to.
He smiled at me. 'I'm unmistakable.'
'You're welcome! You're welcome, Volson!' And he even stood still while I sniffed his arse.
'I hope you're not going to make a habit of that.'
'Sorry, sorry, ah! Just getting to know you. It's good manners!'
'Not where I come from.'
The boy- young man by now – he stood to one side, respectful. Never saw him respectful to anyone but Siggy. I gave him a sniff and shook all over.
'How's life?' I asked him. An' he said nothing, just gestured at Siggy and this cute little smile, all proud, like he was presenting me with the crown jewels. Holy shit! He was! Yeah, he was! I led 'em to HQ. I wanted to see what strategy sense he had. 'Let loose the men of war,' he said, and he was surprised when I laughed.
