The Golden Flight (22 page)

Oak, shocked, said, ‘We must move on, this is a dangerous place!’

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Marguerite was with her old friend on a branch outside Wood Anemone’s new drey, talking of the time when they had been forced to flee from Ourland together. She wanted to know about the moon mushrooms but felt that it was better to raise the subject obliquely and not rush straight on to it.

‘You were called Woodlouz then,’ she said.

‘Zo uz wuz! It do zeem a long time ago.’

‘It
was
a long time ago,’ said Marguerite, ‘and your Spindle was called Spider in those days.’

‘The Royalz alwayz called zervantz after creepy-crawliez, them did it to keep uz in uz plazes, them zaid.’

Mention of Spindle had made both squirrels think of his body hanging from the Eyeland tree and each wondered how the scouts were progressing with their mission. Five days had passed since Wood Anemone had said farewell to her twin daughters. She had since realised that if they did not come back from what could be a hazardous journey, her family line would end.

‘Uz wishez that uz had only let won go with yew’r dolphinz,’ she said to Marguerite.

‘You know that Rosebay and Willowherb are always together. Sun-knows what will happen when one chooses a mate. It’ll be ‘take me, take my sister’.’

‘Marguerite!’ said Wood Anemone, shocked at the suggestion. ‘That’z the zort of things the Royalz did.’

‘Poplar suggested that I should be Queen,’ Marguerite confided to her friend.

‘Yew zhould be – yew would make a good Queen,’ replied Wood Anemone bluntly. ‘Yew iz vull of good ideaz and all the zquirrelz lovez and rezpectz yew.’

‘Some call me Miss Hoity-Toity,’ Marguerite said ruefully.

‘If uz hearz any doing that, uz’ll pull their tailz,’ said Wood Anemone. ‘Yew ignore them. Yew’ll make uz a good Queen.’

‘I’m not going to be Queen. It was only something that Poplar said.’

The two sat in comfortable silence enjoying the early September sunshine and watching the people who passed underneath. The human youngsters seemed to have suddenly stopped coming to the island. Only a few days before they had been there in great numbers, now the humans they saw were mostly older and in pairs, or were those men who wore the ‘Acorn’ badge on their green coverings.

‘How many squirrels were on the island before we came?’ Marguerite asked.

‘Yew knowz uz can’t count like yew do’z, but there were a ‘lot’ of Royalz and ‘lotz’ of zervantz.’

‘Did there ever get to be too many?’

‘Oh no. Uz zaw to that,’ said Wood Anemone enigmatically.

‘How do you mean?’ Marguerite asked.

‘Uz’z zorry, Marguerite-Friend, uz can’t zay.’

‘Come on, of course you can. We’re friends. Whatever it is, you can tell me.’

‘Uz can’t. Uz zwore to keep the zecret. Uz can only talk about it with a King or a Queen, or with
their
matez. Uz zwore not to tell otherz.’

‘Tell others what?’

‘How to stop zquirrelz breeding too vazd. With the King and the Kingz-mate Zun-gone, only uz knowz. Only Woodlouz knowz.’

‘The Kings-mate was saying something like that to me when she was dying.
She
said, Woodlouse knows’.’

‘What elze did her zay?’

‘How the mushrooms of the moon can control breeding. I want you to tell me everything you know. It’s very important.’

‘Uz can’t tell yew, unlezz yew’z a Queen.’

Nothing Marguerite said could get the old zervant to tell her any more.

The scouts were resting in a hedgerow tree.

‘Alert everyone – dogs in sight,’ Oak said quietly.

They peered between the leaves. Two brown and white dogs had just wriggled under a gate on the far side of the field and were sniffing their way along the hedge. Two men appeared at the gate and the squirrels watched them open it and come through. Each man was carrying a short stick under his right arm with the thinnest end pointing towards the ground.

‘Guns,’ said Bluebell. ‘Rowan-Pa told me about them. He saw them when he was on climbabout. Humans use them to kill animals and birds.’

‘Squirrels?’ asked Sycamore.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Bluebell, ‘but you never can tell with humans – they’re so unpredictable.’

‘Keep still and don’t show yourselves,’ said Oak the Wary, parting the leaves carefully.

The dogs were sniffing their way in zigzags across the field when a covey of partridge, two adults and eight young birds, burst into the air and flew towards the squirrels.

The men raised the guns and fired four times. The squirrels instinctively ducked with each report, then ducked again as shot rattled like hail-stones on the leaves.

A gap appeared in the arc of birds as two dropped in tumbled heaps of feathers to be seized by the dogs. Two others glided awkwardly into the hedge bottom where they lay, struggling pitiably, the larger of the two trying to escape on its one unbroken leg. The survivors of the family cleared the hedge and dropped into the field behind.

A dog found one of the injured birds and carried it, still cheeping, to the taller of the two men, who pulled its neck. The cheeping stopped. The man grinned at his companion as he put the limp body into the bag slung across his shoulder.

‘No squirrel move,’ whispered Oak.

The shocked squirrels watched the last injured partridge, its feathers stained with blood, fluttering feebly as its life drained away and the brightness faded from its eyes.

Its brothers and sisters scurried noisily along the dead leaves beneath the hedge, then rose again and flew off behind the cover of the bushes.

A dog found the dead bird, carried it to the man, received a pat on the head and returned to the tree, where it sat looking up into the branches. In whined softly and the other dog joined it. The men walked across to the tree and peered up.

A gust of wind caught Willowherb’s tail and one man seeing the movement, raised his gun and pointed it at her. She sat petrified with fear.

‘Keep very still,’ Oak whispered.

The second man joined his companion and they appeared to be arguing. At last the other man lowered the gun, whistled to the dogs to follow him and the two men walked down the hedgerow in the direction that the partridges had flown.

‘That was close,’ said Oak. ‘This Mainland place is a dangerous place. And I still don’t know whether humans kill squirrels.’

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Marguerite left Wood Anemone and wandered up the island, knowing that her friend held the secret of why Ourland had not been overrun with squirrels in the past, and frustrated because she would not, or could not, confide in her.  The secret was in those Moon Mushrooms, whatever they were.

‘Greetings, Marguerite the Seeker.’

Marguerite looked up to see Heather Treetops and Chestnut the Doubter. She had forgotten that ‘the seeker’ was her tag. Somehow tagging seemed to be losing its importance. Many of the youngsters had not yet been given tags and those that had, largely ignored them. Youngsters were as often as not referred to by their father’s name. She could not remember the tag, if he had one, of Elm Larchson.

She greeted the two formally in the old way, and accepted Chestnut’s invitation to see their Woodstock plantation.

In that quiet copse, away from any Man-tracks, Heather and Chestnut had dug up more young honeysuckle plants from other places, replanted them near the roots of several hazel bushes, and were training the growing woodbine shoots around the hazel saplings. Evidence of the earlier raid by idle youngsters was to be seen in the piles of creeper stems, bitten into short lengths, which lay nearby.

Chestnut saw Marguerite looked at these, and said, ‘I hope for all our sakes that we don’t need these Woodstocks too soon. Those Sun-damned young idiots set us back a whole year.’

‘I hope we never need them,’ said Marguerite.

‘So do we, but I don’t trust Grey squirrels not to try and come here, and it is best to be ready,’ Chestnut said.

‘To ensure a Peace

A wise squirrel will always

Prepare for a War.’

‘I don’t know that Kernel,’ said Marguerite, ‘Who taught you that?’

‘We made it up,’ Chestnut replied. ‘Do your like it?’

‘I think it’s a sound idea,’ said Marguerite, ‘but it’s a pity we have to have words like War and Peace.'’ She left them and wandered on, her mind back on how to persuade Wood Anemone to reveal her secret. Perhaps if she spelt out the importance of it all to her friend, she would tell. The ex-zervant was no fool.

‘Wood Anemone, you
must
tell me about the Mushrooms of the Moon! You don’t know how important it is!’

Marguerite went on to tell her friend all about Chip’s calculations and his and her concerns about the over abundance of squirrels on the island.

‘But uz
can’t
tell yew,’ Wood Anemone replied. ‘Uz zwore on uz life and the livez of uz family and uz friendz, not to tell. Only to Kingz and Queenz and their matez.

‘Uz could tell yew if yew wuz a Queen,’ she added, watching Marguerite’s reaction.

‘You know how I feel about that,’ Marguerite replied.

‘I know how yew feelz about the zecret of the Moon Mushroomz too,’ said Wood Anemone. Yew would make uz a good Queen. Thiz plaze needz won, even uz can see that!’

The scouting party had escaped from two more dogs and a farmyard cat, had spent uncomfortable nights without proper shelter and had at last reached the North-east Wood near the Blue Pool. They came through the trees cautiously, unsure of the reception from any Greys that might be there. They need not have worried – all the dreytels were empty and cold. They checked each one, but there was no sign of current occupation and no recent scent of Greys.

They circled the Blue Pool, calm in the autumn sunshine, and they fed well at the Hazel Copse, although the nuts were not fully developed. The small nearly-formed kernels were extra tasty and sweet.

The Pool area held mixed memories for them all, except Sycamore, but even he was taken by its beauty and could at last understand why it meant so much to those squirrels on Ourland who had once lived in this demesne.

They briefly visited the empty and forlorn dreys on Steepbank that had once been their homes, then headed towards Rowan’s Pool. At the Dogleg Field, Bluebell looked at the twins and said, ‘Anyone fancy a ride on a horse?’ and smiled.

‘Uz iz ztaying on the ground.’ Rosebay replied, followed by Willowherb’s. ‘On the ground, uz too.’

The squirrels dodged amongst the tall thistles as they crossed the field, unseen by the chestnut and the piebald horse and when the roadway was clear, crossed that and were on to the Great Heath.

‘Go carefully,’ said Oak, ‘It was near here where we met that fox.’

They went slowly, scenting the air every few yards, but they were in the belt of trees near Rowan’s Pool before they found fresh scent and Fox-dread affected them. Sycamore, who had never smelt fox before, was most affected. They all had to sit in a tree while he composed himself, waiting for the coldness and shivering to stop.

They could not see any sign of the fox below but they moved through the treetops until they reached the edge of the Pool, where they expected to see the three bodies hanging. There were none.

‘The vox muzd have vound them,’ said Rosebay.

‘Vound by the vox,’ repeated Willowherb.

‘Voxez – foxes don’t climb trees,’ Oak said.

‘Good thing too,’ said Sycamore.

They descended slowly, watching all about, then, when they were sure that no fox was near, the six squirrels dropped to the ground and scampered across the fallen tree to the Eyeland.

At the foot of each pine was a neat mound of earth and, above each mound, a
 symbol had been cut into the bark of the tree.

‘Some Sun-squirrel has been here before us,’ Oak stated the obvious.

‘And scattered the ground-drey,’ said Bluebell.

‘Though the Greys may have done that.  I wonder which grave is my Hickory’s.’

Chip was at the water’s edge where the swans had waded ashore. He could see his gold coin in the now clear water but decided that he would not mention it just yet.

‘If there’s nothing more to do, we should start back. There’s still an hour of daylight left,’ said Oak.

Chip looked round. ‘I think we should stay the night – we can sleep safely in the trees here. It would be indecent to dash away having come so far and we’ll be safe here if that fox is still about.’

CHAPTER THIRTY

Chip was awake at first light and, leaving the other squirrels dozing in the Eyeland trees, he slipped down to the water’s edge. From the shore he could see a glinting of gold on the bottom but when he waded in the water again turned milky with particles of disturbed clay. By feeling around with his feet, he located the coin and scrabbled it on to the land. He picked it up in his teeth and was carrying it to the foot of one of the trees.

‘Chip, look out, the fox!’