Oscar by Dave Rigby

Pushing on, Ork thought about what Martin had said.

    “’Tis clear Lambert’s paper-dead, but that don’t mean he’s actual-dead.”

So, Martin could read. The sly dog.

Up till that moment, Ork hadn’t considered the possibility that Lambert might still be alive.

Victor continued the rhythmic movement of his hooves, until a patch of thistles caught his eye and steady progress became no progress. Well, if the horse was going to have a bite to eat, so was he, Ork reasoned. Reaching into a saddlebag, he pulled out a dark blue cloth. Inside were two hunks of bread, a slice of roast beef and a small wedge of cheese. As he ate sitting on a grassy knoll by the side of the track, it dawned on him that the third member of their party had gone missing. Putting two fingers to his mouth, he let out a few sharp whistles. Within a minute, Digger pushed his way through low bushes and emerged, evidence of his own very recent meal, clear from the state of his chops.

As Ork continued to chew on the beef, tossing a stray piece to the dog, he wondered about the chances of finding Oscar. Still – first things first. Find Lambert!

They’d been travelling for most of the afternoon. Woodhaven was just over the brow of the next hill. Ork would need to be careful. If Lambert was alive and got wind of Ork’s arrival, he’d be off like a shot and Oscar with him.

Riding down into the village, Ork headed to The Falconer. Good move or bad? He couldn’t be sure. The landlord knew everything that went on, sometimes even before it happened. But would he be tempted to send a warning signal to Lambert?

Ork hitched Victor’s rein to the rail and with Digger by his side, pushed open the inn door.

    “I’m after Josh Lambert,” he said, deciding that direct was probably best.

The innkeeper looked shifty.

    “He ain’t about. Gone to Faversham. Won’t be back until the morrow. Leastwise, so he said.”

So, obviously not dead then, Ork chuckled to himself.

    “Still up by the beck bridge, is he?”

    “No. Can’t say where he stays now. Flits about here and there.”

Can’t or won’t? Ork wondered. Start up by the bridge. Got nothing else to go on. And as Lambert would likely not be back in the village that day, they could search undisturbed.

The cottage, best described as tumbledown, was tiny. The barn at the rear was a more spacious, better kept building. Ork looked inside. It was dry. No beasts. A few bales of hay and a water trough. Victor took his fill.

Ork reached into a saddlebag for reins and bridle and held them out to Digger, who sniffed repeatedly and barked briefly. Then, nose to the barn floor he sniffed and snuffled like a professional, made his way through the open door and was off. Ork did his best to keep up as Digger sped away from the village and hared up a rough stony track into woodland.

Ork whistled. It would be too easy to lose the dog in the tree-covered twilight gloom. Digger waited for a moment before continuing along the trail at a slower pace, picking his way through lines of gnarled oaks, alongside impenetrable thickets of holly. Just as Ork was thinking that the dog’s scenting sense was failing him, he saw a stone building up ahead.

The worn timber door was locked. Digger jumped around, then, paws up against the entrance, barked like mad. There was a whinny from inside. Justification, Ork reasoned, for a break in. A tool from his belt made short work of the lock. Oscar was so pleased to see man and dog.

Only when Ork turned did he see the silhouette of a man in the doorway.

    “The magistrate would be interested to know about you breaking into my property and stealing my horse!”

    “And, no doubt, also interested to hear how a man can lend a horse in good faith, provide a helping hand, only to find the loan becomes a theft. And how come you’re alive when you’re supposed to be dead?”

Lambert removed a felt hat and scratched his head.

    “You still got to get past me!”

Normally Digger was of sound temperament, but if he took against someone …

Fangs bared, a deep growl, he padded slowly and menacingly towards Lambert who stood his ground, but only for a moment. Then he was gone.

    “Go to Victor!” Ork said in a low voice. The dog was gone.

Ork led Oscar through the wood and back to the cottage by the bridge. It was no surprise to see Lambert again. And no surprise that Digger, running his tongue over each side of his chops, had him pinned against the barn wall.

    “Unusually clever of you to realise Victor would be here,” Ork said, with a smile. “You so nearly made your escape. Such a pity to be foiled by a dog.”

With Ork saddled-up on Oscar, who was fresh for the road, Victor tethered behind and Digger running alongside, the quartet headed homewards through the moonlit night.