The Woodlander

by Kirk Watson

  “Ahh!” Neil fell backwards with a shriek, his arms flailing and legs kicking. His mouth frothed as a stream of incoherent squeals and screeches burst forth. He made one last terrible gasp, his tail twitching wildly, then stopped moving altogether.

  Rollie stood over him and bellowed, “Stick that in your book, you pompous ass!”

  “Holy acorns!” Lisa said, giving Rollie a hug.

  “I didn’t know you had it in you,” John said, clapping him on the back.

  Rollie beamed. “I told you I was due!”

  “Are you sure he’s dead this time?” Violet asked.

  Rollie picked up Neil’s hairless tail and dropped it back to the floor. “Yep, he’s not bluffing. You can’t fool a gambler twice; I spotted his tell.”

  Lisa groaned.

  “Come on,” John said, “we better keep moving.”

  “Just a second,” Rollie said. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to check out.” He fished around Neil’s tracksuit and produced the possum’s notebook. Flipping through the pages, he muttered, “What the hell…?”

  “What is it?” Lisa asked.

  “It’s just doodles,” Rollie replied.

  “Doodles? Of what?”

  “You know, doodles of… doodles. Ahem… private parts.”

  “Oh.”

  “Every page?” John asked.

  “Well, I haven’t read the whole thing,” Rollie said, “but that appears to be the gist of it.”

  “Let me see,” Violet said, reaching for the notebook.

  Rollie tucked it away in his jumpsuit. “Maybe when you’re older.”

  “Fine,” John said, “can we please get out of here now?”

  “Just one more thing.” Rollie pulled the spoon from the possum’s eye socket. Blood dripped from the dull utensil.

  “Ooh, gross!” Violet said. “You’re not taking that nasty spoon, are you?”

  “Of course I am. And it’s not just some nasty spoon—it’s my lucky spoon!” He wiped the blood on Neil’s tracksuit and stuffed the spoon in his pocket before giving Violet a wink. “You never mess with a streak, kid. Okay, now I’m ready to go.”

  They made slow but steady progress through the corridors until they reached the grotto at the mouth of the cave. Outside, they could see the sky had turned to a dusky shade of red as the sun set over the mountains.

  “We’ll never make it on foot,” Ray said. “Don’t forget that Dexter is still out there.”

  “Who?” John asked.

  “The fox in the guardhouse.”

  “Oh, right. Should we…?” John made a cutting motion across his neck.

  Ray gave him an annoyed look. “Not unless we have to. Remember, that badger George could be nearby as well. You don’t want to fight a badger, Mr. Grey. They’re fierce.”

  “George? Fierce?” Lisa asked. “He seemed so gentle on the way up.”

  “Ordinarily he is, but he’s also very protective. He wouldn’t be happy if we hurt his friend Dex. An angry badger is a dangerous foe.” Ray looked around the grotto. The wagon George had used to haul the squirrels up the mountain rested at the entrance of the cave. “I’ve got a better idea. Everybody into the wagon.”

  The rest of the party climbed into the cart as Ray searched around the cavern. He returned with a wool blanket.

  “You cold?” Rollie asked.

  “I don’t get cold,” Ray replied, unfurling the blanket over their heads. He began to cover the passengers in the back of the wagon.

  “Hey!” Rollie said. “Are you trying to smother us?”

  “It’s all right,” John said. “It’s better if we’re not seen. Remember, the haakönen have spies.”

  “Just hold still,” Ray said. He tucked the edges of the blanket into the cart. “Stay quiet, and keep those guns ready. This might not work.” He pulled the velvet rope and rang the bell at the entrance of the cave.

  “What might not work?” Rollie whispered to John. “What’s he doing?”

  “Shh,” John said. “I think he’s calling us a cab.”

  After several minutes, a set of heavy footsteps entered the cavern.

  “Hi, Ray,” George said. “Where’s Ernie?”

  “Ernie’s not feeling well,” Ray said. “He has a sore throat.”

  Beneath the blanket, John stifled a laugh. I knew it!

  “Oh, a sore throat’s the worst,” George said. “You can’t hardly eat with a sore throat. When you see him again, tell him I hope he feels better.”

  “I’ll do that,” Ray said, “but first I need you to take me down to the river.”

  “Gee, I don’t know, Ray. It’s getting kinda late. It’ll be dark soon.”

  “So? You see great at night, don’t you?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “And you know the path by heart, right?”

  “I guess, but…”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “It’s just… there are creatures in the forest—creatures that only come out at night. Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “Sorry, George, it can’t be helped. This is an emergency.”

  George looked at the setting sun and sighed. “Okay, Ray, hop on.” Ray jumped onto the perch seat and George grabbed the handles of the wagon. “It feels heavier than usual, Ray.”

  “That’s just because it’s late and you’re tired.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” George said. He pulled the wagon out of the cave. The narrow path down the mountain lay ahead.

  As they approached the guard station, Dexter the fox stepped out of his guard booth, holding a paw in the air. “Hey, Ray. Where you headed?”

  Ray looked down at him from his perch seat, hoping the fox couldn’t see inside the wagon. “Down to the river, Dex. I need to make a pickup.”

  “I didn’t hear anything about a pickup. It’s kind of late to be making a run, isn’t it?”

  “Those damn squirrels we imported have the haakönen running around like their heads were cut off, so Skallagaan’s called in some expert tracker. He insists I go to the river tonight to pick him up.”

  Dexter scratched his chin. “An expert tracker? Isn’t that cheating?”

  “I suppose, but you know how competitive those haakönen are. I wouldn’t put it past Skallagaan to bring in a ringer just to tilt the odds in his favor. That tracker had better be there when I get down. It’s a lot of trouble for a bunch of squirrels, if you ask me. They’re not wolverines, for crying out loud.”

  “Yeah, I heard those squirrels were giving them hell. Guess the haakönen got their money’s worth with that bunch, huh? Well, if you gotta go, you gotta go. I’ll have a drink for you.”

  “Thanks, Dex. Better make it a double. By the way, how’s your wife?”

  “Pregnant again. What else is new?”

  Ray laughed. “It wasn’t me.”

  Dexter snorted, waving a dismissive paw. “Get out of here, you old bastard.”

  “Bye, Dex,” George said.

  Dexter placed a paw on the badger’s arm. “Now, you be careful out there, George. Don’t go too fast down the mountain. It’s getting dark, and it looks like snow. It could be mighty slippery.”

  “Thanks, Dex. I’ll be careful.”

  George pulled the wagon down the path, and the guardhouse disappeared behind them. As the sky grew dark, a light snow began to fall. John hoped George’s eyesight was as good as he claimed—one wrong step and they would all plummet off the mountainside.

  But George’s footing remained true, and after a few hours of descent, they had reached the tree line. As the wind howled through the pines, George got spooked, whipping his head at every imagined sound. “What was that?” he would say, or, “Did you hear that, Ray?”

  Ray assured the badger it was just the wind. Nonetheless, George picked up his pace. Although John couldn’t see much from under the blanket, he felt they were traveling at a tremendous speed. A few hours later, the wagon came to a halt.

  “We ma
de it!” George said, his relief palpable.

  “Excellent work, George,” Ray replied. “Why don’t you take a load off?”

  George set the handles of the wagon on the ground and stretched his back. He looked at the riverbank. “Gee, Ray, I don’t see anyone here. Aren’t you supposed to be meeting a tracker?”

  “That’s odd. He should be here by now. It’s not like him to be late. I do hope nothing’s happened.”

  George looked at the forest around them. “You don’t think—”

  “Shh,” Ray whispered. “Did you hear that?”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” George whispered back.

  Ray drew his knife and pointed at the trees. “Over there. I thought I saw something moving.”

  George’s eyes darted back and forth at the trees. “I didn’t see anything, Ray.”

  “Stay here, George. I’ll go have a look.”

  “That sounds like a bad idea, Ray.”

  “It’s probably just the wind.” Ray hopped down from the perch seat. “But I better check it out, just in case.”

  “No! Don’t go in there, Ray. They’ll get you, too.”

  Ray smiled. “Hey, don’t worry, it’s me. I’ll be right back. You just sit back and relax.”

  He walked into the forest, leaving George trembling by the riverbank. The badger strained his eyes at the dense trees, but he couldn’t see anything. He listened, but the only sound was the whistling wind.

  A great commotion suddenly arose from the forest: one of the treetops began to shake violently, and a blood-curdling scream rang out from somewhere below it. The tree went still, and once more all was quiet but for the howl of the wind. George’s eyes were as large as saucers.

  “Ray? Ray?” he called out, but no reply came. He heard another rustling from the trees, this one a little closer; somebody—or some thing—was coming. He didn’t wait to see what it was. With a yelp, he abandoned the wagon and ran up the path as fast as his sturdy legs would carry him.

  Once he was gone, Ray stepped out of the forest. “It’s all clear. You can come out now.”

  John and the others poked their heads out from underneath the blanket.

  “That was brilliant!” Rollie said.

  “What was that?” Violet asked with wide eyes. “A monster?”

  “It was just Ray,” Lisa said. “He played a trick on George.”

  “Oh,” Violet said. “Poor George.”

  Lisa gave her sister a gentle elbow. The party climbed out of the wagon and faced the river.

  “Now what?” Lisa asked. “How are we going to get back down the river without a boat?”

  John looked at the wooden wagon. “What do you think, Ray? Will it float?”

  Ray rubbed his chin as he studied the wagon. “I doubt it’s entirely watertight, but the bottom looks pretty well-sealed. Maybe it won’t leak too much, but it would be more of a raft than a boat.”

  “You sound like Gary,” Violet said, giggling. “It’s not a boat, it’s a raft.”

  Ray ignored her as he walked around the wagon. “We’ll need to lighten the load as much as possible, maybe lose those wheels.” He pulled the lid off the perch seat, revealing a set of tools underneath.

  As he set the lid aside, John hopped on the wagon and rummaged through the toolbox, emerging with a hammer. “Right. Where should we start?”

  “Give me that,” Ray said, snatching the hammer and dropping it back into the toolbox. Selecting a spanner instead, he slid under the wagon, and after a few minutes of wrenching, the axle was freed from its supports. He climbed out from under the wagon. “Everyone take hold.”

  The group surrounded the wagon and lifted it. The axle fell free and rolled down the riverbank, splashing into the river. The squirrels set the wagon-top back on the ground.

  “But we don’t have any poles,” Lisa said.

  “The current should carry us home,” John said, “but we could use the wagon’s handles as poles if we stick to the shallows.”

  “Right,” Ray said. He unbolted the collars, and the handles fell away.

  Rollie pulled at the sides of what remained of the wagon, now little more than a rickety wooden box. “I don’t know, John. It’s hardly a boat.”

  “Nonsense,” John said, “you just need to use your imagination.”

  “Right now, I’m imagining myself at the bottom of the river.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ray said, “she’s seaworthy.”

  “She?” Violet asked, struggling to peek under the box. “How can you tell?”

  John started to laugh but was cut short by Ray’s sharp look. John smiled weakly.

  After a moment, Ray shook his head, then knelt down to speak to Violet. “It’s just a nautical tradition. You always refer to a boat as a ‘she.’”

  “Oh,” Violet said. “Does she have a name?”

  “How about Hope Floats?” John suggested.

  Ray drew another deep breath and narrowed his eyes. John chuckled nervously as the black squirrel stared him down.

  “I mean, let’s hope it floats,” John said. “Shall we?”

  They carried the wagon to the river’s edge and set it in the shallows. Hugh volunteered to board first, easing himself onto the makeshift raft. The wagon sank a few inches, but stayed afloat.

  “It’s a little damp inside,” he reported, “but she’s not sinking.”

  Lisa and Violet climbed on board, followed by John. They all held their breath as the heaviest of their group, Rollie and Ray, joined them. The raft sank a little deeper still, grounding itself in the shallows. The water was seeping in fast now.

  “Prepare to push off,” John said. “Ray and I will man the poles. Everybody else, bail water.”

  As the others scooped water from the raft, Ray pulled John to the side. “I didn’t want to alarm the others, Mr. Grey,” he whispered, “but what if she doesn’t hold?”

  John recalled the last river he had crossed. He had nearly drowned in its icy waters before the mysterious frog Charon had appeared, telling him to Live, John Grey. And he had.

  Now John gave Ray a scowl of his own, narrowing his eyes and lowering his voice to match the burly squirrel’s. “We’ve had colder swims, Mr. Grimm. Are you sure you can handle it?”

  Ray snarled, grabbing John by the collar of his jumpsuit. “Don’t push it, knothole.”

  John pulled away from him and thrust his pole into the water. “Somebody has to push it—push it all the way back to Langley! But feel free to flap your gums with the other girls while I save your tail!” He leaned on the pole and pushed as hard as he could, but the raft did not move. As he grunted and groaned, Ray rolled his eyes and took another calming breath.

  After a long moment, Ray thrust his pole into the water and pushed the raft from the shore.

  “Ah, I did it!” John said, not noticing Ray’s icy stare from across the raft.

  As the current propelled the teetering vessel south, they guided it with their poles, keeping it close to the riverbank, while Rollie bailed water furiously with his lucky spoon.

  Chapter 26

  SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMETHING LEWD

  fall on your sword

  /fôl än yər sôrd/

  phrase

  To accept the responsibility and the consequences of a wrongdoing.

  Navigating the river at night proved treacherous in the makeshift raft; jagged rocks seemed to emerge from nowhere, sending jolts through the creaky vessel and a splash of cold water over its passengers. Despite the obstacles, they made quick progress. Their original trip from Langley to Highcastle had been against the current, but now the river propelled them relentlessly closer to home, all the while water seeping into the leaky wagon. Soon they stood ankle deep in the frigid water.

  John kept one eye on the river and another on the dark sky, mindful of both pirates and the missing haakönen, Geirleif. As the hours passed, the water reached up to his knees.

  “We best make for the shore,” Ray said.

/>   John nodded in agreement, his teeth chattering as they guided the raft to the riverbank. They pulled the wagon onto the shore and flipped it over to let the water drain out. John looked at the miserable group, wet and shivering in the cold night air as they huddled around the wagon.

  “They’re freezing, Ray. We’ll have to risk a fire.”

  Ray grunted his assent and walked into the forest. He returned with an armful of branches that he laid in a neat stack, then packed the wood with dry leaves. Producing a flint from his pocket, he struck it against his knife. Sparks fell, and he blew gently until the leaves began smoldering. Fire leapt forth. Within moments, the wood was engulfed in flames. The others cheered as they huddled around. Ray sat away from the group with his back to a tree, staring up at the sky.

  Violet looked towards him as she warmed her paws over the fire. “Are you thinking about your daughter, Ray?”

  The other squirrels exchanged glances, then all eyes turned to Ray.

  He remained silent for some time before speaking. “Her name is Emily.”

  “What’s she like?” Lisa asked.

  “She would be about your age. Beautiful, like her mother. Quiet, thoughtful, gentle. She didn’t deserve any of this. I brought it on her…”

  As Ray’s voice trailed off, the squirrels stared back into the dwindling fire.

  Ray stood. “The fire’s burning out. I’ll get more wood.”

  Once he was gone, Lisa turned to John. “You have to help him find his daughter.”

  “Me?” John asked. “Are you nuts?”

  Lisa punched him in the arm. “Yes, you. You’re a reporter, aren’t you? You could help him track Emily down, find out where they took her.”

  “I was a reporter, Lisa. Not anymore.”

  “Why not? Don’t you still have your connections?”

  John shook his head. “You don’t understand. I don’t write anymore; I had to give it up.”

  “Give it up? Since when does John Grey give up?”

  “Since my wife… never mind.”

  Lisa noticed he was twisting his wedding band absentmindedly.

  “Since she died?” Violet asked.

  John looked up, angry for a moment, then dropped his eyes.