The Wolf Border(109)

One of them’s dead, she says.

Oh, Christ! Sorry. How?

Shot.

Sorry, Rachel.

She shakes her head, gets out of the car.

It shouldn’t have happened.

How did it happen? he asks. The news just said there was an escape.

I don’t know. Looks like someone let them out.

On purpose? Why? Who?

No idea yet.

This is not strictly true. Plenty of ideas have been forming in her head in the last twenty-four hours – not all of them realistic. They unload Charlie and his paraphernalia. Lawrence lifts him high in the air and swings him about.

Ready for some fun, little one?

I’m sorry – he’s out of clean nappies, he needs a bath and some cream. And he didn’t sleep much – it was a bit of a strange night. Expect him to be cranky.

That’s OK.

Did you get a ticket?

No.

Did you?

He shrugs.

I’ll do the speed-awareness course. Hey, it was an emergency!

I’ll pay the fine.

Don’t worry about it. Right, get on and do what you need to do. We’re fine. Aren’t we, Bup?

Lawrence carousels the baby in a wide arc, makes him squeal. A heavy weight seems lifted in her brother’s presence; how much easier it is to think clearly, to focus. She checks the receiver for a signal, but the wolves are once again out of range. The device is losing power, needs to be charged. She calls Huib. She gives him the bad news. He’s disappointed but accepting. Probably he expected it, and has encountered far worse in his time: mass slaughter, sawn-off horns – the worst poaching imaginable.

I’m going to send through a picture, she says. Get it to the media as soon as possible. It’ll gain some sympathy.

OK, good idea. Listen, I’m here with Thomas. We’re going to come and meet you and broaden the search. Where are you now?

Priest’s Mill. But I won’t be staying here. I know where they are, roughly. They’ll be almost to the northwest foothills.

OK, he says.

He repeats the location to Thomas. There’s a pause. She can hear them talking on the other end of the line.

OK, Rachel. We need to find a good place nearby and get clearance. Thomas says with luck we’ll be with you in the next twenty-five minutes.

What? Twenty-five minutes?

Yes, about that, Huib says. We have to get clearance and permission to land – it can’t be too close to any structures. I’ll call you back once we’re up with a rendezvous.

She realises then, not without a small thrill, that they are coming in the helicopter. Thomas Pennington has the means to traverse the entire county privately, by air.

OK, she says. Bring some more darts.

Yes, we are. We got lucky with the weather, Rachel. I think we’ll find them very quickly now.

She hangs up. She does not know about luck; the day has issued none so far. She looks up at the sky. A shale-blue expanse, light cloud cover, feathered cirrus. It is a beautiful window between the storms. Even the climate favours the Earl when he needs it to, she thinks. Now he is paying attention of course, now there’s reason, excitement. But she must quash the bitterness. Whatever advantages are at their disposal must be accepted, for the sake of the pack.

Got a plan? Lawrence asks, when she comes back over.

Yeah. You’re not going to believe it, she says.

She hurriedly eats the pastries her brother has brought and finishes the flask of lukewarm coffee. Ten minutes later, Huib calls back. The sound of the helicopter almost drowns him out, a rhythmic thrumming, the whine of the rotor; they are already airborne or about to take off.

Go to Arthur’s Seat, he shouts at her, on the Ullswater road. Thomas says the field beside the monument. Can you hear me, Rachel?

Yes, just about.

She checks the map book – the round table is about ten miles away. She needs petrol, but will make it. She kisses Charlie goodbye, thanks her brother again, and is about to get in the car when he stops her.

Wait, hold up. Won’t it be better to leave your car here? I’ll drive you. I know the place he means.

There’s no time to argue and no good reason. Nor, if she’s honest, does she want to be parted from her family just yet. Lawrence quickly transfers the baby seat. She takes what equipment she needs from the boot of the Saab and they start out. Her brother drives fast, but not dangerously, through St John’s Vale, past the small greenish mere, soupy with reeds, to the broadland before the northern fells. There is little traffic on the roads, only a few late-season tourists. Lawrence overtakes a caravan, accelerating with determination, pulling back in and reducing speed.

Is he asleep back there? he asks.

Yes, spark out. Poor thing, he’s really tired.

I bet.

I had to take him with me.

I know. Sorry I wasn’t around. I was in a deposition all day.

How are you? she asks.

I’m alright. Good days, bad days.

You look well.

Thanks. Rachel, don’t worry; he’ll be safe with me.

I know that.

As her brother drives, she texts the picture of the dead wolf to Sergeant Armstrong, and to Alexander. Thanks for Justine’s number. No joy. She looks out at the landscape, moors burnished along the base of the mountains, furze, sedge-coloured fields. They are out there, somewhere, and moving fast. As they near Arthur’s Seat, she checks the sky for the Gazelle coming in to land, but there’s only empty drifting blue.