“The Zoi!” Sol said, unheeded, as Sirius broke into a gallop.
The feeling was coming from Patchie. She was in her yard as usual, looking very charming. Outside her gate was every dog in the neighborhood who could get loose. Sirius wanted to get into that yard. He could think of nothing but getting near Patchie. But the wire fence was high. The Labrador half of Sirius made him a poor, clumsy jumper. He knew he could never get over the fence. So he settled down among the other dogs, as close as he could get to the gate, and forgot everything else.
“Oh well,” said Sol. “Dogs will be dogs, I suppose.”
9
The next week or so was the queerest and most upsetting time Sirius had ever experienced. He did not understand what was happening to him. Dog was all over his green nature, swamping it. He knew it was, but he could, not help it. He did not know what it was about Patchie which was making him like this. It was not as if he cared about her the way he did for Kathleen or his lost Companion. He did not care two hoots for Patchie herself. Yet he had to go and sit hopelessly outside her gate all and every day, and it was a terrible wrench when he found it was time to leave.
He went thin, and his coat was less glossy. He called hastily on his providers, ate and left. Mr. Gumble did not understand. He was hurt. Miss Smith understood perfectly. “Poor Sirius,” she said. “And I expect she’s shut up. They usually are, you know.”
If Sirius could have asked her what was the matter with him, he would have done. The queer strong feeling was driving him nearly frantic. It was so different from everything he had known before that he did not know how to cope with it. He knew he should be looking for the Zoi, but he could not leave Patchie’s gate. At length, he asked the other patiently waiting dogs what was the matter with them all. Most of them had no idea. They only knew they would sit there night and day if they could, until Patchie came out to them. And she never did. But one hideous old mixture of a dog, with a head like a grizzly bear’s, explained gruffly:
“She’s in heat. She could have pups. That’s why we’re here.”
“Is that it?” Patchie said brightly from beyond the gate. “I couldn’t think why I’d got so many friends all of a sudden. Hallo, hallo. I love you all!” She was in a very cheerful and flirtatious mood. “Why don’t some of you come in?”
None of the dogs could jump the high wire fence. They all sighed deeply. It made not a bit of difference to them, Sirius included, to know why they were waiting. They were too taken up with the feeling coming from Patchie even to quarrel over her. They just sat in a group on the pavement, each one of them panting with excitement, so that from a short distance the whole group seemed to vibrate like the engine of an old car.
That week Patchie’s owner and Bruce’s were knocking down houses only a couple of streets away. They came home for a cup of tea. Bruce’s owner stood and looked at the vibrating group, the hanging tongues, the quickly heaving sides and the patient faces.
“Got the usual squad of lovers, I see.”
“Yes. I shall be glad when it’s over,” said Patchie’s owner. He waded among the waiting dogs, pushing them aside, telling them half-heartedly to cut along home, and stopped when he came to Sirius. “Hey! This is your Bruce got out again!”
No, it’s not,” said Bruce’s owner. “And it’s not Rover or Redears either. Must be another one of them.”
“Someone must have tried to drown a whole sackful that time,” said Patchie’s owner. “I wish I could ask this one if he was out of the river too. Here—the gate’s unlocked. Come in quick.”
In this way, Sirius learned that the hallo-dogs were indeed his brothers and sister. But he was a dog, and the knowledge did not mean as much to him as it might to a human. He was too taken up with Patchie. He made a deft effort to get through the gate with the two men. Bruce’s owner caught him by the scruff of his neck and turned him out. So he settled down to hopeless waiting again.
“Leo doesn’t look well,” Kathleen said anxiously. “Should I take him to a vet?”
“He’s all right. He’s probably growing again,” said Mr. Duffield.
Sirius did not feel well. He felt sick with longing. By the middle of the second week of sitting dumbly panting on the pavement he was nearly in a fever. But that day there was a new dog.
The new dog came trotting up around midday and lay down panting beside the others. A faint chill came off him. Although Patchie was busy most fetchingly scratching one of her fox-red ears, Sirius could not help turning to look at the newcomer. He was large, larger than Sirius, and older. In fact, he was a magnificent dog in the prime of his life. The white hair on his body gleamed like snow in moonlight. The red of his drooping ears was beyond fox-red, beyond chestnut, into blood color, and glowed against the gleaming snow of his body. His eyes were bright cat-like yellow, and the pupils were slits, like a cat’s eyes in sunlight.
Sirius stared. He felt the hair coming up along his spine with a feeling that seemed to be excitement. Yet it was nothing like the feeling coming from Patchie. There was fear in it. That had to do with the chill coming off the stranger. He noticed that the other dogs were all moving away a little. But together with the fear and the chill, Sirius felt a faint frosty tingle, a tiny prickle of life much stronger and more serious than anything to do with Patchie. Sirius sat up. He knew that prickle. It came from creatures who had been near a Zoi.
“Who are you?” he said.
The strange dog turned its cat-slit eyes on him for a second, and then looked away. He did not answer. Instead, he lay couchant like a lion, watching Patchie. He watched indulgently, as if he knew Patchie was very young, and very silly, and that amused him. He did not talk to her either, though she of course said Hallo.
After half an hour of watching, the strange dog seemed to decide that he had lain there long enough. He got up and sauntered a few steps sideways and back, away from the fence. Then he halted. His head moved measuringly. His cat eyes looked from ground to fence and back again. He was clearly considering jumping the fence. Sirius looked at the stranger’s long strong legs—which had glistening feathery fringes very like his own—and had no doubt that he could do it too.
Neither had the other dogs. They moved protestingly. The grizzly bear dog said, “I say! That’s not fair!”
The strange dog ignored them. He tensed. His yellow eyes stared fixedly at the top of the fence and his legs braced for a leap.
Then came a noise. It was shrill and sweet and seemed to come from very far away. But it felt to Sirius as if it was taking place just between his ears. It was a sound so haunting and imperious that his nose came up and his ears pricked. It seemed to be calling him. The strange dog shook his head and looked irritated. Patchie had heard the sound too. She was sitting with her ears cocked and her head sideways, looking charming. None of the other dogs responded. It seemed that only the three of them—Patchie, Sirius and the stranger—had heard it.
The sound stopped. The strange dog hesitated. He looked at Patchie, sitting looking so charming. And that seemed to decide him. His eyes went to the top of the fence again. His legs bent and lowered him for a jump.
The noise tunneled hauntingly through Sirius’s head again. This time, it was longer, louder and more commanding. Feeling he ought to do something about it, Sirius doubtfully stood up. Patchie whined. The strange dog, looking quite exasperated, stood to his proper height again, hesitated a second, and then turned and galloped off up the street.
Sirius raced after him. The stranger went so fast that Sirius had really to stretch himself to catch him, running as he had seldom run before, with his front and back legs jack-knifing together and apart, his back arched then straight, arched then straight, and the pads of his paws beating the pavement till they glowed.
“What was that noise?” Bruce called as the two dogs shot past. Beyond Bruce, Redears and Rover were whining as Patchie had done.
Sirius could not spare time to answer. But he registered the fact that all five of them, and only th
ey, apart from the strange dog, could hear the noise. It was one more peculiar thing. His curiosity was thoroughly aroused. The other dog settled to a steady loping. Sirius hung his purpling tongue out as far as it would go and overhauled him grimly. He was close behind as they shot through the dust and noise where the houses were being knocked down. He came up alongside as they reached the raw cindery stretch beyond. They ran shoulder to shoulder across it toward the older cleared space where bright green grass now grew.
“Go away!” said the other dog.
“No,” panted Sirius.
They ran on into the ragged green grass. Sirius’s paws were thankful for it. When they were in among the first weedy mounds of rubble, the other dog slowed down, stopped and looked irritably at Sirius. Sol was behind a bank of purple cloud. In the dimmer light, the strange dog’s coat shone dazzlingly against the green. And, now it was colder and he himself so hot, Sirius could feel the chill off him more strongly than ever.
“I told you to stop following me,” said the strange dog. “Are you going, or do I have to bite you?”
Sirius heaved for breath. “I daresay I could bite you back. Who are you?”
The stranger looked at him for a second. Then he casually leaned backwards, stretching his forepaws in front of him so that the muscles in his heavy shoulders rippled. He stood languidly to his full height again, to show Sirius that he was an inch or so larger all around and his bones were thicker and his chest deeper, because he was in his prime. “You think you can bite me?” he said. “Forget it. You’ve been wasting your strength yearning over that silly girl-puppy. And you hadn’t the strength to jump her fence anyway. Come back in two years and bite me then. You still couldn’t.” He yawned in Sirius’s face. Then, as if he was quite sure Sirius would not bother him further, he turned and trotted away.
Sirius bounded after him. “Wait! Who are you? Where do you come from?”
“Leave me alone!” the other said, in a snap across his shoulder as they ran.
“Just tell me where the Zoi is,” Sirius panted. They went stride for stride through a patch of newly sprouting nettles. “I know you’ve been near it. I can feel it on you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You must. It tingles like nettles.”
They came to another heap of rubble. The other dog stopped again, gleaming against the dark mound. Behind him, small yellow coltsfoot stood out as bright as luminaries on the Earth. “Look—why are you following me around like this? I’m in a hurry.”
“I know you are,” said Sirius. “I heard the whistle. But that doesn’t stop you telling me who you are, and why you look like me, and where the Zoi is.”
The strange dog’s arrogant eyes swept over Sirius. His cat’s pupils were wider because of the dim light, but still not very wide. Sirius felt the coat on his back mounting a little. Those eyes were truly unearthly. The stranger saw it, and rumbled a low, contemptuous growl. “So you heard him whistling for me? I suppose that must mean you’re a half-breed relation of ours. We go out and about sometimes. But I don’t see why I should tell red and yellow puppies anything about us. Go away, mongrel. I warned you!”
Sirius lost his temper. No creature had any right to take that tone with him. A growl was rumbling in his throat from the moment he was called a half-breed. It grew and grew, and Sirius’s anger grew and throbbed with it. His ears rose. The hair on his back piled itself into a long crest. Every white tooth in his head bared itself. And suddenly, from that, he lit to a great green rage. The green light of his fury made two lurid spots on his enemy’s white coat. The strength of a luminary lit him from inside, and he knew he could make red steaks of this arrogant creature.
The other dog was terrified. He had never seen anything like this, and he was used to being the unearthly one. But he had been bred for bravery and he had his pride. His yellow eyes glared into Sirius’s green blazing ones. He, too, bared his teeth and backed, snarling, up the mound to give himself the advantage. With an effort, he got his back up and his tail stiffly curved above it. He was large and strong and menacing, but he was scared nearly silly.
Sirius knew he was. His green rage fired further with the joy of victory coming. He sprang. There was hoarse howling, baying, and the click of snapping teeth. Their two yelling heads dodged, parried, dived and snatched. Sirius struck like a snake at his enemy’s throat. The other dog yelped, knowing it was the winning stroke, and tried to stumble sideways.
Then the queer noise came for a third time, almost as if the strange dog’s unseen master knew. It was a haunting torment in both their heads. The strange dog could not move. Sirius could barely think for the sound. But he was still in such a green rage that he managed to close his mouth on his enemy’s cold throat. When the sound stopped, he had him pinned firmly, not in a fighting grip, but so that he could not get away.
“Let me go!” said the other dog, tugging sideways and back. “He’s whistled three times now. I have to go.”
The queer coldness of the strange dog’s coat made Sirius’s mouth numb. He could hardly tell where his teeth were. “No. Tell me who you are and where the Zoi is.”
“I’ve never seen your beastly Zoi! And I can’t tell you anything about us or our Master. Only those who run with us and share our duties are allowed to know. My name’s Yeff. That’s all I can tell you. Now let me go!”
Yeff seemed quite frantic. He tugged until Sirius was afraid he would rip his throat, and, since Sirius’s mouth was now so numb that he could not tell how hard he was biting, he thought he had better loosen his grip a little. As soon as he did, Yeff jerked his jowl loose and ran away up the mound in great fluid leaps.
Sirius scrambled after him, heavy, clumsy, and tired. Nevertheless, he was not far behind as Yeff leaped from the top of the mound and down the other side. Sirius reached the top only a second later. There was no sign of Yeff. The cleared space went on behind the mound, level here and sprouting green things, for fifty yards or so, but it was utterly empty. Yeff was gone. If he had melted like the snow his coat resembled, he could not have vanished more completely.
Sirius hung his numbed tongue out of his cold, aching mouth and stared. Here was yet another mystery. And his one contact with the Zoi had gone. He could have flung his head back and howled. He looked up, hoping that Sol might have seen where Yeff went. Sol, however, was still under purple clouds. They had been spitting rain as Sirius ran up the mound. Now they poured in earnest, cold and stinging rain, hammering on the rubble and fizzing on the cinders. It was April, after all. But Sirius was fairly sure Sol was annoyed with him for wasting his time outside Patchie’s gate. He was seeing what cold water would do.
Sirius hated rain almost as much as he had hated that bath. He turned and ran. The spell Patchie had cast on him was broken anyway. Meeting Yeff had done that. As he ran, he cursed himself for losing Yeff, for annoying him in the first place, for going and losing his temper—for the whole thing. And he had such a short time before Kathleen carried him off to Ireland. Soaked, wretched and worn out, he climbed the steps to Miss Smith’s front door and battered on it in the place where he had already made quite a mark.
“I was just going to have my rest,” Miss Smith said, looking down at him. “My poor dog! What dripping misery! Come in at once. No—not in the kitchen. Shake in the hall where it doesn’t show. Do you like being rubbed with a towel? No? Very well, I shall put the towel on this chair.” Sirius, shivering, watched Miss Smith spread a large white towel on a shabby armchair. “This was Lass’s favorite chair,” she told him. “I think you’ll find it comfortable. It must be a better shape for dogs than it is for humans. Now you get into it and sleep off whatever it is that happened, and I’ll put the electric fire here so it will dry you off. Don’t knock it, will you? And don’t disturb me for an hour or so, there’s a kind dog. I have to have my rest because these days I don’t sleep so well at night.”
Gratefully, Sirius climbed into the chair. It was a perfect fit. He
thumped his tail and fell asleep, dripping gently on the threadbare carpet, while rain hammered and trickled on the windows of Miss Smith’s house.
About a quarter to four, the rain stopped. Sirius started up. He knew at once it was late. The clouds were so low and heavy still that he could not tell how late. He came out of the chair and whined. The house was quiet, except for Miss Smith’s noisy little clock which would only work lying on its face. He went out into the dark hall and tried to open the front door. But it had a round handle and he could not manage it. There was only one thing for it. He went, rather diffidently, upstairs to look for Miss Smith.
She was lying on the bed in the first room he came to, fast asleep and snoring a little, looking so tranquil that it seemed a shame to wake her. But Sirius did not know what else to do. He went and pushed his cold nose gently against her soft, wrinkled cheek. Miss Smith gave a little gasp and opened her eyes.
“Oh, it’s not Lass, of course! It’s Sirius. My dear, I’m sorry. I’ve been asleep for hours. It felt so peaceful with a dog in the house again. But you want to go, don’t you? I’m afraid I’m too sleepy to get up—so I’ll tell you a secret, Sirius. If you go into the kitchen and push the bottom of the back door, you’ll find it opens. It’s a dog-door I had made for Lass. And I’m sure a clever dog like you can manage the garden gate. Just tread on the latch, Sirius. It has a spring to close it.”
Sirius gently nosed his thanks to her and hurried away downstairs. Just as Miss Smith had said, the back door and the garden gate conveniently opened. He wished everyone was as understanding as Miss Smith.