Free The Pack by Tom Pow Page A

“It’s all right.”
    Victor too was up, agitatedly going from one side of his cage to the other, his head rocking from side to side, till Bradley called out, “Victor, Victor, it’s OK, it’s OK. Be still.”
    The three of them lay back down, but Hunger and Victor continued to sift the air, their eyes alert. How long they stayed like that—minutes or hours—Bradley couldn’t be sure. While he drifted off to sleep, they remained locked in a timeless immobility.
    Bradley only wakened when there were heavy footsteps and the door was flung open.
    *   *   *
    The room soon filled with the boy soldiers. Then, with accompanying clapping, stamping and whooping, and bursting from a red pinafore dress, Red Dog entered, behind him the weasel.
    Beside the weasel ambled the tawny mass of Red Dog’s champion, its shoulder muscles rippling as it walked. It didn’t stand quite as tall as Hunger, but, like a burst sofa, it made up for that in breadth. Its head was almost square, half of one of its ears had been ripped off in some previous encounter. A scar ran across one eye. This was a trained, experienced fighter, but Bradley noted that, even as it walked, it panted. If Hunger were fit … Yet Bradley couldn’t know how much yesterday’s struggles had taken out of him. Certainly, if that brute got its jaws fastened round Hunger’s throat, the fight would be over.
    â€œGood morning, my hearties. Oh, I always loved the pirates. They were the very best stories, don’t you think? Oh, don’t you, don’t you? Answer me!”
    This was spoken—shouted—at one child in particular—one with a pale face crossed by a flop of hair.
    â€œYes, Red Dog, the best.”
    â€œOh, good, good, but Red Dog … Red Dog’s noticed you. He knows you now.”
    The boy gulped and everyone else seemed to become even more buoyant.
    â€œBut-but-but,” Red Dog machine-gunned round the whole company, “that might not be the way of it, because you know, you just know how much Red Dog loves numbers—how much he adores the number … eighteen. Oh, six times three—lovely! Oh, two times nine—glory! Now where do I begin?”
    The boys began to shuffle.
    â€œNo one move,” screamed Red Dog and pointed to the flop-haired boy. “Here, I’m going to begin here. A one and a two and a three and a four…”
    Rooted to the spot, once ten had been passed, the next group of boys fidgeted and silently pleaded.
    â€œâ€¦ and a … sixteen … and a … seventeen … and a … ay … ay … eighteen!”
    Number eighteen boy yelped.
    â€œFix him as a possible too, Laugh-tenant,” said Red Dog, visibly tiring of that game, before he remembered another.
    â€œNow,” he said, turning to the cage, “now to business. Oh, I love the early morning—the sunlight, the birds singing, joy in the heart.”
    The closest boys all tried to put “joy in the heart” expressions on.
    â€œThis now,” he said, pointing to the burst sofa, “is Tender. Hunger—Tender. But I want you to meet him up real close. Key!”
    The weasel handed him the key.
    â€œNow you,” he said to Bradley, “out.”
    Bradley took Hunger’s ears in his hands to look him eye to eye. “Keep moving, keep away from the jaws. If not, you’re done for.”
    This is my fight now, said Hunger.
    â€œOut now!” Red Dog bellowed. “Now, let’s shake things up a bit here.”
    Bradley stood outside, children once more fastened to him, as the weasel rattled a stick up and down the bars. Bradley would have wanted Hunger to keep his strength, but Hunger’s rage and hatred were so great, he threw himself, biting and snarling, against the bars.
    â€œThat’s more like it, that’s much more like it,” said Red Dog and pushed