Aunt Effie's Ark, page 3
Casey, who had been holding on with her arms around Victor’s waist, had to let go as Hubert’s front half bent and disappeared over the top of the hill. Jessie laughed and told Jared who leaned out to look and slipped. He grabbed Jessie and Lizzie who slipped, too, and Lizzie grabbed Casey. Casey had nobody to grab hold of. She screamed but – since they were going down the other side – the big kids couldn’t hear.
At the bottom of the hill, Hubert fell into a hole in the snow, and we had to get off so he could climb out. We climbed a strainer post and got on again. Peter looked down at the hole, shook his head, and said something to Marie.
“Better not tell the others,” said Marie, but Alwyn who had sharp ears had already repeated Peter’s words. “It’s one of the footprints of the wild beast that ate the foolish sheep.” We looked down at the hole in the snow that Hubert had fallen into. It was the footprint of a wolf’s paw so big we felt dizzy.
Hubert galloped across the creek. We pulled up our feet, but they still got wet and our toes started to freeze.
“If you wore shoes and stockings as I do,” said Daisy, “your toes would be as warm as toast!”
“As warm as toast,” repeated Alwyn although his toes were blue.
Covered in snow, the house and barn looked like a white hill with chimneys sticking out the top. Seeing us coming, the kitchen chimney puffed a smoke ring from the maire backlog which never went out. We all cheered.
“Shhh!” Marie was too late. Away to blazes up the back of the farm the wild beast heard us and howled, “Ooowhooooo!”
“Stop, Alwyn!” cried Marie, but Alwyn could never stop himself teasing animals and grown-ups. “Ooowhooooo!” he howled back.
“OOOWHOOOOO!” howled the wild beast – much closer and sounding hungry. Peter unlocked the door, and we scrambled inside Aunt Effie’s enormous kitchen. There wasn’t time to take Hubert to the barn, so we took him inside with us.
And just then Becky shrieked, “Where’s Casey, Lizzie, Jared, and Jessie?”
We all looked at Victor because he sat in front of Casey on Hubert. “I looked round and saw them as we came to the top of the hill,” he said. “When I looked back again, Hubert’s front half was coming down this side, and they were still coming up the other side on his back half, so I couldn’t see them any longer.”
“Didn’t you feel Casey let go?” Daisy asked.
“Of course, but then we reached the bottom of the hill and saw the tracks of the wild beast,” Victor cried. Daisy made it sound like his fault.
“We must rescue them!” Marie rushed upstairs to Aunt Effie’s bedroom and came down carrying two suits of armour, the helmet with a bullet-hole, a brass blunderbuss, and a bloodstained halberd. She and Peter each put on a suit of armour, and they dropped the helmet with the bullet-hole over Hubert’s head. He looked pretty scary, like the painting of Ned Kelly by Mr Nolan that Mrs Jones hung in the girls’ dunny at school.
Marie loaded the blunderbuss with nikau berries which everyone knows are harder than bullets. Peter wanted to take Daisy because she had a carrying voice and could call the little ones, but she was too busy having hysterics.
It was lucky Aunt Effie had shown us how to rig sheerlegs to hold a block high in the air. We ran a rope through the block, hoisted Peter and Marie in their heavy suits of armour, and lowered them on to Hubert’s back
Peter shouted and shook his halberd, a very convenient weapon that ended in a spear with an axe-head underneath. If you missed your enemy with the spear you could still chop off his head. Marie shouted and brandished the blunderbuss. Their armour clanked as Hubert neighed inside his helmet and galloped into the snowstorm. We hoped the little ones would hear them coming and call out.
In Aunt Effie’s enormous kitchen, the maire backlog glowed red against the back of the chimney. Although it was still only lunchtime, the day was very dark. We didn’t like to go inside while the little ones were missing, and Peter and Marie and Hubert were risking their lives to rescue them. We lit lengths of resinous rimu heartwood from the fire and stood on the steps, holding the torches above our heads. Burning resin dripped, hissed, and melted black holes in the snow like notes of music.
“I’m hungry!” whimpered David and Victor.
“You can’t be hungry, not while your dear little cousins are almost certainly being eaten by a wild beast!” Daisy told them. She wiped her hand across her mouth, and we realised she had been into the bread bin while she was having hysterics.
“Come on,” said Jane, and she took David and Victor who were now the youngest and gave them some bread and cheese and an apple each, and a glass of milk. The rest of us felt hungry, too, but we didn’t like to say because we felt guilty about losing the little ones. When our empty tummies rumbled, Daisy said, “Manners!” Our bare feet were red and blue with cold.
Jazz shuffled and said, “I wouldn’t mind a nice fresh hot cow plop to stand in.”
“Do you mind?” sniffed Daisy, and Hubert galloped out of the snowstorm with Casey, Lizzie, Jared, and Jessie on his back. He hurdled us, and landed in the middle of the kitchen. We leapt inside after him, slammed the door against the snow, and pushed the bars across just as somebody hammered on it and yelled, “Let me in!”
We pulled out the bars, opened the door, and Marie fell through with a heap of snow. We slammed the door, and pushed the bars across just as somebody hammered on it and yelled, “Let me in!”
We pulled out the bars, opened the door, and Peter fell through with more snow. We slammed the door, and pushed the bars across just as something hammered on it and howled, “Ooowhooooo, Euphemia! Let me in!”
Peter and Marie grabbed our rimu brands, ran upstairs, threw up a window, and flung the blazing torches at something which howled, “Ooowhooooo!” and ran away into the dark. The air stank of singed hair.
Back in the kitchen, we lit candles and counted each other. “Daisy-Peter-Marie-Colleen-Alwyn-Bryce-Jack-Ann-Jazz-Beck-Jane-Isaac-David-Victor-Casey-Lizzie-Jared-Jess!” we all said. “You’re back!” we told Casey, Lizzie, Jared and Jessie.
We tossed the little ones up to the rafters to show them how delighted we were to see them safe and sound. We tickled them, we teased them, we rubbed and polished them. We dressed and undressed them, and bathed and towelled them dry, and threw them up in the air again, and pretended we weren’t going to catch them. We filled them up with cakes and lollies and cream and soft drinks till they were all sick and crying, and after we’d handed them around several more times, we asked, “Where were they?”
“We found their tracks in the snow where they’d fallen off Hubert’s tail,” said Peter. “They’d started running as they came down and hit the ground. Unfortunately they landed facing the wrong way, so they headed back to the school.”
“Remember Mr Jones said he’d leave the door unlocked, just in case anyone wanted to come in and get warm?” Marie asked. “Well, that’s where we found them. They’d drunk the last of the cocoa out of the bucket and were sitting in front of the stove pretending to read the blackboard.”
“Did you wake Mr Jones?”
“He just muttered something about the Prime Minister and went back to sleep. We filled the stove with wood again so he’d keep warm. Halfway home, you know where the track goes under the black trees?” We all nodded. “Well,” said Marie, “that’s where the Urewera wolf was waiting. It was higher than Hubert. Its eyes glowed in the dark, and do you know what?”
“What?” we shrilled.
Marie dropped her voice. “You’ll never guess!”
“What?” we shrieked.
“Its face is tattooed!”
We all burst out crying. “A Tattooed Wolf!” Aunt Effie had always told us they were the worst kind. “What did you do?” we screamed at Marie and Peter.
“We dropped the halberd and the blunderbuss.”
“You dropped the halberd and the blunderbuss!”
“It was the cleverest thing we could think to do. It saved our lives because, while the Tattooed Wolf bent down and scrabbled around trying to pick them up, Hubert galloped home,” said Peter. “Marie and I fell off as we got near the house. It’s very difficult staying on a horse when you’re wearing armour.”
“It doesn’t matter. You rescued the little ones!” we said. “And we’re all safe.”
“You think we’re safe?” screeched Daisy. “With a Tattooed Wolf outside armed with the halberd and the blunderbuss? A Tattooed Wolf that said The Name We Dare Not Say!”
We looked at each other. We’d all been pretending we hadn’t heard it say that name.
And just then a terrible voice whispered through the keyhole. “Open the door, Euphemia!”
Chapter Four
The Battle with the Tattooed Wolf
Peter ticked off on his fingers. “Aunt Effie said to screw steel shutters over the doors and windows,” he whispered.
“We did that,” we whispered back.
“Caulk the walls.”
“We did that.”
“Schenam them with whale oil and shell lime.”
“We did that.”
“Tar them, felt them, sheathe them with totara.”
“We did that.”
“Then caulk and tar the totara, just like our scow.”
“We did that!”
Peter counted his fingers and nodded. “That’s the lot!” In a louder voice he said, “And if anyone tries to hack down the door with the halberd, or blow it down with the blunderbuss, he’d better watch out.”
“Open the door,” whispered the terrible voice through the keyhole, “or I’ll hack it down with the halberd!”
“Down with the halberd,” Alwyn answered back.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you…” The voice was so cold, frost crystals formed around the keyhole.
“Didn’t warn you,” Alwyn repeated.
“Don’t you dare answer me back!” An icicle hung down from the keyhole.
“Answer me back!”
“Nobody gives cheek to the Tattooed Wolf!”
“Cheek to the Tattooed Wolf!”
“All right – take this!”
“Take this!” echoed Alwyn, and there was a colossal clang on the door.
“Ow!” somebody screamed, and the halberd clattered on the steps outside.
Alwyn called back, “Ow!” He winced and shook his hands above his head. “Like Mr Jones – with the strap!” he whispered. We spluttered and stuck our hands over our mouths. Lizzie snorted and laughed aloud.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me!” bellowed the Tattooed Wolf.
“Laugh at me!” said Alwyn. We rolled on our backs, kicked our feet in the air, and let our breath go in one enormous laugh. “I’ll show you!” the voice screamed.
“I’ll show you!” We laughed even louder.
“I’ll blow your door down!”
“I’ll blow your door down!” repeated Alwyn.
“No, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!” said Lizzie who knew all the nursery rhymes and stories by heart.
“Try huffing and puffing!” Jessie sang out.
Boom! The Tattooed Wolf fired the blunderbuss. The nikau berries were so much harder than bullets, they dented the steel shutters, and the wood stood out in little bumps on our side.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” screamed the Tattooed Wolf.
“The berries bounced back and hit him,” said Peter. “It’s called a ricochet.”
“Ow! Ow! Ow!”
“Ow! Ow!” said Alwyn.
We followed Peter upstairs. He rolled out the wicked little barrel, painted with the skull and crossbones, that Aunt Effie kept under her bed – where most people kept a chamber-pot. Gingerly, he worked off the top.
“I thought so. Gunpowder!”
Aunt Effie had taught us how to load and fire a cannon. We pushed a canister of gunpowder down the barrel and tamped it into place. We stood in a circle, heaved up a cannon-ball, and rolled it down the barrel. With a broom handle, Marie made sure it was in place, and poked in a wad to hold the cannon-ball.
The window screeched. We pulled on the gun-tackle and ran the cannon up so the barrel poked over the sill. Peter tapped in the wedges to point its mouth down.
Despite the window’s screech, the rumble of the cannon’s iron wheels across the floor, and the tap of Peter’s mallet, the Tattooed Wolf heard nothing.
“Ooowhooooo! Ooowhooooo!” With all four paws, it was patting its bruises. It raised its face, “Ooowhooooo! Ooowhooooo!” and we saw it was tattooed all over, not just the forehead, the cheeks, the chin, and the nose, but the insides of the ears, the nostrils, and the eyelids.
“There’s something familiar about that tattoo,” said Jazz.
The monster stuck out its tongue and licked its bruises. “Ooowhooooo! Ooowhooooo!”
“That’s why it’s got such a terrible voice!” Ann gasped. “Its tongue is tattooed, too…”
Jazz said, “I’m sure I’ve seen that tattoo somewhere else.”
“Touch-powder…” Peter trickled some grains of black powder into the touch-hole.
The Tattooed Wolf heard him, looked up, and saw the cannon. He must have been fired at before because he shrieked and ran away over the paddocks. “Ooowhooooo! Ooowhooooo!”
Between two sticks, Peter picked up a burning coal from the fireplace and put it to the touch-hole. The cannon boomed, recoiled, bumped Aunt Effie’s bed, and filled the room with smoke. We cheered, leaned out the window, and saw the black cannon-ball streaking over the white snow.
The Tattooed Wolf saw it coming, screamed, “Ooowhooooo! Ooowhooooo!” and jumped out of sight in a ditch. He stuck up his terrible head to see what was happening, and the cannon-ball whipped off the tip of one ear as clean as whistle.
“Ooowhooooo! Ooowhooooo! I’ll get my own back!” he howled. “I’ll crop the ears off the sides of your heads.” Lizzie and Jared felt their ears.
“What? What’s going on? What…” Aunt Effie sat up, eyes half open, nostrils flaring and sniffing.
“It’s all right,” Marie told her. “We just chased away a Tattooed Wolf that came down from the Vast Untrodden Ureweras. Everybody’s safe and sound. Go back to sleep.”
“Eberybuggle’s shafe. Glow black to sheep,” Aunt Effie mumbled. “What a nishe shmell!” We laid her back against her pillows.
“Gunpowder smoke,” Marie told her and said to us, “You know how she always says she loves the smell of battle!”
Aunt Effie sniffed the smoke and snored again. Ann straightened the sou’wester she wore. Peter mopped out the cannon and reloaded it just in case. And we tiptoed downstairs where Daisy was still having hysterics.
“We’ve had The First Day of School, The Last Day of School, The Gallant Rescue of the Little Ones, and The Battle of the Tattooed Wolf all in one day,” said David. “I think we deserve a feast!”
“Hooray!” we all shouted.
“There’s one problem we have to solve first,” said Peter. “How to get out to the barn.
“If we open the door, the snow will pour in, and we won’t be able to close it again. Then, when the snow melts, the house will fill with water and sink. Besides, if we dig a tunnel through the snow, what’s to stop the Tattooed Wolf from digging a hole and catching us?”
We shook our heads.
“My banty will be getting hungry,” said Jessie.
“And my donkey,” said Lizzie.
“The chooks will stop laying if they’re not fed tonight,” said Daisy. “And we didn’t collect the eggs this morning, thanks to you,” she told Marie. “The cows will stop giving milk, and the geese and turkeys will start fighting again. A nice mess we’re in! All because none of you would listen to me and get up this morning when I told you to.”
“Told you to,” said Alwyn.
“Don’t you copy me!”
“Copy me!”
“I’m older than you!”
“Older than you!”
“You be quiet!”
“Be quiet!”
Daisy was silent. Alwyn could keep it up all day.
“Remember Aunt Effie told us about her great-great-grandfather in that hard winter several centuries ago?” Peter said to Marie. “How he got out to the barn?”
“Yes, he dug a tunnel, but the snow collapsed on top of him.”
“It took them two days to pull him out of the snow by his feet, and they stretched so he couldn’t ever find shoes big enough to fit him afterwards,” said Alwyn.
“Have you no sense at all?” demanded Daisy.
“No sense at all?”
Peter ignored them. “Well, he had to find another way into the barn. Just like us.”
“Did he find one? What was it? How did he get into the barn? I’ve forgotten!” we all shouted.
“There’s only one person old enough to remember,” said Peter. “Hubert!”
All this time, Hubert had been sitting in the rocking chair in front of the fire. He stopped rocking, swivelled his ears toward Peter, and shook his head.
“You’re the oldest,” said Peter. “You must remember!”
“Not as old as that.” Hubert rocked backwards and forwards.
“But you’ve heard Aunt Effie tell the story?”
“A hundred times,” said Hubert. “She said her great-great-grandfather cut a door through the back of the house and into the barn.”
“A door through the back of the house! That’s how he did it! Good old Hubert! I knew he’d remember!” we shouted.
“Now we can feed my banty!”
“And my donkey.”
“Yes,” said Peter, “but which door, Hubert?”
“I don’t know,” said Hubert. “Up the stairs from Aunt Effie’s enormous bedroom, there’s another floor. And above that floor there’s another. And another. And another. Nobody’s explored them for thousands of years.
