The Lost Labyrinth

II

Gaille tried instinctively to twist away from the German shepherd as it leapt at her face, but her ankle turned beneath her, and she fell hard onto her backside, screaming in terror and expecting the worst. But the dog unaccountably jerked to a sudden halt, as though some hidden hand had grabbed it by its scruff; its legs flew from under it and it fell sprawling onto its back, then it yelped and scrambled to its feet and came for her once more, riding up on its hind legs like a spooked horse, pawing the air in frustrated fury just a metre or so away, snarling and barking and showing her its fangs, while saliva frothed from its mouth and down its jowls, and its eyes glistened and raged. She scrambled on her palms and heels to a safer distance, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, still not quite sure how she'd got away with it.

'It's on a leash,' muttered Iain, returning from wherever he'd fled.

She squinted through the murky light and finally she saw it: a studded collar around the dog's throat, a length of thin black cord attached to it that disappeared in the darkness. 'Petitier must have left it here on guard,' she said in a strained voice.

'Dogs,' said Iain bleakly. 'I hate dogs.'

'So I'd noticed,' she said dryly. She made to get up, but pain lanced up her left leg and she promptly sat back down again. 'My ankle,' she winced. She took off her shoe, her sock. Her foot was blistered and dirty, but there was mercifully little sign of injury. She tried to stand again; again she winced and sat back down. It all felt slightly surreal, with the dog still raging impotently just a few metres away. 'I twisted it when I fell.'

Iain took off his pack, produced a first-aid kit and a roll of crepe bandage. He cut off a good length of it that he wrapped tightly around her ankle and then fixed in place with a couple of safety pins. 'How's that?' he asked.

'Better,' she told him. 'But what do we do now?'

'You wait here. I'll go explore.'

Her heart-rate gradually resettled as she sat there. The dog was still barking and lunging at her with undiminished ferocity; it dismayed her deeply that any creature could wish her such palpable ill. But even this hellhound couldn't sustain its fury forever, and finally it calmed a little, patrolling back and forth as close to her as its leash allowed, snarling and showing her its fangs.

'Hey!' called out Iain. 'Up here.'

She looked up, saw him silhouetted on the roof. 'Good news, bad news,' he said. 'I can't find a way in to the house, but the roof will do us for tonight. And there's a gate at the bottom, so that we can keep that bloody dog out, even if it should get loose.'

'What about your tent? Don't you need to bang in pegs and things?'

'It's a pop-up,' he told her. 'Couldn't be easier. One flap and it's ready. Tell you what, I'll come and give you a hand, then I'll cook us up some pasta. God knows we've earned it. Everything else can wait till morning, when we've got some light to work with.'