The Golden Flight (23 page)

Chip turned and saw the red-brown fur of a large animal crossing the bridge. Still holding the coin in his mouth he leapt for the trunk and ran up it as the white teeth snapped at his tail.

‘Sun, that was close!’

Marguerite had, for the time being, given up trying to persuade Wood Anemone to tell her the secret that she felt was so vital to the future of the Ourland squirrels. She was in the Palm Tree Valley, thinking. Wood Anemone was getting older, as indeed they all were. Supposing she were to die and take the secret with her. The knowledge of the moon mushrooms could be lost forever. It was clear that the ex-zervant wanted to force her friend to become Queen.

A Queen was not necessarily bad because she was called a Queen. What was bad was when the privilege was abused.  Supposing that somehow or other she should become Queen, could she hold that position without becoming corrupted by power? Who could tell? The only way would be to hold a Tail-poll each year to ask the squirrels to confirm that they still wanted her to be Queen.

That would work. Now, if she was going to ensure the safe future of the island she must find a way to become ‘Queen’.

Marguerite moved up the valley, foraging, not thinking much about the direction she was taking. At the valley head she went through the bracken and the scattered pines to the cliff-edge, feeling that if she could talk with the dolphins they would help her clarify her thoughts. She climbed one of the tallest trees and projected her thought seawards, but no matter how hard she tried, there was no response. She consoled herself with the thought that the dolphins must be too far away but were due back in a few days, at New Moon, to return the scouts to the island – and dolphins were always on time.

She recalled what Malin had said when they had first met off Finfast Point and Lundy had repeated –

Punctuality

Is vital. Other’s time wasted.

Is stolen by you

And can never be returned.

Lost minutes sink forever.

That was it. It started as a Kernel but had two more lots of seven sounds. Did dolphins call these ‘Kernels’, or did they have some other, perhaps fishy, name for them? Life was full of questions.

On the shore below her she could see a swan. She watched it for a while, remembering the exhilarating feeling of being ‘high on a bird’s back’.

High on a bird’s back

The Island’s Queen flies – bringing

The Peace of the Sun

Peace
– not
piece
. That was it – now the prophecy made sense. If she was the Island’s Queen, she had flown high on a birds’ back and if she was Queen then Wood Anemone could tell her the secret and there would be the Sun’s Peace on the island for ever.

Life was full of answers too, if you thought hard enough. Marguerite suddenly felt very humble.

She looked down at the swan again – there was something wrong with the way it was sitting on the beach. It just did not look right.

Marguerite thought briefly about rushing off to tell Wood Anemone that she had decided to see if the others would accept her as Queen, when she saw the swan shake its head feebly and rest its neck on the gravelly beach. Something was definitely wrong. She climbed down the pine trunk and made her way towards it.

As she got nearer she saw that the normally gleaming white feathers were streaked with some black substance which was also around the swan’s beak. It had obviously been trying to clean itself.

Marguerite looked at the bird closely, but could not be sure if it was one of those which had flown her and her friends to the island, but this did not matter. She wanted to help but did not know what to do – the swan looked very sick.

She went up the bank and across the island to look for Clover and the two ex-princesses, Voxglove and Cowzlip, to see if any of these Carers would know how to help the stricken swan.

They could suggest nothing but to ensure that food was brought to it each day and, with the Sun’s help, it might recover.

The scouts huddled together in one of the trees on the Eyeland watching the fox waiting patiently below.

‘I’m hungry,’ said Sycamore, having seen that there were no cones whatsoever left on any of the three trees.

‘Zo’z that vox,’ said Rosebay.

‘That vox iz too,’ said Willowherb.

‘We can’t stay here,’ said Oak in a whisper, as though the fox could understand his words. ‘We must get across to the land and escape or we won’t get back in time to meet the dolphins, especially if we run into more trouble. We must allow at least six days.’

They discussed possibilities. Unless a human came to frighten the fox away, or he gave up and left, there seemed only one solution. They would have to leap into the water and swim across to the land, hoping to reach safety there before the fox caught any of them.

They came slowly down to the lower branches, staying just out of reach of the animal prowling below them, and each planned a route along a branch. Chip held his coin tightly between his teeth.

Willowherb whispered to her sister, ‘Uz’z zcared of the vox, uz iz. Uz can’t jump that far and uz can’t zwim vast.’

‘Yew go virzt, uz’z be behind yew.’

Oak shouted ‘Now!’ and five of the squirrels ran along branches, leapt out into the pool and swam towards the opposite shore. The fox sprang after them and swam strongly towards Willowherb, his mouth only just behind the terrified squirrel’s tail.

Rosebay, who had stayed in the tree, ran and leapt on to the swimming fox’s head, clawing at his eyes. The two sank in a flurry of scrabbling and splashing as the other squirrels reached the far shore and climbed a tree to safety. Chip, the coin still tight between his teeth, spluttering and coughing awkwardly as he did so.

‘Where’z Rozebay, where’z Rozebay,’ wailed Willowherb.

They watched in horror as the writhing bodies surfaced and sank again, then resurfaced.

The fox swam back to the Eyeland carrying the limp and lifeless body of Rosebay.

‘Don’t look,’ said Bluebell to Willowherb as the sound of bones being crunched reached their ears.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Between the many discussion meetings that were being held, Marguerite did what little she could for the sick swan.

Wood Anemone addressed a special Council Meeting which she had asked Just Poplar to call.

‘Vellow squirrelz,’ she had said. ‘Uz huz lived on the Mainland for more than a year. When uz left Ourland there wuz a King here, Poplar’z vather, and uz knowz that Poplar won’t mind uz zaying that zum of the thingz hiz vather did wuz not good thingz. Now, when uz comez back there iz no King and yew iz all trying to do thingz like they wuz done at the Blue Pool. Yew can zee az well az uz can, that it izn’t working. Thiz I’land needz a King – or a Queen. Zo uz propozez that Marguerite should be our Queen.’

There was a silence as each squirrel considered the likely consequences if the proposal was approved.

‘Long Live Queen Marguerite,’ Just Poplar said, at last.

‘Wait please,’ Marguerite held up her paw, ‘there might be some other squirrel more worthy than me.’

‘Any other propozalz?’ Poplar glowered round at the assembly.

‘No? Long live Queen Marguerite. The meeting iz yewrz, Ma’am.’

‘Please. Do not call me Ma’am. I am Marguerite still, and I accept
only
if you promise to hold a Tail-poll at each Harvest Celebration to see if you would rather have another squirrel to be Queen – or King.’

‘Long Live Queen Marguerite.’

Marguerite smiled round at her friends. ‘I declare today to be a Sun-day in celebration.’ Then she slipped away to take food to the swan.

‘It’s your fault,’ Sycamore said to Chip. ‘If you hadn’t made us stay last night so that you could get your Sun-damned gold thing, Rosebay would still be with us.’

‘That’s hardly fair,’ said Bluebell. ‘We all decided to stay, you don’t know what foxes are going to do. It might have attacked us last night.’

‘Voxes iz horrid, eating other animalz,’ said Willowherb.

‘That’s not fair either,’ Bluebell responded. ‘That’s how foxes live. A fox has to do what a fox has to do. Think how lucky you are being a squirrel – at least your nuts don’t try and run away when you are eating them.’

‘Shut up, Bluebell,’ said Oak. ‘You’re not helping. Oh Sun, it’s back.’

The fox had finished his meal and had come to the foot of the tree where they were sitting. Now he was watching them eagerly, his pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Willowherb was sure she could see blood on the fox’s lips.

Marguerite had asked Rowan and Meadowsweet to take over teaching Kernels, Traditions and Manners to the young squirrels and also to train them in wood-craft and survival. Having seen the difference that a few days of Mainland adventure had had on Sycamore she was beginning to formulate an idea that might stop the mindless behaviour of the island youngsters.

She had already asked Just Poplar to be Guardian of Justice on Ourland, and had made him swear to live up to his Tag at all times and never let anyone, especially herself, influence his judgement.

‘Let Justice be done,

In every squirrel’s case,

Though the sky may fall
.’

‘If expediency affects justice, then we are not worthy to govern,’ she had told him.

She appointed Chestnut and Heather to be Guardians of Defence and asked Clover to relinquish the post of Tagger which was no longer relevant, and help Voxglove and Cowzlip do all they could to help sick and elderly squirrels. Clover agreed readily.

Then Queen Marguerite sought out Wood Anemone.

‘Now, Wood Anemone-Friend, or should I call you Woodlouse? I want you to tell me all about the Mushrooms of the Moon. And don’t you dare call me Ma’am!’

They brushed whiskers and hugged one another.

‘Can uz be yewr zervant?’ Wood Anemone asked.

‘No, you can be uz – my friend and companion. I do get lonely on my own. Now, please tell me about those Mushrooms.’

The scouts in the tree were whispering together again.

‘If we go back the way we came, we have to come down out of the trees before we have gone very far.’ Oak said.

‘We might be able to circle round and go back another way whilst staying safely off the ground.’

‘If we split up, we can see how big this wood is and whether there is a safe route out,’ said Sycamore. ‘Then meet back here.’

They each went off in a different direction, Chip lodging his coin in a fork of the tree before he went. The fox prowled about below, keeping one or other of the squirrels always in his sight.

An hour later they were back, Chip returning last. He looked for his coin – it was not in the fork where he had left it, but lay on the ground near the fox’s feet. It could not have fallen by itself.

‘Who threw down my gold thing?’ he asked.

Every squirrel was looking away and none answered.

‘More important than that, is there a safe way out of this wood?’ Oak asked.

Each scout reported that they had come to the edge of the copse and would have had to drop to the ground before getting to the next clump of trees.

‘We’re trapped here then until the fox goes away,’ said Bluebell. ‘At least here’s plenty of things for us to eat – not like on the Eyeland.’

Sycamore said, ‘When I was on the Eyeland with you before, you had a Woodstock thing. I saw one of those growing over there.’

They followed him to the edge of the copse where a tangle of honeysuckle enmeshed the top of a hazel bush. Lower down they could see the unmistakable bulge of a Woodstock – but it was low down, possibly within reach of a hungry fox.

‘I’ll try and cut it out of the stem,’ said Sycamore. ‘Call me if the fox comes too close.’ He ducked as a large brown and yellow insect flew past his head towards a hollow tree across the glade. ‘Did you see the size of that wasp?’ he asked. ‘It was enormous!’

Chip edged along the branch towards the disconsolate Willowherb.

‘I’m sorry about Rosebay,’ he said. ‘But it was a brave thing that she did.’

‘Her did a brave thing,’ replied Willowherb.

‘Look out.’ Called Bluebell as the fox leapt up at Sycamore but just fell short. He leapt again but could not quite reach the young squirrel as he bit and gnawed at the hazel stem.

When Sycamore’s teeth were aching, he handed over to Oak. Between them they cut through below the Woodstock, the fox all the while leaping up at them in vain.

Bluebell and Chip finished cutting the Woodstock clear, and together they pulled it to the top of the mass of honeysuckle, where it lay on the tangle of fine stems while they peeled off the bark and cut those now familiar numbers:
.