Marlfox, page 19
Even as the piercing warcries rang out from the cover of the trees, another two ferrets were laid flat by paw-sized river pebbles. Slingstones began thwacking in, hard and heavy, and the undisciplined remnants of the ragged ferret horde fled. Scrabbling and biting at one another, they clambered over the fallen trees which blocked the inlet and dashed off into the thick forest. Raventail stood swaying in the friends’ boat, waving his scimitar and yelling at them, ‘Kye arr! Getcherback, back ’ere, Raventail norrafraid!’
Then Dann came thundering across the bank, swinging his sword and bellowing like a badger in full Bloodwrath.
‘Regubaaaaaa!’
There was no stopping the young squirrel. Like a bolt of lightning he flung himself on Raventail. The force of the impact was so great that both Dann and the ferret lost their swords and crashed into the water. Still hanging upside down, Dippler and Burble watched in awed silence as the warrior blood of Reguba rose in their companion’s eyes. Spitting water and roaring, his weapon forgotten, Dann hauled Raventail almost clear of the creek and dealt him a fierce blow. Flinging the screaming ferret from him, Dann dived after his enemy, pummelling with all four paws, kicking, punching and baring his teeth as he thrashed the vermin unmercifully.
‘Regubaaaa! Regubaaaaa! Regubaaaaaaaa!’
Song ran out to the bankside to watch the spectacle. She had never seen another creature take such a ferocious beating.
‘Dann, leave him alone! He’s had enough!’
But Dann was past listening. Grabbing Raventail, he hauled him over his head and flung him bodily into the marshy border of the creek’s far side. Black with sludge and unable to stand, the ferret crawled away up the bank. Dann went after him but he stumbled and fell in the mud amongst clumps of blue-flowering plants. Swiftly Song untied the boat and leapt in, giving a hard shove against the willow trunk with her paddle. The Swallow shot smoothly out across the dark surface, slowing neatly as it nosed into the blue flowers surrounding Dann. Song passed him the mooring rope. ‘Here, mate, grab this!’
Total exhaustion suddenly enveloped Dann. Gratefully, he held on to the rope and lay back while Song paddled back to the bank.
The Reguba warrior was hauled dripping on to the mossy sward by Song, and sat shivering as reaction to his wild charge set in. Song found his sword in the shallows.
‘Great seasons, what a fighter y’are, Dann. I never saw anythin’ like that in my whole life. You were like a Badger Lord in Bloodwrath there – I was sure you were going to slay that vermin bare-pawed!’
‘Yiss yiss, but are yer goin’ t’talk about it all day an’ leave us two pore creatures hangin’ ’ere like apples waitin’ fer autumn?’
Song turned to the two wet bundles hanging from the willow bough. ’Oops! Sorry, pals, I completely forgot you there for a moment. Hang on, I’ll soon get you down.’
Viewing the scene from his upside-down position, Burble winked at Dann. ‘Ah well, isn’t that decent of the young missie now, she’s gettin’ round to releasin’ us. If’n she don’t put a move on with it we’ll both have great fat purple heads with hangin’ this way!’
The irony of the watervole’s remarks was not lost on Song. Smiling mischievously, she crouched with her face level to Burble’s. ‘Hmm, then again I might just leave you to ripen and drop off like two damsons in the orchard. How long is it till autumn, Dann?’
Struggling upright, Dann swung Dippler in so that Song could cut his bonds, and together they lowered him on to the moss. The Guosim shrew had not said a word throughout his ordeal. Now he sat rubbing circulation back into his footpaws as he spoke. ‘Sleepin’ again, I was, same as last time when the Marlfoxes stole my tribe’s logboats. Huh! Haven’t learned much, ’ave I? Same puddle-’eaded beast as ever I was, that’s me!’
When they had cut Burble down, Dann sat by Dippler and put a friendly paw about his shoulders. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Dipp. We were all asleep – it wasn’t yore fault. Next time you’ll be ready, wait’n’see. I think you’ll surprise yourself when the time comes. I certainly did. After what took place here t’day I’ll never be afraid of any creature livin’. What d’you say, Song?’
The squirrelmaid tossed her Leafwood in the air and caught it deftly. ‘Don’t think ’tis a question of you being afraid any more, Dann. In the seasons to come, any foebeast facing you will be the one who feels the fear, of that I’m sure!’
As the afternoon wore on the four friends sat on the bank discussing their next move. Burble was not happy about going back to the river. ‘’Tisn’t the thing t’do, y’see. That ole Grey One an’ the River’ead tribe’ll scour that open water fer days yet. Yiss yiss, we’ll only be like a butterfly flyin’ into the mouth of a hungry crow, goin’ straight inter trouble, so we will!’
Song glanced up from the scroll which contained Friar Butty’s rhyme, which she had been studying carefully. ‘You could be right, Burb, the river might be a dangerous place for us. You say we weren’t far off some rapids when your tribe were chasing us, is that correct?’
‘Oh yiss yiss, missie, the ould rapids are fast an’ fierce. ’Tis a good job we never had t’face them so ’tis, yiss yiss.’
Song tapped the parchment thoughtfully. ‘Hmm, it doesn’t say anything in this rhyme about going over rapids on the river this early. All it says is:
‘Just follow as I run away.
Discover the speechless hidden mouth,
Alas, my friends, our ways part there,
Go down green tunnel, bounden south,
Through trees with blossoms in their hair.’
Dann poured them the last of the dandelion and burdock cordial. ‘So, what does that tell us, Song?’
‘Think on a bit, Dann. Whilst we were following that river, did we see any streams or creeks running south before this one?’
‘No, I’m sure we didn’t. There wasn’t a break in the bank until I saw this sidestream when they were chasing us. What are you getting at, Song?’
‘Well, ’tis just an idea, but I think this is the speechless hidden mouth we were looking for. Dippler, you know about waterways, what’s your opinion?’
The Guosim shrew scratched his whiskers. ‘Mebbe so. The inlet does look a touch like a mouth, an’ all that foliage makes it a proper green tunnel. So if yore poem says that’s where our ways part, it must mean that is the spot where we part company with the river. Aye, I think yore right, Song!’
But Burble scoffed at the idea. ‘Ah, will y’lissen t’the wisdom of ’em! ’Ow can words on an ole scrap o’ parchment be right? This is a dead end, or is it meself is the only one can see it?’
Song shook the scroll beneath Burble’s nose. ‘Remember, though, this was written many many seasons ago. Couldn’t this have been a proper stream before that? Mightn’t it only have become a creek after those trees fell and blocked it?’
Dippler butted in. ‘Ha! But y’forgot sumthin’, missie. Aren’t we supposed to be chasin’ the Marlfox an’ his crew?’
Song stood up and stamped about on the bank. She was fast losing patience with the whole affair. ‘Look, I don’t care which way the fox has gone, we can’t follow on the open river with Grey One on our tails. Another thing, we know the Marlfox is bound for the secret island on the lost lake. This way we’re sure to meet up with him. Burble, where d’you think you’re off to?’
The watervole was already climbing over the fallen treetrunks which blocked the creek off.
‘Don’t git yore paws in a tizzy, bossytail, I’m just goin’ to see if yore idea is right, yiss yiss. Well, are you comin’?’
They climbed over the trunks and inspected the ground. Among the clumps of agrimony, sawwort and saxifrage the old streambed was still identifiable by the narrow trickle of water filtering through the logs that had dammed it off. Song splashed about in it triumphantly.
‘You see? I told you, this is the sidestream we’re supposed to take. Look, it’s running south just like the rhyme said it would. What d’you say to that, fatty volenose?’
Burble had only one word to say. ‘Porterage!’
They stared at him, repeating the word together. ‘Porterage?’
‘Yiss yiss, have ye not heard of porterage? Well, I’ll tell ye, me fine-furred friends. It means that we’ve got to foller this liddle water trickle till it becomes a stream agin. Yiss yiss, a-carryin’ the good boat Swallow upside down on our ’eads!’
Dann started climbing back over the treetrunks. ‘Stands to sense, Burb. We’d never get anywhere tryin’ to float the Swallow in that tiny dribble. Come on, porters, let’s try a bit o’ porterage. I’m game if you lot are!’
Fortunately the Swallow was a comparatively light craft. Shouldering their packs and placing the paddles flat across their shoulders, the friends turned her upside down, lifted her over their heads, then lowered her on to the outstretched blades. This meant that their heads were inside the upturned boat and one had to follow the other blindly. Dann took the lead, being the tallest, followed by Dippler and Burble, with Song at the rear of the line. It was hard going, hot and stuffy inside the boat, where they were visited by various winged pests. However, they pressed on stoically, trying to ignore the hardships.
Dunk!
‘Yowch! Watch where yore goin’ up there, Dann!’
‘Sorry. ’Twas a big overhangin’ branch, didn’t see it.’
‘Yiss yiss, maybe y’didn’t see it, matey, but we felt it!’
‘Well, so did I, so stop complainin’, will yer!’
‘Burb ain’t complainin’, he’s debatin’. Creatures got a right to debate, watervoles as well as us shrews. Any’ow, how can y’tell if we’re goin’ the right way, Dann?’
‘Pudden’ead! Because I’m walkin’ in the liddle stream an’ me footpaws are soakin’ wet and soggy, that’s ’ow! Song, will y’please sing a ditty or two to shut that pair up. Honestly, talk about gabby. Guosim an’ wofflin’ watervoles, spare me from them!’
Song liked the way her voice echoed inside the upturned boat.
‘Oh how could a hedgehog marry a mole,
He’s prickly prickly prickly,
An’ live with a squirrel all in a great hole,
Very tickly tickly tickly.
An’ what if an otter could dance with a trout,
He’d stay in the river an’ never come out.
Pray tell me whatever they’d all think o’ me,
Inviting a bumblebee in for its tea?
Why they’d come in and join us for goodness’ sake,
For scones an’ trifle an’ blueberry cake,
Elderflow’r cordial an’ strawberry pie,
Oh turn caterpillar to bright butterfly!’
Burble stubbed his footpaw on a stone, which did not improve his argumentative mood. ‘Tchah! ‘Edge’ogs’n’ squirrels’n’bumblebees eatin’ cake an’ suppin’ cordial together? Don’t make much sense, do it? Yowch! D’yer mind not walkin’ on the backs o’ me footpaws, missie!’
‘Sorry, Burb, and I’m sorry you didn’t like my song. ’Tis only an old nonsense ditty my Grandma Ellayo used t’sing to me.’
The watervole trudged on unappeased. ‘Ho yiss yiss, ’tis nonsense all right, no mistakin’ that. Grr! Listen, mister wasp, keep away from my nose or I’ll eat ye!’
Dann could not restrain himself from laughing at Burble. ‘Chattin’ to wasps now, Burb? Come on, you old grouch, let’s see if you can sing us a song that makes sense.’
Burble sniffed. ‘All watervole songs make sense. Lissen.
‘A watervole grows like an ould bulrush stalk,
An’ learns to swim afore ’e can walk,
Just give ’im a paddle an’ lend ’im a boat,
There’s nought as nice as a vole wot’s afloat.
Go niggle yore tookle an’ rowgle yer blot,
Come floogle yore wattle an’ pickle yer swot!
A watervole’s clever’n’smart an’ he’s nice,
’E won’t take a boat out onto the ice,
But ’e’ll live all ’is life in a comfy ould cave,
An’ when ’e dies it’ll do fer ’is grave.
So twangle me gurdle an’ griddle me twogg,
Right burgle me doodle an’ frumple me plogg!’
Dippler tried to keep a straight face as he nodded wisely. ‘Burgle me doodle an’ frumple me plogg? Makes perfect sense. Wot d’you think, Dann?’
A deep booming voice that did not belong to Dann rang out. ‘Hohohoho! Now I’ve seen everythin’, a singin’ boat! Hoohoohoo!’
The four friends whipped the Swallow off their heads to see who it was.
The hugest, fattest, most spiky hedgehog that any of them had ever seen was lying in an immense hammock, slung between a beech and an elm. Spikes and quills stuck through the coarse canvas of the hammock, making it look like a monstrous pincushion. He had two baskets, one on either side of the hammock, containing wild grapes and almonds. In his paw he brandished a giant mallet to crack the nuts with, and this he waved cheerily at the travellers.
‘Good noontide to ye. Fancy some grapes? A few nuts, mebbe? Come sit an’ rest yoreselves, pore liddle waifs!’
Song smiled and waved back prettily to him, commenting to the others, ‘We could do with a rest. What d’you say, pore liddle waifs?’
With a grunt and a groan the big hedgehog heaved himself out of the hammock and bowed politely. ‘I go by the name o’ Soil. Full name’s Sollertree, ’cos I’m the only ’edge’og in these parts. Now wot be yore given names, me liddle h’infants?’
Song introduced herself and her friends. ‘I’m Song, he’s Dann and that’s Burble and Dippler. Excuse me, sir, but shouldn’t your name be Solitary?’
The big fellow waved a paw airily. ‘Solitary, Sollertree, wot difference, pretty one, save that Sollertree’s the name I gave meself, an’ I like it fine. Come, sit ye down on my ’ammock. A more comfy berth y’never found, eh?’
They sat on the hammock’s edge, gently swinging back and forth. Apart from the odd spike which had to be removed from the canvas, they all agreed it was very comfortable. Soll smiled with pleasure.
‘H’ideal, h’ideal! Now, you ’elp yoreselves to grapes whilst I crack some almonds for ye. Grow ’em all meself, nothin’ better fer puttin’ a twinkle to yore eye an’ a point to yore spikes.’
The grapes were delicious, small but plump and juicy. Soll sat on a treestump, lining almonds up and popping them gently with his giant mallet.
‘Isn’t it lonely, mister Soil, living alone in the midst of the woods with nobeast for company?’ Dann asked.
Soil passed them a great pawful of kernels, raising his bushy brows. ‘Lonely, wot’s lonely? Great shells’n’vines, ’ow could a body get lonely round ’ere, liddle bushtail? I got birds t’sing fer me, sunshine, showers, fresh breezes t’ruffle the hair o’ my lovely trees, clear water t’drink . . . Oh, an’ Croikle, too!’ He reached down by the side of the stump and a small green frog hopped on to his platelike paw. Soll grinned happily. ‘Croikle, these are me new friends. Bid ’em good noontide, will ye?’
The frog’s tiny green throat bulged out. ‘Croikle!’
This seemed to amuse Soil greatly. ‘Hohohoho! ’Tis all ’e ever says. Croikle! An’ who pray could argue wid that? Lissen t’this. Yore a great fierce beast who’s slayed thousands, aren’t you, mate?’
The frog gazed at him with its small golden eyes. ‘Croikle!’
Soll laughed until his spikes rattled, and the four travellers could not resist laughing along with the simple-hearted giant. He passed them more almonds and grapes. ‘See, my friend’s never in a bad mood, never argues or grizzles. Go on, ask ’im a question.’
Dippler winked at the little frog. ‘Soil tells me you ate four barrels o’ grapes’n’almonds. True?’
The frog turned its gaze on the Guosim shrew as if it had heard his question and was considering the answer. Then it spoke. ‘Croikle!’
Soil nearly fell off his treestump laughing. ‘Hohohoohoohoo! ’E said it weren’t four barrels, ’twas six!’
He encouraged the others to question his frog, commenting each time the tiny creature croaked. Song, Dann and Burble took turns.
‘Tell me, sir, where d’you sleep at night?’
‘Croikle!’
‘Well I never. ’E said that ’e kicks me out o’ my ’ammock an’ sleeps there every night. Hoohoohoohoo!’
‘Is it true that frogs like to swim in the stream?’
‘Croikle!’
‘Wot, swim, says ’e, never! I’ve got me own liddle boat, he says, mister Soll made it outta an almond shell. Hohohoho!’
‘Sir, you look like a fine singer, would you sing us a song?’
‘Croikle!’
‘Did you ’ear that? ’E just sang ’is favourite song, the shortest one ever written. My my, wot a clever frog. Hohohohoohoo!’
The banter went back and forth until noon shadows began to lengthen. Song was enjoying herself, but she thought it was time they made ready to depart. Soil was busy crushing a grape, removing the pips and feeding it to Croikle as she explained it all to him, but he nodded his head understandingly. ‘Fear not, liddle ’uns, ’tis all clear to ole Soil. You want to find the stream goin’ south so’s you can go a-sailin’ in yore liddle boat. Now, ’twill take you best part o’ two days carryin’ the vessel, but lissen t’me, my dearies. I’ll carry yore boat an’ take you on a short cut that’ll ’ave you onstream in a single day. So rest you now in my ’ome for tonight, an’ we’ll start out bright’n’early on the morrow. Yes?’
The reply was eagerly given by the friends. ‘Oh yes please, mister Soll!’
The hedgehog’s dwelling was a long jumble of stone slabs, timber, branches and mud chinking built into the side of a rock ledge. It was very homely and comfortable inside, once Soll had stirred up the fire embers and fed them with wood and sweet-smelling peat clumps. Evening cast its calm cool spell over all, and the four friends lounged round the fire whilst Soil stirred a cauldron of vegetable soup, which stood on a tripod over the glow. Keeping his soft brown eyes upon the task, he began telling of his life.
‘I lived ’ere all me life. There were three of us, my goodwife Beechtipp, me liddle daughter Nettlebud an’ meself. Ah dearie me, it do seem a long time ago now. Anyhow, it was on a misty autumn time, I’ll never forget it. I’d trekked back t’the river seekin’ russet apples, as there was none ’ereabouts. Thought I might get a russet saplin’ to plant outside our door, so’s we could grow our own. Well, on the second day out it came on to storm, when ’twas too far t’make it back ’ome. So I made a shelter on the riverbank below the rapids an’ sat it out for three days. Then I returned ’ere, laden wi’ apples an’ a fine young saplin’ tree.’
