Apples and Apparitions; or, Brimstone...

A boy, surely not more than twelve, stood waiting like a moonlit ghost. A well-provisioned ghost, it was true, because this spectre was wearing a duffel jacket with deep pockets, in one of which was a sandwich wrapped in cloth. The opposite pocket held a meticulously-wound length of string, a conker, two safety pins and a lump of quartz, none of which was particularly relevant.

He had been standing at the stile for some time and was prepared to wait as long as was necessary. The clouds, realising they would lose this battle of wills, threw up their hands and covered the moon's face. Only for a moment, and that was enough. There was an unworldly howl. Heavy, clicking, thudding footsteps approached along the lane. They approached fast.

"Hold a moment, hound, if you please," the boy called out.

The huge animal halted. It was a patch of black on black, shadow solidified. It turned and the boy saw eyes like stoked coals.

"What?" said the dog warily.

The boy said "Are you the hound they hear at nights running along the road past Toxtun?"

"I might be," the creature allowed.

"Are you the hound I saw six nights ago on the lane leading up to the big house?"

"Are you that boy?" said the hound. It sat down in the middle of the roadway. Its paws were larger than the span of the boy's hand.

"I thought as much." The boy's eyes were cold, in a pale face around which dark hair fell straight. He took two steps forward. "The day after I saw you, a woman and girl -- my mother and sister -- were killed in an accident. Were you involved?"

The dog grinned at him. "Believe in omens?"

"Would you be kind enough to answer my question?"

"I wasn't involved. I've never heard of them and I didn't kill them."

"And I do not believe in omens. Very well then. Why do you run the roads in this area?"

The hound put its ears back.

The boy waited.

"It's embarrassing," the hound said.

"I shan't tell anyone," the boy said.

The creature growled extensively and resentfully. "I was in the Hunt. I got left behind."

"Hunt, eh?" said the boy.

"I'm waiting for my master to find and collect me. Yes, the Demonic Hunt. What about it?"

The boy looked amused. "Did you know this is a buffer area?"

"What did you say? An area where hunting's illegal?"

"I said a buffer area, but yes, more or less. What does the Demonic Hunt hunt?"

"Things that run. Why illegal?"

"Game management. We're between Cumentos and Garfdale, both keen bloodsportsmen. Who is your master?"

"Demon Slimeclqux," said the hound, who couldn't lie in response to that particular question. "Look here, we don't have any say in where the Hunt passes. Besides, you'd have a hard time proving to the land-owner that we exist."

The boy smiled with his mouth only.

The hound sat back a little. "Oh, you're the -- cats damn it. You're young for a landlord."

"You will not call me young, thank you. As it happens, I am new to the rôle."

"Mother dead...?" The dog was very wary now.

"Oh, only my father had any relevance to matters of succession. He held the title -- but I already know who was responsible for his death." He held the hound's stare. "Definitely not you. Besides, I have already taken care of that detail."

"So I see," said the hound, curling his tail around his flank.

"How do you mean?"

"I can sense when a mortal has killed. I can smell it."

"How extraordinary."

"Not really. I am a dog. If I'd trusted my nose to begin with I would've already guessed you were in charge. You smell like an alpha on the ascendent."

This time it was the boy who stood back. "That is a horrible thing to say," he snapped.

A tongue-lolling whiskery laugh. "Truth taste bad, little lordie?"

"Truth phrased less than savourily, little dog sitting on my land."

The creature's hindquarters tensed. "You've got nothing on me," the hound said.

"Haven't I? Then what is in my pocket, dog with a clever nose?"

The hound's ears pricked. "Chicken with garlic, mustard and rosemary, in fresh spelt bread!"

"Why, so it is. Would you like some?"

"Hrrr, well, I mean, if it's going spare, not that I, well, wouldn't want to, you know, so can I have it then?" The huge black hellhound, with its glowing red eyes, held up its terrible forepaws and wagged its terrible tail and drooled a bit.

"Why, certainly. And in return you are going to tell me so many very interesting things. May I touch you?"

"What? Whatever, go ahead," said the dog distractedly.

Its head and neck felt just like a normal dog's, and it turned out to like its ears rubbed.

---

The next time, it was pork and cheese with rapini and apple relish. Too fatty to be appetising to the boy, but then, he was after a powerful bitch. He spent half the morning climbing hills until he found the place as described.

Then, since he was early, he sat and thought over what the first dog had told him.

It was an intriguing nonsense of demons and imps, of places that weren't real and people who lived a sort of second life after they died -- "none of that applies to you, though," the dog had said; "that's one of the reasons we like your world, because you're like a shelter from it all" -- of other beings who changed shape and had the power to know the desires and speech of what they patronisingly referred to as 'mortals'.

Other than that, the personalities involved, the bickering, the petty rivalries and the moments of cooperation, sounded entirely like the sort of people the boy knew. It raised all sorts of interesting ideas, really.

Getting on for an hour before noon, she appeared, pushing through the grass. She was awe-inspiring. Purest black and longer-furred than the first hound, almost to the degree of a maned wolf, her red, sunlit eyes were purposeful and she walked past without acknowledging him. So the boy followed.

"Good morning, madam," he said.

"Worm, what do you want?" growled the dog.

"Might you be the hellbitch Brimstone?" asked the boy, coming abreast of her.

"Who's asking?"

"I shall take that as a yes. My name is Ri--" The boy broke off and amended himself. "Suitov, sixteenth lord of Applestone."

"I don't care what you're lord of," said the bitch Brimstone, slowing down to have a good sniff of a rut in the road.

"Oh good. Then I hope we can dispense with the formalities and talk about something that is interesting."

"You aren't," Brimstone said succinctly.

"Oh, but you are," said Suitov. "From what I'm told, you are nothing short of legendary -- and I believe it utterly now I see you. Your fearsome beauty fairly swallows the sun."

"Does that impacted-anal-gland flattery work on many women?" scoffed Brimstone.

"Not the truly intelligent ones."

The hellbitch bared her teeth and snapped once at him. "Give it a rest. So you've talked to some low-ranking male, learned a few things and now you think you can mix with the big dogs? Sweet-talk me and ask me a favour or something? Forget it. You aren't cute, you aren't original and I can smell your fear however well you're masking it."

"I'm well aware of that," said Suitov.

"And bribing me with that gourmet sandwich in your pocket? Did you expect me to sit up and beg and slurp your hand for it?"

Suitov smiled. "Wouldn't that dissolve my skin or something? Besides which, I would never expect a lady to do something so undignified." He bowed and laid the sandwich out on its cloth by the side of the roadway.

Brimstone sniffed the sandwich. "This has been in your rucksack. You've carried boots in there," she grumbled. "I'll eat it, and that's more favour than you deserve."

"It is indeed an honour," said Suitov.

"Too right it is, smarmy young..." She tailed off into a growl. There was chomping and a grudging wave of the tail. Brimstone looked up again a moment later. "You think your cleverness will keep you safe, little backwoods alpha. Someday soon, some beautiful bitch will wipe the smug right off your face."

"I'm rather young for girls," Suitov said.

"A sceptic! How lovely." The bitch licked her lips.

"Oh, not a bit of it. I know how powerful you are. Anyway, it will probably be good for me."

The hellbitch, her mouth full of pig product, gave him a suspicious look.

"Won't it? I've always imagined it would keep me from being self-absorbed."

"There's nothing so self-absorbed as a dog running after a bitch in season, boy," said Brimstone.

Suitov thought about it. "Ah. I see what you mean."

Brimstone narrowed her eyes at him. She nosed the cloth over in case there was anything edible on the other side. "Not all males do," she allowed.

"Is that not why hellbitches are the more powerful?" he said.

"It's because we manage not to be morons. Why did you come here?" asked Brimstone abruptly.

Suitov bowed again. "To meet you, talk with you and hopefully to learn something if I could. That was all."

Brimstone wrinkled her muzzle at him. "Mortals always want something."

"Of course! But I haven't any wishes that I wouldn't rather fulfil for myself. Surely you can smell whether I'm telling the truth," he smiled.

The hellbitch growled. She hated it when mortals told the truth. She set off again on the path she had been walking. Suitov quickly scooped up the cloth. Hearing him following her again, Brimstone rolled her eyes.

After a minute she remarked, "You've already learned something if you're bright enough. Don't think you're getting any more handouts."

"I'm only curious to see where you go," Suitov said. "Am I making you nervous? I could leave."

"Nervous!" repeated the dog, with a contemptuous rolling shake of her head.

A minute later, Suitov asked "May I touch you?"

Brimstone eyed him and thought about it. "Yes; and if you do, I'll bite your hand off." He did not touch her.

After a few more minutes the hellbitch stopped again to sniff a bush and some goat dung. "If I ever have a son and he's as useless as you, you should take him," she remarked.

"Is that prophecy, prediction or promise?" asked Suitov, taken aback.

"Supposition. Anyhow, if I whelped a male I'd be very surprised -- not to mention disappointed. Some lapse of judgment that would be." She was amused by his startlement.

"Then whatever else may happen, may you whelp many strong female puppies." Suitov passed a hand through his hair. That would have been an awfully crass thing to say to a woman, at least unless she'd just told you she was hoping to conceive, but it seemed to butter up Brimstone.

He dropped back and paid more attention to his footing. They had reached a cliff-edge and turned to walk along it. The path was more suitable for single file. A moderate drop beneath them was a scrubby fell with one or two wild horses.

Brimstone looked back at him. She said, "Soon will be the place where I disappear. I still might kill you before then, of course."

"Of course," Suitov agreed.

The dog paused again, lifted her head and faced into the wind.

"All this will be fields," she said. "You'll be here again."

"With you?"

"Don't be stupid."

There was a pause, then Suitov asked "Do you see many different places?"

"I have my routes. Sometimes they change," Brimstone said. "Now you've pestered me, I probably won't come this way again until you're gone."

"Ah well. You are welcome to visit my home in the meantime. That goes for your master too."

Brimstone looked round at him with a great many teeth. "Legendary hellbitches don't have masters," she said; "we have understandings. Mine is called Demon Miserere and we don't make house calls. For that you should be grateful. And here it is."

She trotted forward with a growl, and then vanished. Suitov had to fight his brain, which was trying to tell his eyes they were wrong about seeing bright lines, scored in midair, opening up to let the dog in.

"Farewell, then, Brimstone Miserere," the boy said aloud. When nothing further happened, he took out his compass and started picking his way homewards.

The cloth was so mauled and sulphurous that he had to burn it.

Just under three years later, he did meet a girl, and he remembered.