The Legend of Luke Page 9

  Chugger nodded his head in agreement. ‘Good h’otter, now Chugg getcher sh’ewbread an’ minty tea!’

  Folgrim gobbled another mouthful of pasty. ‘Why thankee, mate, though I likes cordial better’n mint tea. Mebbe you could fetch me a couple o’ them strawberries too, they look nice!’

  Tungro shook his head in amazement at the sight of Chugger feeding breakfast to his brother, both of them chatting away amiably, as if they were old friends.

  ‘Well wallop me rudder, will y’look at that? Folgrim never was the most civil o’ beasts – back at the holt ’e spoke to nobody, much less smile an’ chat like that. I reckon my brother’s took a shine to yore liddle squirrel!’

  Trimp was slightly apprehensive. She confided her fears to Dinny in a whisper that only he could hear. ‘I’m not so sure I like Chugger being around Folgrim. He’s an otter who’s eaten his enemies and is troubled in his mind. Who can tell what he’d do if the mood took him?’

  The mole put aside his food, watching Folgrim and Chugger. ‘Oi doan’t think ee gotten much t’wurry o’er, missie. Hurr, jus’ you’m looka yon h’otter. Whoi, ee’m loik an ole molemum wi’ ’er h’infant molebabe. Wuddent ’arm an ’air o’ maister Chugg’s liddle ’ead, burr no!’

  Trimp watched as Chugger fed Folgrim some shrewbread. The little squirrel was talking to the otter as if he were a naughty Dibbun.

  ‘Now if’n you don’t eat alla sh’ewbread up, I won’t not let you ’ave no st’awbees, mista Fol!’

  The hedgehog maid nodded in agreement with her molefriend. ‘I think you’re right, Din. They’re firm friends!’

  When the meal was over, Martin and his group struck camp. Warm summer sun had lifted all the mist and the broad stream glistened invitingly. Tungro hailed them as they were packing supplies aboard.

  ‘My ’earty thanks to ye, friends. We’ve got t’go now. Safe journey to you’n’yore mates, Martin, an’ fair weather attend ye to the north coast!’

  However, it was not that simple. Folgrim refused to go with his brother. Digging himself into the banksand he resisted all their attempts to move him. Tungro stroked his strange brother’s head coaxingly.

  ‘C’mon, Fol, let’s go back ’ome together, matey. Yore ole bed’s waitin’ for ye, an’ everybeast’s wantin’ to give you a great welcome. Wot d’you say, eh?’

  Chugger leaped from the raft and threw himself upon Folgrim, hugging the scarred otter and wailing piteously. ‘Waahaah! Don’t take mista Fol ’way. Waahaahaa!’

  As if this were not sad enough, Folgrim joined in, tears streaming from his one eye. ‘Buhurr! Don’t take me away from me liddle pal. I wants t’go with ’im. Buhuhurr!’

  Tungro was greatly moved. Dashing a paw across his eyes, he appealed to Martin. ‘Tell me, mate, wot do I do?’

  The Warrior leaped ashore. Two swift slices of his sword set Folgrim free from the ropes at his waist and paws. ‘There’s only one thing to do, friend. Let your brother come with us. We’ll deliver him safe to your holt on the return journey, I promise.’

  Folgrim jumped up. With Chugger perched on his shoulders he boarded the raft, both of them grinning from ear to ear. Tungro shook Martin’s paw fervently.

  ‘I know my brother’ll be safe with goodbeasts like you’n’yore friends, sir. Mayhap ’twill be good for ’im.’

  They sailed off downstream, waving goodbyes to the otters standing on the banks.

  ‘See you sometime about autumn!’

  ‘Aye, we’ll be waitin’, with a potful of shrimp’n’hotroot soup to welcome ye!’

  ‘Good, we’ll be lookin’ forward to it!’

  ‘Watch out for Folgrim at night, he’s a terrible snorer!’

  ‘Hurr hurr, if’n ee can outsnore this lot, zurr, ee must be a good ’un!’

  ‘You speak for yourself, Dinny mole, I don’t snore!’

  ‘Ho yuss ee do, miz Trimp. Don’t ’er, zurr Gonff?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, Din. When you’re snorin’ it drowns out everythin’, even thunderstorms!’

  The curious raft, with logboats tied to both sides, sailed off downstream into the soft summer morning. Tungro and his crew gave a final wave before sliding into the water and gliding sleekly upstream, home to their holt.

  It was midday when Log a Log Furmo steered into a curving recess. Martin looked up at the shrew as he scrambled atop the steep rocky bank.

  ‘What’ve we stopped for, Furmo? Surely it’s not time to eat already. We’ve hardly been afloat today.’

  ‘Come up ’ere’n’look at this, Martin.’

  The Warrior joined his friend on the banktop. Far ahead he could see thick extending pine woods, flanking both sides of the stream. Martin peered hard at the dark mass. ‘Trouble, d’you think?’

  The Guosim Chieftain voiced his thoughts. ‘I noticed the stream’s startin’ to run swifter, so I thought it best t’pull in an’ scout the land. No sense dashin’ into danger, that’s if there’s any there.’

  Martin mused for a moment, looking from the raft to the pines and back again, before making up his mind. ‘Right, here’s what I suggest. You take Gonff, I’ll take Folgrim – I wager he can smell vermin a league off. We split up and go both sides of the bank to scout those pine woods out. Leave the rest with the raft. Throw a kedge anchor over the stern – that’ll slow them up so they won’t be speeding into the pine wood area.’

  Furmo agreed with Martin’s strategy. An old waterlogged willow limb, forked at one end, was weighted by lashing big chunks of rock to it. When it was cast over the raft’s stem it dragged heavily on the streambed, slowing the vessel’s progress considerably.

  Furmo and Gonff took the north bank, the raft dropped Martin and Folgrim off on the south bank. Chugger shook a tiny paw at the Warrior. ‘You take good care of mista Fol, or I smacka you tail!’

  Martin nodded seriously at the little fellow. ‘Aye aye, cap’n Chugg, I’ll watch out for him, never fear.’

  Log a Log Furmo had been right. The broad stream was surely moving faster, running deeper too, Martin noticed as he trotted along the bank with Folgrim at his side. Without the kedge anchor on its stem, both raft and logboats would go hurtling downstream.

  At mid-noon they reached the fringes of the pine woods. Gonff and Furmo waved across at Martin on the opposite side. He held both paws up, signalling them to wait. After a while Folgrim returned from scouting inside the fringe. He was carrying some ashes and a clump of grass, stained dark purple, along with a dab of ochre, still wet from the stream. Urgently he gestured for them to back off, away from the pines.

  When he judged they were far enough from the conifers, the otter signalled them down to the shallows, where they could converse across the stream. Gonff and Furmo waded in as deep as they dared. Martin and Folgrim followed suit, the strong current pulling at them. The otter held up the stained grass and spoke. ‘Painted Ones, in the woods. Beware!’

  Gonff and Furmo waded back to dry land. Folgrim called after them, ‘See you back at the raft!’

  Trimp helped the Guosim shrews haul her friends aboard, and looked questioningly at Furmo as he ordered the craft into the south bank, behind a curve. ‘What is it, what’s happening?’

  The shrew Chieftain explained. ‘Painted Ones are in those pine woods ahead. Folgrim found traces o’ the blaggards.’

  Trimp was plainly puzzled. ‘What d’you mean, Painted Ones?’

  ‘Nobeast knows fer sure, missie, but most of us thinks they’re some kind o’ tree rats. My Guosim ain’t been down this far in seasons – weren’t any about then. I reckon they must’ve been driven out o’ their own territory an’ settled in the pines yonder. Painted Ones is vicious savages, never just a few, always come in big gangs. Those woods’d be ideal for ’em – they paints themselves all over, like sunlight stripes an’ shadows. Painted Ones live up in the trees, an’ woe betide any pore traveller tryin’ to pass through their stampin’ grounds. Killin’s second nature to ’em! They’re very good at disguises – you coul
d be walkin’ in the pines, thinkin’ nobeast is there, then bang! The villains ’ave got you, an’ yore a dead ’un!’

  Dinny shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Et be a gurt pity, ’cos we’m be orfully near ee seashores. Oi cudd feel et in moi diggen claws.’

  Trimp sighed sadly. ‘But we can’t go any further now.’

  Gonff chucked her gently under the chin. ‘Lackaday, lookit that long face, like a toad with toothache. Cheer up, pretty one, or you’ll have it rainin’. Leave it to me, I’ve got a plan!’

  Dinny wrinkled his nose. ‘You’m got ee plan, zurr?’

  Gonff adopted his devil-may-care expression. ‘Why d’ye think they call me Prince of Mousethieves? Of course I’ve got a plan, you ole tunnel-grubber!’

  Martin prodded his friend’s well-fed middle. ‘I hope ’tis a plan that’ll work, matey?’

  ‘Oh indeed, an’ did you ever know any o’ my plans that didn’t work, O swinger of swords?’

  ‘Aye, lots of them, O pincher of pies!’

  ‘Well this won’t be one of that sort, O noble whiskers!’

  ‘It had better not be, O pot-bellied soup-swigger. Now tell on.’

  ‘We won’t wait ’til light – we’ll set sail and shoot past them in the dark. They won’t expect that.’

  The raft stayed tied to the bank until midnight, then they cut loose the kedge anchor and hoisted the sail. Drifting out into a moonless dark midstream, Gonff nodded to Furmo, who was seated in the logboats with his Guosim. Digging paddles deep they shot the craft off downstream, with Martin, Dinny and Folgrim punting long poles at the stem. A light breeze caught the sail, billowing it out beautifully. Gonff and Trimp laid out slings and heaps of well-rounded stream pebbles where they could be easily reached. The Prince of Mousethieves chuckled. ‘The speed she’s goin’, we’ll be through an’ past ’em afore they even guess we’ve arrived, eh, missie?’

  Covering Chugger’s sleeping form with foodsacks and loose canvas, Trimp snuggled down by him. ‘I hope you’re right, Gonff, for all our sakes, but mainly for this little mite’s. I don’t know what I’d do if any harm befell Chugger.’

  Folgrim turned from his pole, file-sharpened teeth glinting in the darkness, his one good eye roving wildly. ‘If’n yer wants t’see deadbeasts, pretty miss, take a look at any vermin puttin’ a paw near my pal Chugg!’

  Trimp shivered, certain that the scar-faced otter did not issue idle threats.

  As the flotilla of raft and logboats neared the pine wood, myriad eyes, aglow with evil intent, watched it from the bankside trees on both sides. Small harsh excited whispers sounded through the conifers.

  ‘Yikkyikkyikkyikk! Heerdee comm!’

  ‘Many many lotsa shroobs’n’micers too. Yikkayikka!’

  ‘Betcher deez viddlez too, loddza viddlez!’

  ‘Fassta fassta inta dee trapp. Yeehikkayikka!’

  ‘Fattee moledigga an’ ’edgepiggee, avva fun wid dose!’

  Then the raft was into the wooded area. Martin congratulated Gonff quietly on his daring scheme. ‘Well done, mate. We’re shooting through like a shaft from a bow. Not much can stop us now!’

  No sooner had the words left his mouth than the raft hit a thick series of vine ropes, stretched at different heights above and below the water. Everybeast aboard was thrown flat with the impact, and both leading logboats and the front of the raft were jammed fast in the cunning trap.

  * * *

  11

  MARTIN WAS FIRST to spring upright. He lashed about with the long punting pole as Painted Ones dropped from the trees on to the raft. Several were sent screeching into the water. Furmo and his shrews began laying about them with their logboat paddles, hollow thonking noises sounding as they struck tree rats in mid-air. Screams and splashes mingled with roars and shouts rent the blackness of the stream between the dark spreading pines. It was a scene of total chaos. Folgrim groped his way to the canvas protecting Chugger and Trimp and stood over them, flailing viciously, the air thrumming as he wielded his long pole. Whack! Thwock! Thunk! Splat! Gonff and Dinny were hard at it with their poles. Panting heavily, Martin called to them, ‘There’s too many of ’em – we can’t keep this up. Hold the vessel as best you can. I’ll be back soon. If not, go without me. That’s an order!’ He broke his pole over the backs of three who were trying to climb aboard, then dived into the fast-flowing stream.

  As soon as he felt himself hurled against the ropes by the current, Martin latched his footpaws into the heavy vines and unsheathed the great sword from his back. It was tremendously hard trying to swing his blade in the rushing water, but swing it the mouse Warrior did. He hacked and hewed with might and main until his grip was frozen to the sword by cold water and weariness. By a superb feat of will he forced himself to continue. Heavy wet strands struck his face as the razor-sharp blade whipped through them, and water filled his mouth as he roared like a wild beast, battling the powerful woven ropes of wet vine. Lowering the blade underwater, Martin sawed furiously at the ones that he had twined his footpaws into, ducking his head beneath the surface and hunching both shoulders to put more force into his efforts. Then the raft was running overhead, scraping his back as it was liberated from the trap. Martin went head over tail, automatically shifting the sword to one paw and reaching out frantically with the other as the vessel sped forward.

  Dinny felt somebeast grab his footpaw as he stood astern, swinging his pole. He was about to deal whoever it was a resounding blow with the pole butt when Martin’s head emerged from the streamwater.

  ‘Dinn, the pole, quick!’

  The mole shot his pole into the water and Martin grabbed it. Throwing his sword on to the raft, he struggled aboard with Dinny’s help. The raft was still swarming with Painted Ones. Martin seized the fabulous blade, and whirling it aloft he gave full cry to the battle call of Badger Lords.

  ‘Eulaliaaaaaa!’

  Screeching with fright the tree vermin threw themselves from the raft, splashing frenziedly for shore.

  Gonff threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Hahahaha! Look at ’em go! The ole Eulalia’s worth a dozen fighters, an’ let me say, matey, that ’un of yores was a right blood-freezer. I near jumped out o’ my fur!’

  Martin was grinning as he slumped wearily down to the deck. ‘Let’s just say it was an additional idea to make your plan work. I was far too tired t’do anything except shout. Owow! What’re you villains doing to me?’

  Trimp and Chugger scrubbed roughly at the Warrior with clean dry foodsacks. The little squirrel growled, ‘Be still an’ stoppa shoutin’, we dryin’ you off. Don’t wanna catcha deff o’ cold, do ya?’

  The hedgehog maid was hard put to keep a straight face. Her squirrelbabe was becoming quite a one for being severe with otherbeasts. She cleaned Martin’s ears out roughly. ‘That’s the stuff, Chugg, you tell him. Warriors have to get dry too, same as any other creature!’

  Luckily none of the friends were seriously injured, though there were the usual number of bumps, cuts, scratches and scrapes sustained, as in any rough-house encounter with vermin. Trimp and Log a Log Furmo set about ministering to the slight casualties, whilst Gonff and Dinny kept a weather eye out for any likely berth, now they had left the pine wood behind. A small midstream island loomed up out of the darkness, perfect as a resting place for the remainder of the night.

  However, after their hazardous scrape with the Painted Ones, they were far too keyed up for sleeping. Guosim cooks built a small fire in the shelter of some bushes and cooked up a cauldron of vegetable soup. Gonff took some soft bread and chopped scallions, made Bubbling Bobbs and tossed them in the cauldron. Trimp sat round the fire with the rest, feeling a strong sense of camaraderie with them, laughing, chatting and fishing for Bubbling Bobbs with clean sharp twigs. Furmo regaled them with a comic song called ‘The Festive Fight’.

  ‘One dark an’ stormy night,

  As the sunset in the east,

  To granma’s house I went,

  For to partake of
a feast,

  With frogs an’ fat hedgehogs,

  Some otters an’ a sparrow,

  An’ a squirrel who attended too,

  Armed with a bow an’ arrow.

  The seedcake had been served,

  When a dormouse in a bonnet,

  Took one bite, oh what a sight,

  She broke her teeth upon it.

  Then backward fell a mole,

  Tail first into the custard,

  Ole granpa grabbed his spoon,

  An’ lookin’ quite disgusted,

  He hit the mole a smack,

  Then like a flash of lightnin’,

  An otter brained him with a flan,

  That started off the fightin’.

  We fenced with celery sticks,

  With pies an’ puddens pelted,

  The squirrel with the bow,

  By a pot of soup got belted,

  A sparrow flung a scone,

  It laid the otter senseless,

  Then granma swung her pan,

  An’ left us all defenceless,

  Two frogs sailed out the door,

  A hedgehog up the chimney,

  Whilst me an’ ole granpa,

  To the mantelpiece hung grimly.

  So hark an’ hear my tale,

  Stay safe at home an’ starve sir,

  Steer clear of granma’s house,

  When there’s goin’ t’be a feast there!’

  Chugger had fallen asleep leaning against Folgrim, a soggy Bubbling Bobb still clutched in his grubby paw. After the fight with the Painted Ones, Trimp trembled fitfully, thinking what might have happened had they fallen into the claws of the foe. However, the feeling passed as she looked around at the cheery faces of her friends. Ribbing one another good-naturedly and chuckling, they sat around the fire, finishing off the meal with gusto. Nobeast would guess that but a short while ago, they had been battling for their lives, and hers. Allowing her eyes to close slowly, she snuggled down on some dry moss. Who would not feel safe in the company of such brave creatures?