As my head cleared my memory returned to me, and I realized what had happened. The vicar had delivered me into the hands of a vivisectionist. At least Graymalk had escaped. That was something.
I inspected the door to my cage. It was a simple enough latch that held it shut, but the mesh was too fine for me to reach through and manipulate it. And the mesh was too tough to be readily breached by tooth or claw. What would Growler counsel? Things were a lot simpler in the primeval wood.
The most obvious plan was to fake lassitude when they came for me, then to spring to attack as soon as the cage door was opened. I’d a feeling, though, that I wasn’t the first ever to think of such a ploy, and where were the others now? Still, I couldn’t just lie there and contribute to medical understanding. So unless something better came along I resolved to give this plan a try when they came for me.
When they did, of course, they were ready. They’d a lot of expertise with fangs and knew just how to go about it. There were three of them, and two had on elbow-length padded gloves. When I pulled the awake, lunge, and bite maneuver I got a padded forearm forced back between my jaws, and my legs were seized and held while someone twisted an ear painfully. They were very efficient, and they had me strapped to the table in less than a minute. I wondered just how long I had been unconscious.
I listened to their conversation as they began their preparations:
“Strange, ‘im payin’ us so well to do a job on this ‘un,” said the one who had twisted my ear.
“Well, it is a strange job, and it does involve some extra work,” said the one who was arranging the instruments into neat little rows. “Bring over some clean parts buckets. He was very specific that when we render him down, a piece at a time, for candles, there be no foreign blood or other materials mixed in.”
“‘Ows ‘e to know?”
“For what he’s paying he can have it his way.”
“I’ll ‘ave to scrub ’em out.”
“Do it.”
A brief reprieve, to the sound of running water, followed, drowning out some of the whimpers and cries which were beginning to get to me.
“And where’s the cask for his head?”
“I left it in t’other room.”
“Get it. I want everything to hand. Nice doggy.” He patted my head as we waited. The muzzle they’d gotten onto me prevented my expressing my opinion.
“He was a strange one,” said the third man, a thin, blond fellow with very bad teeth, who had been silent till then. “What’s special about doggy candles?”
“Don’t know and don’t care,” said the one who had patted me, a large, beefy man with very blue eyes, and he returned his attention to his instruments. “We give a customer what he pays for.”
The other returned then, a short man with wide shoulders, large hands, and a tic at the corner of his mouth. He bore what looked like an odd-sized lunch pail. “I have it now,” he said.
“Good. Then gather round for a lesson.”
Then I heard it, _Dzzp!_, a high-pitched whine descending to a low throb in about three seconds each cycle. It is above the range of the human ear, and it accompanies the main curse, circling at a range of about a hundred fifty yards initially. _Dzzp!_
“First, I will remove the left rear leg,” began the beefy man as he reached for a scalpel.
The others drew near, reaching after other instruments and holding them ready for him.
_Dzzp!_ The circle might well be smaller by now, of course.
There came a loud pounding upon an outer door.
“The devil!” said the beefy man.
“Shall I see who ’tis?” asked the smaller man.
“No. We’re operating. He can come back if it’s important.”
_Dzzp!_
It came again, more heavily; this time it was obviously the sound of someone kicking upon the door.
“Inconsiderate lout!”
“Ruffian!”
“Churl!”
_Dzzp!_
The third time that the knocking occurred it seemed as if each blow were performed by a strong man striking his shoulder against the door, attempting to break it down.