Salamandastron, page 18
‘Never again!’ Pikkle wailed piteously. ‘All this for a bletherin’ Blackstone. You chaps must be off your bally rockers. Blackstone, my aunt’s whiskers! Once this hare gets his paws on dry ground he’s finished boatin’ for good!’
Mara stared about her in amazement. They were on the edges of a fantastic body of water – it was a veritable inland sea. The fresh morning sunlight beamed down upon tideless waters whose only movement was the outgoing ripples set up by the logboats’ entry into them. As far as any eye could see, there was water, leagues of it, with no sign of island or shore on the distant horizon. To the left and right of them the broad expanse was sheltered by fringed forest with trees, bushes, shrubs and plants dipping their foliage into the water. It was vast and beautiful in its silent serenity; stillness reigned everywhere.
Log-a-log smiled at the badger maid’s wide-eyed expression. ‘How’s that for a sight on a lovely summer morning, miss?’
Mara could only shake her head in silent admiration of the scene.
‘I say, you chaps, this is a bit more like it, wot? I’m feelin’ much better now. Break out the brekkers, send in the scoff!’
They breakfasted on the open lake, though this time not on emergency rations. There was plumcake, honey-oat scones, mushroom salad and sparkling new cider.
Pikkle ate his using a hardtack biscuit as a plate. As he munched he stared about. ‘Well, give us a clue, boys. Where’s the jolly old island hidin’?’
Log-a-log pointed straight out. ‘Two days rowing that way.’
After breakfast they took up their paddles and began the long voyage to the island. At first Mara’s paws felt stiff and awkward, but she was soon rowing as well as anyone and joining in the lusty shrew boatsongs that helped keep the rhythm of the paddles steady. Pikkle stoutly denied he had ever felt sick and sang as loudly as the rest.
‘I’ll sing you a song of the river-o,
Where the water’s dean and clear,
And the long fast Guosssom logboats go.
We’re the shrews that know no fear,
So bend your back and use those paws.
From gravel bank to sandy shores,
Your cares and woes will disappear,
Just sitting paddling here.
Guossssssssom. . . . Guossssssssom!
I’ll sing you a song of the river-o.
It belongs to me and you.
O’er deeps and shallows we’ll both go,
With the finest Guosssom crew,
When other creatures bound to land
Will not feel half so free or grand,
Or know the water shrews’ great skill.
So paddle with goodwill.
Guosssssssssom. . . . Guossssssssssom!’
In the early noontide the two logboats were still out on the lake. Nothing could be seen on all sides save water; sky and lake met on all horizons. The paddles dipped steadily in and out of the water with short powerful strokes.
Nordo noted the sun’s position and called a refreshment period. Lots of shrews dipped cupped paws into the lake and drank with relish. Mara followed suit gingerly, but found to her surprise that it was cold and sweet. Pikkle dabbled his paws in the water.
‘I say, old Log-a-thing, how deep is this bally lake?’
Log-a-log smiled mischievously. ‘Hmm, let me see. It comes two-thirds of the way up a boat or halfway up a duck.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Pikkle nodded understandingly. ‘Now hang on a bally moment, old shrew. Who are you tryin’ to fool?’
Nordo laughed. ‘Watershrews always say that to landlubbers. Actually nobeast knows how deep this lake is, though my grandfather tried to plumb it when he was Log-a-log, and he said it was bottomless.’
Pikkle turned faintly pale around the gills. ‘D’you hear that, Mara? Bottomless! That means there’s nothin’ beneath this boat for goodness knows how deep but water. Oh corks, I knew I shouldn’t have come!’
Mara smiled. ‘Have a nap Pikkle, you’ll feel better.’
‘Hah, listen to the creature! Better, she says. I’ve never felt so absobloominlutely awful in me li – What was that?’
Log-a-log came alert. ‘What was what?’
‘Over there, sort of a big splash!’ Pikkle pointed.
Nordo was about to say something when Log-a-log shot him a warning glance and shook his head. ‘Oh, that. It was probably a fish jumping. They do that a lot.’
Pikkle held on to the boat’s side. ‘Well, I wish they’d bally well stop. It makes a chap nervous, wot!’
‘There it goes again. That’s no fish jumping!’ A shrew paddler stood up behind them, his normally bass voice shrill and frightened.
The crews of both boats shuffled their paws restlessly and began murmuring among themselves. Log-a-log banged a paddle noisily on the prow of his logboat.
‘Silence, back there. It was a fish, I saw it myself. Now stop that old mousewives’ scuttlebutt and get your lunches eaten!’
Mara looked to her left. A rippling wave was building up some distance away, but it was coming toward the boats. She pointed. ‘That looks a bit big for one fish; it must be a shoal of them.’
One of the shrews stared accusingly at Log-a-log. ‘You shouldn’t have banged your paddle on the boat like that. It’s heard you and it’s coming for us. It’s coming, I tell you!’
From the other boat Tubgutt could be heard yelling accusations: ‘It’s those two, the badger and the hare. They’ve brought bad luck down on us all!’
Others started shouting as panic set in with the advance of the rippling wave towards the two boats.
‘Back the way we came, shrews. Paddle for land!’
‘It’s the Deepcoiler, mates!’
‘Turn back, let us off these boats!’
‘If it’s the Deepcoiler we’re all deadbeasts!’
Log-a-log drew his rapier, rapping out commands over the hubbub. ‘Silence and sit down, fools, or you’ll turn these boats over! If you want to save yourselves sit tight and shut up!’
The rippling hump of water had been building up as it approached the boats. Subdued by Log-a-log’s authority, every creature in the boats sat silent and still. Paws gripped paddles tightly, mouths shut tight as vices, fur stood stiff on every back. With little warning the sunlit noontide surface of the immense lake had become a place of horror and dread. Every eye was fixed on the noiseless travelling swell. It was scarce more than three boat-lengths from them when there was a whoosh of water, and something long and scaly slapped the top of the lake. Both craft rose on the swell as the logboats rode the wave.
Mara moved then. Craning over the side, she looked down into the translucent blue-green depths and saw the thing as it passed underneath both vessels. It was enormous!
She had missed seeing the creature’s head, but she watched in fascinated terror as the length of its body slipped harmlessly by, a mere paw’s-length beneath the surface, round and thick as the trunk of a tree, dark green with slate-grey blotches. Trailing waterweeds clung to the heavily scaled mass of the leviathan; rippling sidefins powered it through the water as its length kept on passing . . . and passing. The pointed tailtip scraped the boat’s underside and then it was gone, far down into the fathomless depths of the silent lake.
The badger maid breathed a long sigh of relief and mopped the beads of sweat that stood out on her nose. ‘By the rocks of Salamandastron! What was that?’
Nordo unclenched his paws from the paddle with a visible effort. ‘What you just saw was a monster – Guosssom shrews call it the Deepcoiler, though nobeast has ever set eyes on it until now.’
Pikkle sat with his eyes wide as saucers and his ears rigid. ‘Well, let’s hope we jolly well live to tell about it. Oh, corks an’ catkins! I knew I should never have gone sailin’. At least when you’re on bally old dry land you can run away, but stuck out here on a floatin’ log, it’s a bit much, you chaps!’
‘Deepcoiler was an old shrew tale,’ Log-a-log explained to Mara and Pikkle somewhat apologetically, ‘A story to frighten naughty little ones who wanted to go paddling alone; though in the time of my forefathers there were stories of logboats and whole crews lost in mysterious circumstances out on this great lake. As for myself, I never believed in the thing, but now I have seen it with my own eyes, how can I doubt it? I am sorry that this peril has been brought upon you by me and my son.’
The boats were floating side by side. Tubgutt snarled across, ‘D’you hear that, shrews? He’s sorry. We might all be dead meat by tonight, but Log-a-log’s sorry! Log-a-log? He’s not a proper Log-a-log. Where’s the Blackstone that should be hanging round his neck? We don’t have to take orders from him! I say we make for the shore!’
Mutinous murmurs started arising from both crews.
‘Tubgutt’s right, without the Blackstone he’s just an impostor!’
‘I say we elect another leader!’
‘Aye, Tubgutt for leader. He’ll get us out of this!’
The fat shrew stood up with a triumphant sneer and faced the shrew leader. ‘Find yourself another name, shrew. You’re Log-a-log no more. I’m the new Guosssom leader now. Right?’
All the shrews were frightened at the thought of being out on the lake where Deepcoiler lurked. Tubgutt’s plan to strike for land caught on immediately. Rather shamefacedly they murmured agreement with Tubgutt, though they kept their eyes averted from Log-a-log, who had always been a good and fair leader.
Log-a-log touched his rapier hilt as he gazed coolly across at Tubgutt. ‘We’ll settle this once and for all. You name the time and the place, shrew.’
Tubgutt quailed under Log-a-log’s stare, but he put on a brave front and began blustering. ‘There’ll be no fighting to the death around here or on land. I’m the newly elected leader now. The moment we get to shore you’re banished from the Guosssom – you and your son!’
Fussing busily about, Tugbutt sat down and picked up his paddle. ‘Hear me now. As your newly elected leader, I say we put about and paddle for land.’
‘Make one move and you’re fishbait, shrew!’ Mara had been moving gradually along the boat until she was level with Tubgutt in the other boat. She stood within easy reach of him, brandishing a paddle close to his head.
‘Did you hear that?’ The fat shrew appealed to his new followers. ‘This stranger is going to kill your new leader. Get her, shrews. Put the stripedog over the side. She and the hare are the cause of all this trouble. Seize them!’
With lightning agility Log-a-log leapt into the other logboat and was on Tubgutt, his rapier point tickling the fat shrew’s throat. ‘Mutiny and incitement to murder, eh, Tubgutt? You’ll face a full council of our Guosssom comrades when we return home. Mara and Pikkle helped our shrews and my son to escape the toads’ prison pit; they are honoured guests. I’ve allowed you enough leeway, Tubgutt. Myself I don’t care for, but when you threaten the life of Guosssom friends, that’s mutiny on the open waters. You there, and you Rivak – get some line and bind this rascal tight and sit him in the stern. I’ll deal with him when the time is right.’
Log-a-log’s speedy victory over Tugbutt, combined with his tough authoratitive air, turned the tide in his favour. The two shrews grabbed the struggling Tubgutt and tied him up.
Log-a-log sheathed his weapon and turned to both crews. ‘I’m still Log-a-log here, Blackstone or not. Anybeast who thinks he’s shrew enough to challenge me, let him do it now!’
There was a momentary silence, then a big tough-looking shrew stood up and made his way along to stand by the leader. ‘Anyone who challenges Log-a-log challenges me too. He’s always been fair and just to all of us!’
Nordo stood up with Mara and Pikkle. He spoke for all three: ‘We stand with Log-a-log!’
An old shrew with long whiskers waved his paddle. ‘Good old Log-a-log! Old? What’m I talkin’ about, he’s only a young snip compared t’ me, heeheehee!’
Other voices now made themselves heard . . .
‘Aye, Log-a-log’s always been a good un. I like him!’
‘Me too. He’s always played square with young an’ old. What d’you say, shrews?’
The crews of both logboats raised a mighty cheer for Log-a-log as he vaulted back into the boat with Nordo.
‘Hooray for Log-a-log, leader of the Guosssom. Hooray!’
‘I say, chaps, d’you mind sittin’ down or we’ll all end up in the flippin’ drink. Wot, wot!’
The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. The sun set over the west lakeside horizon in crimson glory as the hot summer day came to an end. The shrews shipped paddles, ate supper and settled down as best they could for the night. Lying awake in the bows of the lead craft, Log-a-log passed Mara a jug of sweetmaple cordial.
‘Mara, I want to thank you and Pikkle for backing me – you especially. The way you crept up on Tubgutt was very brave. He had a lot of the others ready to follow him. I know he lost a lot of face in the contest with Pikkle, but out here on the water with everybeast terrified by Deepcoiler they were ready to follow Tubgutt because he was all for turning back. Fear is a great motivator; it was touch and go there for a while. You could have quite easily got a rapier between your ribs back there. You are a true friend, Mara. I will never forget what you did for me.’
The badger maid pretended to yawn and snuggle down, embarrassed by Log-a-log’s praise for her. ‘Oh, that’s what pals are for. Now go to sleep, you old water-walloper.’
Stilled for the night, the two logboats rocked gently on the calm surface of the vast lake.
23
‘Yew tew better keep quiet, they’re just up ahead o’ us.’
Samkim and Arula peered into the night-shaded woodlands.
‘How far ahead, Spriggat?’
The old hedgehog sat down beside them. ‘Oh, no more’n half a good paw-stretch. Leave ’em awhile yet. Let the vermin git a-snorin’, then we’ll pay ’em a visit, eh?’
Samkim’s eyes lit up eagerly. ‘A night ambush! How about that, Arula?’
‘Ho urr, oi’m a reg’lar terror in ’ee dark if’n oi ain’t asleep.’
They chewed oatcake and apples as Spriggat outlined his plan. ‘I scouted up ahead an’ nearly fell over ’em. They were settin’ camp sou’west o’ here. Now ’earken to me. In about an hour they should be well asleep, so ’ere’s what we do. Split up an’ go three ways so we can come at ’em from different angles. The rats shouldn’t put up much of a fight – they’re only trackers. It’s the fox I’m worried about – that one looks like a trained fighter. Moreover, the villain’s got your sword close to paw. Staves is the best t’ deal with the like o’ him. Arula, lend me that carvin’ knife you carries, and I’ll cut us two good poles. Samkim, you can unstring your bow and make use of that. I’ll signal by makin’ a cricket chirrup. Like this – chrrrrk! Got that? When you ’ears that noise you charge into that camp yellin’ like a badger wi’ a bee down his ear. Scream, shout, holler, an’ whack all about you good an’ hard, an’ make straight for the fox. He’ll be sleepin’ closest to the fire. Don’t give the scum a chance to go for that sword. We’ll be there, all three of us, whackin’ away. Don’t stop! Wallop the beast flat into the ground, ’cos he’ll slay us all three if’n he gets ‘alf a chance.’
Samkim unstrung his bow and tested its heft to find the best end. ‘Never fear, Mr Spriggat. We’ll be right there with you, thwacking!’
Arula seconded her friend. ‘Ho aye, zurr. You’m cut oi a gurt stowt pole an’ oi’ll wopp ’ee foxer till ’ee ’m flatter’n a pancake, boi ecky oi will!’
Spriggat shook paws with them. ‘Good! Now you take a li’l nap whilst I cuts a couple o’ staves.’
Under a burgeoning three-part moon they set off through the woodland, slipping silently along amid the shadowed treetrunks and undergrowth. Samkim padded carefully, thrilled at the prospect of regaining the sword of Martin the Warrior for his Abbey. Somewhere a nightjar warbled among the foliage and a woodpigeon cooed on the breeze high in the trees. Arula’s eyes twinkled in the moonlight as she waggled a hefty yew stave.
Spriggat turned and held up his stave. ‘Hush now. Samkim, you go to the right. Arula, you take the left. I know they ain’t posted sentries, may’aps they think themselves safe deep in these woods. Yew tew travel curvin’ inward, take a good thirty long paces, then stop, get those staves ready an’ wait on my cricket chirrup. Good luck an’ good ‘untin’, young uns!’
‘Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty – that’s it.’ Samkim halted among some junipers and peered in at the firelit camp. The rats lay about, wrapped in their cloaks, but over by the glowing embers he could see Dethbrush. The fox was resting in an upright position, his back against a log. The sword lay close to his paw, glimmering in the light of the dying campfire. There were wood-pigeon feathers and bones scattered about. The young squirrel shuddered. How vermin could kill and eat birds – the very idea caused revulsion within him.
‘Chrrrk!’
At the sound of Spriggat’s call, Samkim leapt forward, yelling, ‘Yahaa! Death to the vermin! Redwaaaaalll!’
The cricket close by the fire that had chirruped shot beneath the log and hid. Arula was marching slowly along. Counting had never been her strongpoint.
‘Urr, twenny-foiv, nointy-two, thurty-four. Boo urr! Wozzat?’ She went charging in waving her stave. ‘Boi okey, give ’em vinniger! Redwaaaaallllhooouuurrrrr!’
At the same time, Spriggat dashed in and collided with a rat who had leapt up at the noise.
The pandemonium was total. Set off by a real cricket call that proved to be a false alarm, the ambush went awry. Dethbrush jumped up to see two of his rats being belaboured by a mouse and a hedgehog. He was only halfway up when a mole with a yew stave chased a screeching rat past him, counting as it went, ‘Twenny-noin, take that ’ee vermin! Seventy-’leven, oi’ll wack ’ee! Fifty-foiv, sixteen-two . . . wot’s next? Take that ’n’ that ’n’ that!’
The other three rats milled about, bumping into each other.
Thinking they were under invasion from a much larger force, Dethbrush decided to escape with all speed. He hissed under his breath to the three rats: ‘Quick, over here. Scatter the fire and run that way, through there!’
