The Blizzard

CHAPTER ELEVEN

  HEAVEN was not as exciting as Strang had expected. In fact it was positively boring; a faint sequence of cracks and hisses, punctuated by the occasional snap.

  Although his eyes were useless, his other senses were intact and told him that he was not yet dead. His body lay prone on a cushioned surface which was, he concluded from the waves of dry heat, in front of an open fire. A worn blanket of indecipherable texture had been laid over his body. There was a sickly astringency mingled with the odours carbonised wood on the hearth and the aroma of not-quite rotting grass.

  Strang tried to open his mouth but his tongue clung to his palette. How weak, how dehydrated his body must be! A voice came from an unknown corner of the room. It was thick and sonorous; the words rolled into the other so that each was incomplete without the other.

  “Don’t try to move. You must rest.”

  There was something about the voice, the earthy, deep pitch which made Strang shudder. Before he could raise himself, the floorboards creak and a body came towards him, stopping just inches away.

  “Who are you?” he called. “Why have you brought me here?” His mouth was still dry and he barely managed the words.

  “I found you in the snow. You’re in my home. My name is Sheonagh Mhari Storr. You are safe here.”

  “I can’t see.”

  “You have been blinded. You need to drink before you speak again.”

  Strang felt a hand against his cheek. The skin was rough and, although little pressure was exerted, the fingers were strong. A mug was pressed against his lips. He drank the cool water in long, regular gulps until it was drained.

  “Where are we?”

  “Not far from where you fell. You were close to death and have been in and out of sleep for the last two days. I wasn’t sure if I was going to have to bury you out the back.”

  “Then I have you to thank for my recovery.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Strang was silent as strength returned to his body. He was blind and powerless. There was no choice except to again put himself at the mercy of a stranger.

  “Something fell in my eyes – it was a bird. Is there anything you can do?”

  Once again, calloused fingertips touch his brow, prising open the skin over his eyes. After a few moments she spoke, her voice again surprisingly deep and accented.

  “I doubt there is anything any doctor can do for that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s burned right through you.”

  “Is there no doctor – no hospital?” He would have to somehow get to the nearest town and find a doctor. Surely bird droppings could not have caused so much damage? Perhaps there was a higher than usual ammonia content in the droppings of because of the creature’s irregular winter diet.

  “I thought about taking you to the village,” Sheonagh was rummaging nearby. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have thanked me.”

  A wet log landed the hearth and coughed as the flames embraced it. Strang felt a burst of hot, dry air warm his face.

  “Thing’s aren’t so bad, you know. You have four other senses. Much better than a lot of other animals. Don’t you think God gave you ears, nose, mouth and hands?”

  “I’m afraid that God, if he exists, hasn’t been very good to me recently.”

  “Well, nobody said that He was good - only that he gave you more ways to explore the world than just your eyes alone.”

  She paused for a second and he felt hot breath on his cheek. A rough wetness on his forehead. Her tongue, yet it seemed a natural gesture, was neither frightening nor repulsive to Strang, which surprised him.

  “You’re still cold. I can put more wood on the fire.”

  Further rummaging and more logs were loaded onto the hearth. In his weakened state, he could only dwell on what a primitive form of energy it was. So much potential lost in the conversion from sunlight to plant to timber to heat which was lost into the atmosphere.

  As if reading his thoughts, his hostess spoke: “There’s not many people with hydropower out here. I’m not bothered about getting reconnected. Most people are used to it after the last cuts.”

  “You live here alone?”

  There was silence, then the voice, deep as if hollowed out by a thousand cigarettes.

  “Yes, but you are here now. I am no longer alone.”

  A cloud of discomfort fell over him He was powerless and at the mercy of this stranger, unable to ward off her tongue and strangeness of manner.

  Suddenly, there was a faint shuffle and the distant creak of wood – a floorboard absorbing a man’s weight.

  Sheonagh moved swiftly and Strang could hear her sniff the air.

  “Hush! Be quiet if you want to live!”

  With surprising force, although in Strang’s weakened state a flea could have knocked him flat; Sheonagh pushed him into the bedding. Blankets which felt and smelled of dead animal were drawn over, covering him from foot to head.

  There was the sound of voices and a firm rap at the door. The bolt was eased open and cold air blasted into the room.

  “What brings you out at this hour, Ross?” Sheonagh said gruffly.

  The visitor’s voice seemed friendly but the local accent difficult for Strang to understand.

  “Prisoner’s goan missin’ Sheonagh. Nasty business. Broke oot ah Glasburgh and wis hiding down in Fort William. He’d been stayin’ up wi Father Jock, wha’d taken him in, thinking he wis some homeless man down on his luck. Father got a message the station but we were too late. He murdered a priest in his oan house and fled. Ah thoat the dogs had his scent an aw’ but it trailed oaf jist a few miles doon the road. We’re jist asking people to keep an eye out.”

  “Sounds like this man’s quite dangerous.”

  “There’s no telling what he’ll do. We’ve everywan we can searchin’ the hillside. Central station has agreed to send the airship but God knows how long it’ll take.”

  Hiding beneath the stale, stinking sheet, Strang could feel his heart pounding. The priest who had sheltered him was dead. Murdered.

  Would he have lived if Strang had stayed put? It was yet another life chalked against his conscience.

  Then a second voice spoke; clearer but still accented, the superior of the other man. The tone was officious and carried the potential for trouble.

  “So you haven’t seen or heard anything then this evening, missus?”

  “My name is Sheonagh.”

  The first man spoke again: “This is Inspector Ravenwood from B division, he’s come over from the city to help us wi’ the search.”

  The inspector, ignored the introduction, his voice cold and detached.

  “The last we can tell this man was just a few miles from your house. And yours is one of the closest homes for miles.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve not been anywhere all day.”

  “He would be desperate, cold, perhaps injured, seeking somewhere to hide.”

  “Well I’d certainly have remembered him, then.”

  “Would you mind if we had a quick look around?”

  “I certainly would. What on earth do you expect to find?”

  “We’re dealing with a desperate murderer, missus.”

  “It’ll just take a few minutes.” The first man, Ross, interjected, trying to sound more reasonable than his superior. “A desperate man. You don’t know if he’s hiding in a wood shed or with the chickens.”

  “Someone would be very foolish to come here seeking trouble, Ross.”

  “Aye they would at that Sheonagh, they would at that.”

  “Well since you men are here you can help me move Bertie outside. I had to put her down the other day. Her leg was trapped in Murray’s fences, torn to pieces. Thought of keeping her inside to save the hide from freezing but it’s starting to reek the place out.”

  The musty smell, which had dominated Strang’s nostrils since awakening, was explained.
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  “This is a murder inquiry – a priest has been killed,” barked the inspector.

  “We’d love to help Sheonagh but wi’ oor clients, they expect us to do more than lug animals aroond.”

  “Aye, I’m sure there’ll be a good commission in it for you Ross if you find this man; and you too inspector.”

  “That’s quite a brace of birds you’ve got on the wall, missus. Are you sure you’ve got permission to hunt those?”

  The door swept open and more heat fled from the room. Heavy footsteps and Strang could hear a further rattle, was it handcuffs? Guns?

  But his hostess had clearly planted discomfort in the two officers’ minds. They had barely been in the room a minute, before marching outdoors again. Under the animal hide, the words were masked by the wind. After a few minutes, there were more footsteps and he could hear the junior policeman say: “… a city man. Well spoken. You’d recognise him instantly.”

  “Why do they always think they can hide out here? Surely they have no idea how nosey folk around hear are. Can you imagine anyone here out of the season? That would be a strange thing, indeed.”

  The door closed, warmth began to return to the room. The sound of hooves crunching snow grew faint. He was again alone with Sheonagh.

  “They will soon realise that you’re no outdoorsman. Fortunately there’s only one police force out here – not enough business out here to sustain competition. But they will be back to search here again when they don’t find your body. We’ll need to find you a better hiding place”

  Confusion swelled inside Strang. Forgetting his blindness and dehydration, he blurted out: “Why are you helping me?”

  “I know about your troubles and will shelter you as long as you need.”

  “But how do you-“

  “Rest! You need your strength. I will tell you more when you awake.”

  Still concealed below the animal skin, and despite his active mind, Strang felt the warmth of the fire enter his bones.

  CHAPTER TWELVE