The Golden Flight (9 page)

To nourish a tree.’

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Hickory was waiting at the Little Pool when the Rowan and the other Reds arrived back, tired and dirty, in the early dawn.

He listened to the story of the escape and looked at Meadowsweet with a new respect. To think what that old fool Malachite had said about natives!

‘What do you plan to do now?’ he asked Rowan.

‘We’ll need to get cleaned up first,’ he said, seeing his life-mate looking ruefully at her claws, torn and broken from the night’s digging, ‘then decide on action.’

Indecision kills.

Act positively and lead.

Action is the Key

‘We can’t stay here,’ Rowan went on, ‘but it’ll be the third time in four years that you Greys have driven me out. It’s getting to be routine. Do any of the others know you’re here?’

‘No, I thought of telling Sitka but I’m not sure if I can trust him. I think he’s got ambitions to be the Great Lord Silver and he might believe it would go against him if he was known to have assisted natives.’

‘Don’t
you
have that ambition?’ asked Rowan.

‘Not now. I used to once, but I’ve learned a lot from your teachings and there are more important things to me now.’

He glanced across at Bluebell who was licking her paws and cleaning her fur.

‘What about the others?’ Rowan asked.

‘All the colonists will be plotting to be Great Lord Silver now.  Even those three old fools from the Tanglewood fancy their chances. You should hear them bickering over who would win if they were to fight one another. It’s pathetic.’

He paused. ‘Can I come with you?’ he asked.

‘Let me get cleaned up, then I’ll ask the others. I can’t decide that on my own.’

The guards stayed on the Warren Ash-tree, near the hole, long after it was light, hoping to hear sounds from the inside to confirm that their prisoners were still secure. They were puzzled by the updraught that was blowing particles of dust out into the open air, each mote dancing in the sunshine as it was caught by a gentle breeze that eddied round the tree.

Eventually, the bravest one put his head inside, then pulled it out and turned to his companion. ‘Oh Great Lord Silver,’ he groaned, ‘are we in trouble!’

At the Blue Pool the Greys heard the guards tell of how they had looked in the hollow of the Warren Ash after hearing no sounds from inside during the night, only to find that the prisoners had tunnelled their way out. Malachite conferred with Silica and Obsidian then ordered an immediate tail-chop for the senior guard and a tail-halving for the other. Sentence was carried out gleefully by one of the more recently arrived Greys. Sitka watched in horror. Was this to be the new order of things?

He had waited for an hour, expecting Hickory to reappear. He did not know where his friend was, but he assured the three Lords ‘that he will be back soon.’

‘Slack sort of base this,’ grumbled Malachite. ‘Never like this in my day.’

An hour later Lord Obsidian led a party of colonists to search for the Red males and the missing Grey Leader. They returned to report that a scent trail, and speckles of wood dust particles, led away from the Warren Ash towards the Deepend of the Blue Pool where there were also traces of Hickory’s scent.

‘The traitor,’ snarled Malachite. He glowered at Sitka. ‘I’m taking full command of this precinct. Watch your tail if you know what’s good for you,’ he declared.

Rowan knew that they would be pursued soon and he must lead his party to safety, but he must first resolve the question of Hickory coming with them. Hickory was an alien, one of the colonisers who had taken over his land and harassed and persecuted the native Reds. The Greys’ whole philosophy had been based on different principles and ideals. The native concept of the guardianship of an area of country was as difficult for a Grey to grasp as ‘ownership’ was to a Red. True he had been teaching native ways to several groups of Greys during the last year, but apart from Hickory and Sitka all the others had moved on west and south, hopefully taking these ‘native’ ideas with them.

The new batch he was teaching had only just started their training and he could not rely on them for support. Sitka might be reliable, but he had never been as enthusiastic nor as friendly as Hickory. Then there were the so-called Three Lords. They were probably harmless enough, far too old and unfit to be a danger.

Rowan remembered that –

A delayed Action –

Stultifies. Find the root cause,

Grub it out and Act.

There was no difficulty in identifying the root cause here – it was that Hickory was a Grey. Could he trust him as one of their party?

Rowan joined the others.

‘Hickory,’ he said, ‘would you wait over there. I must consult with my companions.’

‘Of course,’ said Hickory, ‘I understand.’

When he was safely out of ear-twitch, Rowan spoke. ‘We can’t stay here, so until the situation becomes clearer, we must go into hiding. We will go to the Eyeland in the pool across the Great Heath. Hickory wants to come with us, even though he doesn’t know where we are going. Who has views on this?’

He looked at Spindle who spread his paws wide and said ‘I’ve no objections. He’s always treated me well. I trust him.’

Wood Anemone nodded her assent, as did Rosebay and Willowherb, their heads moving in unison.

Rowan turned to Meadowsweet. ‘What do you think, Meadowsweet-mate?’ he asked.

‘I think you should really ask Bluebell,’ she replied and Rowan looked at her quizzically. Was something going on here he did not know about? He turned to his daughter.

‘Bluebell?’

‘Hickory has asked me to be his life-mate,’ she blurted out. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, but the time has never been right. I do love him, Rowan-Pa.’

A host of queries poured through Rowan’s brain, but there was no time to consider them now. One thing was clear though – they all seemed to think that Hickory could be trusted to be on their side in any confrontation.

‘We’ll have to discuss that later,’ he said. ‘I take it then that we are unanimous; Hickory comes with us.’

Rowan signalled to Hickory, who came bounding over.

‘You can come with us. There are other matters to discuss, but they can wait. Now we will make for a safe place and see what develops. Follow me, all of you.’

He headed off towards the Hazel Copse and the Dogleg Field.

The sun was high and the air was warm when they reached the trees whose lower branches spread out over the field. The horses were standing close together, resting in the shade. They were facing the opposite directions, each flicking its tail to keep the flies off the other’s head.

‘If we go straight across the field and we are followed, our scent will give us away, we’d better lay some false trails.’

They were discussing who was to go in which direction and where they were to meet, when Meadowsweet called to Rowan.

‘Do you remember Tansy telling us how she came across the harbour on a deer’s antler?’ she asked. He nodded.

‘Well, humans keep horses so that they can travel about the country sitting on their backs. Why can’t squirrels ride on horses?’

Rowan looked at the horses below. What would they do if squirrels dropped on to them unexpectedly? But it was a splendidly original idea – worthy of Zander the Great.

‘We’ll try it,’ he said. ‘We won’t leave any scent trails that way. That’ll fool those Sun-damned Greys.’ Then, seeing Hickory wince, he added, ‘Sorry – present company excepted.’

The horses had long tails, and manes of coarse hair on the top of their necks and tassels of hair hanging between their eyes.

‘Aim for the neck of the chestnut-coloured one. Drop and cling on when I say ‘Go’. I expect them to run off when we do that. Then, when I say ‘Jump,’ leap off and follow me.’

They all climbed down through the branches until they were just above the horses. They paused there, listening to the gentle snorting noises that the horses made as they communed with one another. Rowan signalled the squirrels to line up on a branch just above the chestnut coloured one.

‘Go,’ he said. ‘Go now!’ and they dropped, each scrabbling for a hold, the unfamiliar smell of horse strong in their nostrils.

The dozing animal reared unexpectedly and Rosebay and Willowherb, who had not yet got their claws into the security of the mane, slid down the horse’s back, unable to grip the short hairs of its summer coat. As they tumbled over its rump, they grasped at the tail and hung on as the frightened animal raced across the field, followed by its puzzled companion, the piebald mare.

Rosebay and Willowherb were swung from side to side as the tail was switched violently in an attempt to dislodge them. When the hedge loomed up in front of it, the chestnut turned, rearing and plunging, its frightened whinnying showing its distress.

‘Jump,’ called Rowan, ‘Jump now!’ and one grey and five red squirrels leapt from the horse’s neck for the safety of the hedgerow. Rosebay and Willowherb dropped from its tail and, dodging the flying hooves of the black and white mare as it raced by, they scampered for the hedge to join the others.

‘That’ll break our scent trail,’ Rowan said, exhilaration in his voice as they stood together, composing themselves after their ride. ‘Meadowsweet-mate, that was a brilliant idea!’

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lord Malachite was watching Obsidian and Silica to see how
they
would react to his assumption of command. It was a daring move on his part, he was thinking, appropriate to a born leader. Often the best way – act positively and other lesser squirrels will follow meekly. The more confident you sound the less likely they are to challenge.

Now the lesser squirrels seemed bemused, waiting for his next move. He must keep the initiative – reinforce his position.

Where was Sitka? He was the other one to watch. If that traitor Hickory was off with those native Reds, Sitka might go too. They had both had many moons of that poisonous, corrupting Red influence. Ah, there he was, ready to obey. That was better.

‘Right, this is the situation.’ He stood up as tall as he could. ‘A group of natives has infiltrated their way into this precinct under the guise of teaching us Silver Squirrels their nasty native ways. We will not tolerate this indignity. The two males we held in the Warren Ash tricked their guards – who have been dealt with in an appropriate way – and have escaped. No doubt they have joined their pretty little females. Worst of all, Hickory, rot his name, appears to have joined them. Probably fancies a bit of red-tail. We will hunt them down and dispose of the problem once and for all. Never trust a native with their sneaky, underpaw ways. Follow me.’

He led off towards the Little Pool, followed by a posse of Greys, with Sitka behind them and Obsidian and Silica bringing up the rear and grumbling at the effort.

Malachite halted the column before they reached the Deepend area. He was breathing hard.

‘We will pause here,’ he said. ‘We must not alert the enemy by rushing out and letting them get away.’

‘Lord Obsidian,’ Malachite called across. ‘Take a party and circle round to the east. Lord Silica – do the same to the west. Sitka will go right round and cut off their retreat. When you are in position I will advance from here. Don’t let any escape. Kill on capture. Death to all Reds – and all traitors.’ He scowled a warning at Sitka.

Sitka, with a dozen Greys at his heels, ran from tree to tree to get behind his teachers and erstwhile friends as if to cut off any way of escape. He was surprised that Hickory had abandoned both his own kind and any hope of challenging for the position of Great Lord Silver. Hickory had, at one time, been as keen on this as any Grey male. But what a fool this Malachite was. Still, it was best to go along with him for the time being, he didn’t want to lose his tail and there may be a way to help the Reds without compromising his own position.

When Sitka’s posse was beyond the Little Pool they picked up the clear scent of the Reds, with Hickory’s among them, leading away towards the Hazel Copse. The enemy had gone. The trap, if one could call it that, was empty.

Sitka contemplated following the trail at once but decided it would be wiser not to risk the anger of their new self-appointed chief. He turned up-trail and reached the Little Pool as a disappointed Malachite arrived from the other direction.

Sitka reported what he had found.

‘Right,’ said Malachite, ‘just what I expected. They’ve sneaked away. That’s good news. Now we can have a proper hunt – I always enjoyed those. An exhilarating chase across country, overtake the quarry, surround them, outnumber them, then the Kill. Great sport! The quarry probably enjoys it too. Good fun all round. Who said natives are all bad? Follow me.’

The Grey force followed Malachite along the scent trail, and through the Hazel Copse to the trees on the edge of the Dogleg Field where the trail had come to a dead end. They sniffed around, some going down to the ground where the horse droppings obliterated any more delicate scents, but even when searchers had ventured out into the field beyond the trees there was nothing to indicate which way the quarry had gone.

‘Crafty little tree-rats,’ Malachite declared. They must have back-tracked. We will rest for a while, then fan out and search either side of the trail. Someone wake me after High-sun.’

Rowan kept looking over his shoulder, fearful that their trick with the horses might not have worked and they would soon hear the sounds of pursuit. He urged his party on, though they were making good time, all being strong and fit, with no very young or old squirrels to slow their progress. He would not be happy until they were safe on his Eyeland in the pool that was named after him – Rowan’s Pool. They would hide up there and, if they were found and attacked, they would have the advantage of being able to defend the Eyeland from firm ground while attackers would be wading ashore. All he needed now was a Woodstock.