He used his forearms to haul himself up to a kneeling position. The silent snowflakes were falling lightly and gracefully all around. He was on a wrestling mat, yes, but it was a mat made of snow. There were no seats for the audience, just a few black spruce trees, hardly visible in the night. There wasn’t even a towel for him to wipe away his sweat.
And his opponent was dead.
He picked up the knife, rose to his feet, and put a hand to his leg. His jeans were drenched with blood. He’d see to that later. Taking the doghandler’s body by the collar of his jacket, he dragged it, with difficulty, toward the rock where Helen was waiting.
Bombardone Mills woke with a sudden start. A branch, probably full of resinous sap, had just exploded on the hearth with a sound like a firework going off. He turned over and saw that his colleague wasn’t back yet. Some of the dog-men opened an eye. Ramses yawned.
It wasn’t like Pastor to go for a stroll in the middle of the night, with snow falling. It wasn’t like anyone, come to that. Mills gently moved Ramses’ head and got to his feet. As he went out, he bumped into Teti’s left leg. The dog-man showed his teeth.
“That’s enough,” growled Mills. “Don’t overdo it.”
Snowflakes whirled in the beam of his flashlight, but too densely for him to be able to see more than thirty feet ahead. The police chief followed Pastor’s half-covered tracks to the right and found a place where the snow was packed down strangely flat.
“Pastor! Hey, Pastor!” he shouted.
No reply. Looking more closely, he saw a trail beginning here, leading toward the rocks. More than that, he saw drops of blood tracing a scarlet dotted line in the white snow. He didn’t like this at all. He was about to follow the trail when he realized that his boots were nowhere near tall enough to cope with this snow. He hurried back into the refuge to put his snowshoes on, but his glance fell on the travel bag with Bartolomeo’s boots in it. They’d come higher up his legs.
Leaning back against the room partition, he put on the first boot and then the second. They were a little large for him, but supple and comfortable. As he straightened up, he was surprised to see Cheops standing in front of him. The dog-man had risen without a sound and was glaring at him.
“What do you want?” asked Mills uneasily. “Are you thirsty?”
Cheops let his eyes wander slowly down to the police chief’s feet. His muzzle was quivering, and a vicious light gleamed in his eyes.
“Oh, I see!” Mills laughed. “It’s the boots. So you think they’re —”
Teti too came over and sniffed the air near the boots. A low growl rose from the depths of his throat. It made Mills shudder.
“They’re not my boots, you morons!” he said, and swore at them. “It’s not me you’re looking for. We’ve been on the march together for three days — don’t you recognize me? Are you thick or what?”
He walked around the two dogs, making for the door. But now Amenophis, lips curling back to show the white ivory of his teeth, barred the way.
“Let me by, idiot! Your master’s out there. He’s in danger.”
The dog-man took a step forward, and Mills had to retreat. He stumbled against the mattress and fell over backward.
“I’m taking them off, look! Here, watch, I’m taking them off!”
His heart was thudding. He sent the boots flying through the air to the far end of the room, but the three dog-men took no notice. A very simple line of reasoning was forming in their poor, deranged brains: they’d been given a scent to follow, and the man lying on the mattress in front of them carried that scent. They didn’t need to know any more.
“Pastor!” bellowed Mills at the top of his voice. “Pastor, for God’s sake!”
Then he looked for Ramses, who had taken refuge in a corner of the room and looked utterly dazed.
“Ramses, here! Defend me!”
The three dog-men were suddenly transformed. Their eyes were bloodshot; their fangs were bared. In a few seconds they became hatred personified. Chephren and Mykerinos, who had been given Milena’s scarf to sniff, let the heat of the moment carry them along and joined the others.
“Ramses! Hell, can’t you see they’re going for me any minute?”
The unfortunate Ramses was in torment, torn between his brothers and his master. He writhed, groaned, wept.
“Ramses, help me!”
That appeal made up his mind for him. He leaped forward, jaws slobbering, to stand beside Mills. He was big and strong. The others took a step back.
“Attack, Ramses! Attack!”
The loyal dog-man flung himself on Mykerinos, the nearest of his assailants. He was looking for the creature’s throat but found only his shoulder. The two of them rolled over on the floor, fighting furiously. Then everything happened very fast. Chephren and Teti attacked together. Teti closed his jaws on Ramses’ throat and bit hard. The other two went for his arms, legs, and belly. Struggling, Ramses tried to break free but couldn’t. Mills saw red blood flowing over his black trousers and his jacket, the jacket he had once taught the creature to button up for himself.
“Aaar . . . done,” begged Ramses, groaning. “Aaar . . . done.” And then, making a huge effort, he added, “Ell-ell-ell . . .”
Mills realized that his companion was calling to him for help. A new word, a word he’d just learned. He felt sobs rising in his chest.
“Let go of him!” he shouted.
Then he saw Ramses roll his eyes until only the whites showed. Next moment it was all over.
And when the five Devils turned to Bombardone Mills, he knew that hell itself was very close.
Milos had joined Helen behind the rock over an hour before, and they were waiting in vain for any sign of life in the mountain refuge. Mills must be worried about his colleague’s absence. Surely he was bound to come out soon. Helen wasn’t shivering so much now with Pastor’s warm sheepskin jacket over her shoulders. Milos, lying beside her, held a handkerchief pressed to his leg and was fighting the pain. Every movement he made, however tiny, brought warm blood flowing over his thigh. The dog-handler’s body lay under the snow a few yards away. Neither of them dared to look at the small mound forming there. Suddenly the door of the refuge opened and Mills finally appeared. They saw him walking out of the doorway, hesitating, and going back inside. Later they heard him shouting — first for Pastor, then calling to Ramses for help. Then came that terrible outburst of noise, and they realized, with horror, just what was happening. At last, as silence returned, they froze with amazement as they watched an unreal spectacle.
The five dog-men came out of the refuge, raised their muzzles to the sky, and began howling like wolves. The sound pierced the night. But it was not a howl of menace; it sounded joyful. Teti was the first to tear off his jacket and throw it away in the snow. Mykerinos did the same, and then in their own turn Chephren and Amenophis stripped off shirts and jeans. Soon they had all cast off their human clothing, and they leaped away in the direction of the mountains. Within a few seconds, they were lost from sight in the mists.
“The dog-men!” breathed Milos, fascinated. “Reverting to savagery.”
“No,” said Helen. “Reverting to freedom. They’re leaving savagery behind. Come on, the refuge is empty now.”