The Golden Flight (12 page)

‘Everybody back to base,’ he ordered. ‘Get a good night’s rest. Where are the Lords Silica and Obsidian?’

‘They retired early, sir. They went back to their dreytels.’

In the North-east Wood, Silica and Obsidian were discussing Malachite’s behaviour.

‘He’s fallen off his stump!’ said Silica. ‘Can’t he see that things have changed. I’m surprised that the other Silvers follow him so readily.’

‘I think they’re thrown, with Hickory leaving like that. Fancy a Silver running off after Red-tail, assuming that’s what’s behind it.’

 ‘Dangerous to assume. What was it that Red female told us?

‘Squirrels who don’t check

May assume a fox’s mouth

To be a safe den.’

‘Don’t start quoting their Kernels at me,’ Lord Obsidian growled. ‘You’ll be wanting me to behave like a little native next.’

They were silent for a while, each busy with their thoughts. Finally Silica spoke.

‘Do you think we’ve been out of action too long?’ he asked. ‘The whole world seems to be upside-down now. I’m tempted to slip back to the Tanglewood and live the quiet life. Be lonely on my own, though. Would you come with me?’

Then, before he had an answer, he added, ‘Obsidian-Friend, as the Red ones put it.’

‘Sun-dammit,  I will – as the Red ones would put it. Let’s slip away before the hordes come back – Silica-Friend.’

‘What about Malachite?’

‘Him! He’s obsessed with the idea of becoming Great Lord Silver. When he’s got over that and finds us gone, no doubt he’ll follow us.  Come on, I’ve had enough of this.’

Lord Malachite returned to New Massachusetts with Sitka, explaining to him why he had put off following the fugitives until the next day. ‘We’ll all be fresh then, have a good day’s hunting. Run those natives down by High-sun I’m sure.
And
the traitor! You can have the honour of killing him. I’ll remember that when I’m in high places. You’ll need to show which side you’re on since you’ve been mixed up in this native business for so long. See you at first light. What was your name again?’

The moon was high when Malachite slipped out of his dreytel and went silently through the branches towards Silica’s. It was good that Obsidian’s dreytel was some distance beyond that. This was worthy of Zander the Great – original thinking, the element of surprise, ruthlessness – good leadership qualities those. If he could get Silica and Obsidian while they were asleep, he could kill them before they knew what was happening. Bite the throat and hold on – it should only take a minute or two to get those rivals out of contention. But he would have to do it without waking the other Silvers.

At Silica’s dreytel he paused and listened. There was no sound of breathing. A thought flashed across his mind. What if Silica had planned the same thing? Maybe Silica had already killed Obsidian and was now on his way to kill him. No – he would have seen or heard him.

Malachite went and listened outside Obsidian’s dreytel. Silence again.

He thought up some pretext about changing the start time for the hunt, and shook the twigs of the sleeping place, then put his head inside. It too was empty.

Perhaps they were out together, looking for him! He imagined sharp teeth biting into his neck; looked around fearfully in the spooky moonlight, then sought an unused dreytel, well away from his own, and spent a restless night there, only dozing off when the moon had set.

‘Lord Malachite, sir. It’s dawn, sir. We had a job to find you, sir. It’s all right, sir. It’s only me, sir. Are you alright, sir?’

Malachite looked bleary-eyed at the youngster, one of the new arrivals.

‘Yes, yes. Of course I am. What was your name again?’

As dawn lightened the sky over the little island in the pool, the Woodstock was as complete as Rowan and Spindle could make it. They relieved the guards on the bridge and sent all the others up the trees to sleep. Wood Anemone gave the gleaming twisted wood one last rub with a piece of soft moss.

‘Watch that I don’t fall asleep, Spindle-Friend,’ Rowan said.

‘Yew’d better do the zame for uz,’ the ex-zervant replied.

Rowan watched as a heron flapped slowly over the pool before starting a long slide down to the shallow water at the far end – the trueness of its flight indicating that here was no apparent danger from that direction.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Hickory had come with Bluebell at mid morning to relieve Rowan and Spindle at the bridge.

‘Call me if you see anything suspicious. I’ll sleep near the Woodstock in case we need to use it,’ Rowan told them.

Though desperately tired, sleep did not come easily. From where he lay in a tussock of grass he could see Hickory and Bluebell sitting on the peeling bark of the bridge, saying things he could not hear. It was clear from the way they sat so close together how they felt about one another. How had he missed this before?

What would happen if they mated, as they clearly planned to do? Remembering Bluebell’s namesake and the Greys of the Silver Tide, he knew that a mating must be physically possible. But would the Sun bless the union with dreylings and, if it did, what would they be like? Would they be grey or red, or a patchy mixture, like the horse in the Dogleg Field? Whatever colour they were, they would be his grandchildren and he would love them.

Rowan finally dropped off to sleep, dreaming of being a grandfather and playing under a peaceful sun with a tumbling mass of piebald dreylings.

Malachite asked the assembled Greys if anyone had seen the other two Lords. None had, neither that day nor the previous evening. He selected two young males and briefed them privately.

‘I’ve got a special and secret mission for you,’ he said in a conspiratorial voice. ‘I have chosen you out of all the others to follow Lord Silica and Lord Obsidian and report back to me exactly what they are doing. Don’t let them see you, and tell no one but me what you find out.’ He put a paw to his lips. ‘No one but me. Understand?’

The youngsters nodded, proud to have been selected, though they were disappointed to be missing the hunt.

‘Wait until we have gone, then follow your noses. I will expect a report tonight. If we are not here – follow our trail.’

He turned back to address the others, surprised and pleased to see how many had turned out for the chase. Not only were most of those who had been at Rowan’s current training present, but yet another new batch of colonists had just arrived and they were eager to join in.

The squirrels crossed the Dogleg Field in a grey mass and flowed over the road in the early light. Scouts had been sent ahead to find the scent and they guided the hunters through the furze, heather and fern of the Great Heath.

By High-sun the scouts had reported that the quarry were trapped on an island in a pool, with a tree-trunk bridge leading to it.

‘I don’t think they have seen us,’ Malachite was told by the scout leader. ‘Most of them are asleep, but the traitor, Hickory, and a Red female are on guard.’

‘Rot his tail,’ said Malachite to Sitka. ‘How do you fancy single combat on the bridge? That should be good sport.’

Sitka looked apprehensive. ‘He was my friend,’ he said.

‘Not now, surely – he’s a proven traitor. You kill him, then we’ll deal with the natives.’

‘Let’s see exactly what the situation is first,’ said Sitka. ‘The Red ones taught us a saying–

‘In a strange country,

Be careful. Time spent looking

Is seldom wasted.’

‘Humph,’ said Malachite, but sent out parties of squirrels to surround the pool, in case the quarry tried to escape by swimming, then approached the edge of the bank where they could all look down on to the island.

Hickory was sitting on the bridge with Bluebell at his side, both facing the Mainland. He felt her body stiffen.

‘Don’t look at once,’ she whispered, ‘but I am sure there are squirrels up there on the bank, watching us.’

‘Red or Silver?’ Hickory whispered back.

‘Grey,’ she said.

‘Go as casually as you can and wake your father. Tell him what you’ve seen. I’ll stay here.’

Bluebell stretched and went slowly back along the fallen trunk and relieved herself behind a clump of rushes, conscious as she did so, that, though out of sight of her party, she was in full view of ‘lots’ of enemy Greys.

Then she went over to where her father lay at the foot of one of the pines and said, ‘Rowan-Pa. Wake up, the Greys are here. Slowly now, they don’t know we have seen them.’

‘Climb the tree and tell the others,’ he said calmly. ‘I’ll cover the bridge with the Woodstock.’

‘My Hickory is down there, call him back if you have to use it, don’t curl
his
whiskers,’ Bluebell told her father, then slowly climbed the tree, as though she was going up to sleep there.

Hickory was watching the top of the bank. Bluebell had been right, there were lots of Silvers there. He turned his head – there were more to be seen on the opposite bank, all just sitting and watching. The fur on the back of his neck rose slowly and his tail started to swish from side to side, betraying his fear.

He saw a Silver come down the bank towards him, tail low, in the ‘Parley’ position. It was Sitka.

Hickory sat still as he approached.

‘Hickory-Friend,’ Sitka said quietly. ‘That old fool Malachite wants me to challenge you to single combat. What should I do?’

‘Look fierce,’ said Hickory, ‘and talk.’

Sitka raised his tail, arched his back, stamped his feet on the bridge and churred the Challenge. Hickory did the same.

‘Hickory, come back here,’ Rowan called, ‘clear of the bridge.’

Hickory signalled an unmistakable ‘leave me alone’ with his tail, while still facing Sitka.

‘What do you want to do?’ he hissed at Sitka.

‘Find a mate, live in peace and bring up a family under the Sun – that Great Lord Silver business is a sham. I can see that now,’ Sitka hissed back.

‘You won’t do that with Malachite in charge. His head is full of punkwood. Come and join us.’

‘I can’t do that, you’re outnumbered many times. You’ll all be zapped by nightfall.’

‘We’ve got a Woodstock,’ hissed Hickory. I don’t think old Punkhead knows what that is. Come and join us.’

‘Get on with it, damn you both!’ Malachite’s voice came from the bank behind Sitka. ‘Or are you rabbits?’

They ignored the insult and went on with the charade.

‘Are you a Sun-squirrel?’ Hickory asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You never told me.’

‘You never asked. Are you?’

‘Yes.’

‘You never told me.’

‘You never asked.’

A small pine cone splashed in the water beside them as a gruff voice called down, ‘Get on with it.’

‘I’ll go and ask Malachite to give you all safe passage,’ Sitka said, while going through the motions of stamping and arching his back again.

Hickory made the same movements, advancing towards Sitka who moved backwards.

‘Not a chance, the old fool is using this, and you, as a step towards the Oval Drey. He fancies himself as Great Lord Silver.’

Hickory moved backwards to allow Sitka to make a forward feint.

‘I’ve got to give it a try. We Sun-squirrels have to do what we think is right.’

Hickory stood to his full height, saluted with his right paw diagonally across his chest. Sitka, facing him, did the same and then they embraced briefly as a shower of cones flew around them, bouncing off the bridge and dropping into the water.

Sitka turned and, tail high, went up the bank to where Lord Malachite sat glowering down at him. Sitka lowered his tail, remembering the Request Kernel he had been taught by Rowan, though forgetting for the moment that Malachite would not know this.

A submissive stance

And a request, presumes help –

Give it if you can
.

‘Lord Malachite. These are good squirrels, all friends of mine, please let them pass safely.’

‘They are natives and traitors, as you are showing yourself to be. A cowardly one at that. Your body will hang in a tree as an example to others. Zap him!’ he ordered and a group of Greys leapt on to Sitka, biting and scratching.

The Reds on the island, and Hickory on the bridge, watched, unable to see clearly what was happening in the melee at the top of the bank. Then they saw a limp grey body being hauled up a pine trunk and dragged out along a branch where it was suspended, with its neck jammed in a fork. The tail moved slowly in a slight breeze.

Hickory saluted again.

‘Come back here, Hickory-Friend,’ Rowan called, and the Grey turned and slowly climbed the gentle slope of the island to where the Reds were clustered around the Woodstock. Bluebell moved over to crouch beside him.

‘They will attack soon,’ said Rowan, ‘but we are ready for them.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Malachite looked down at the island and was about to order ‘Attack’. He had decided to stay up on the bank and direct from there, rather than get involved himself. ‘Only fair to give these youngsters a chance to prove themselves,’ he was telling himself. ‘Wouldn’t do to get injured myself when I am about to make the journey to Woburn and challenge the Great Lord Silver. Must keep myself fit for that.’

There was something about the way the natives on the island were clustered together. Not in terror or in panic as he would have expected, but confidently, as though they knew something he didn’t. Were there reinforcements on the way? Instinctively, he glanced over his shoulder, them realised that there were no other natives in the area. It couldn’t be that.

The nearby Silvers were all looking to him for leadership, waiting for the order to pour across the bridge and dispose of the quarry. He looked again at the natives. There was something on the ground in front of them. He rubbed his eyes – just lately he found he could not see distant things as clearly as he used to.