by Scott Nash
Junco peered down at the strange creature lying unconscious on the shore before her. “Excuse me, but you say he’s a what? A Hillary?”
“He’s a mammal,” said Henry Clay. “A mole. A star-nosed mole, actually.” Junco had been at the Sooty Fox trying on a less conspicuous sparrow-drab jacket when she heard the commotion by the pond and flew off to investigate. She arrived just in time to save Hillary from Gabriel, who had evidently mistaken the mole for something dangerous, like a fisher or a weasel.
The star-nosed mole was, without a doubt, the strangest creature Junco and Gabriel had ever seen. Its loaf-shaped body was covered with shiny black fur. Extending from behind was a long, hairless tail like that of a rat. Its front paws were grotesquely large and hairless, covered in scaly, pinkish-gray skin and sporting a set of impressively long claws. But by far, the strangest feature was its nose, with its little fingers that looked like a delicious nest of pink earthworms.
“A comfrey of winterberry should revive him,” said a sparrow. “Very soothing, that.”
“No, no. He doesn’t need soothing,” said another. “Throw some water on him. That will wake him.”
Henry said, “No, no! You’ll scare him to death. I think I know just the thing.”
Henry flew to the entrance of Hillary’s maze of tunnels, an unassuming hole in the ground partially hidden by long grass, and peered warily in. He shuddered involuntarily, and the others looked at him apprehensively. The thought of being underground was nightmarish to birds. Nevertheless, Henry mustered his will and stepped inside the tunnel, just a little way. Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out the smooth, curved dirt walls. Out of the walls poked the roots of plants, dangling like pale white bird’s feet. He shuddered again, quickly scooped up a clawful of dirt from the tunnel wall, and walked briskly back out into the daylight.
The sparrows peppered him with questions. “What on earth? What’s that you have there? Dirt?”
Henry bowed down and held the dirt under the mole’s nose. “There you go — a little scent of your home to restore you.” The pink tentacles on the mole’s nose began to move, waving toward the freshly dug soil. “Ahummmm,” Hillary murmured, as if waking from a nap.
“Hillary? Hello, Hillary?” said Henry.
The mole stirred, then opened his eyes to see the blurry forms of first a sparrow, then an unfamiliar bird who smelled strikingly similar to the mumbling critters who had invaded Hillary’s tunnel, and then the giant shadowy figure of — the goose! There it was, towering above him. “All is lost!” cried Hillary, and the poor mole began to weep. “What do you want from me?” he sobbed. “Why are you tormenting me? Please leave me in peace. I beg you!”
“Nobody’s going to hurt you, Mr. Hillary,” said Henry, gesturing to Gabriel. “The goose here mistook you for something like a small swimming fisher.”
“Er . . . a what? A fisher?” said Hillary.
“I’m afraid Gabriel gave you quite a start. My apologies!” Junco actually bowed a bit.
“As well, my apologies,” said Gabriel, giving the mole an awkward bow.
“This is Junco and this is Gabriel,” said Henry, gesturing to both. “They’re sailors who have been shipwrecked near Black Point.”
The mole squinted again at the blurry figures around him. He composed himself as best he could, cleared his throat, and said in a measured voice, “If you don’t mind, w-w-what I need . . . what I need at this m-moment is a bit of clarity. Perhaps someone could explain to me what is going on here? I’d be pleased to hear, for instance, what brings these pirates, ah, sailors, to Briarloch.”
“Allow me,” said Junco, who proceeded to tell her story, beginning with the doldrums and ending with the Grosbeak’s shipwreck near Black Point and the unknown fate of the Grosbeak’s crew. Hillary seemed increasingly excited by aspects of the tale and interrupted a couple of times to ask questions.
By the time Junco had finished telling her story, Hillary could barely contain himself. Something had clicked in his mind. “I can’t be absolutely certain, but I believe I may know the whereabouts of your comrades!” He then told of having heard the strange sounds — mumbly creatures and clanging steel in his tunnels. “And might one of them be named Crayee? I remember one said, ‘Crayee.’”
“Crayee! Those are me shipmates!” Junco cried. “They must be found! Hillary, do you think you are well enough to lead me to them?”
The mole was frightened by the thought of meeting up with pirates again but also buoyed by the spirit of the moment and by the fact that (for once) he was actually needed for something. His tunnels were extensive and complex, full of endless twists and turns and dead ends. It would be very difficult for Junco’s mates to find their way out on their own. “Certainly, I’ll help you find them. The longer your mates spend in the darkness of my tunnels, the more likely they are to become desperate and unpredictable. We should leave now if you’re ready.”
“Of course!” said Junco, puffing her feathers a bit to mask her anxiety about venturing into the tunnel.
“Of course, I’ll go with you!” echoed Gabriel, puffing himself up as well.
“No, my friend,” said Junco quietly. “I’d welcome your help, but you won’t fit in the tunnels, as I’m sure you can see. You’ll need to stay here. Hopefully I’ll be back soon with our shipmates in tow.” Junco patted Gabriel’s neck. “Did you know,” she asked, “that you flew for a moment as you were chasing the mole?”
“I did a little, didn’t I?” said Gabriel.
Junco patted Gabriel’s side. “Practice your flying, my friend. You need to fly.”
Junco stepped with Hillary to the entrance of the tunnel. There, she hesitated a moment, took a deep breath, and stepped bravely into the darkness.
Gabriel held his ear to the tunnel, listening intently until the sounds of Junco and Hillary faded into nothingness. Even then, he would not be moved from the place.
One by one, the sparrows who had gathered on the shore went home or back to work. Only Henry Clay stayed, perched first in a branch above Gabriel, then settling down on the goose’s back. “Don’t worry, friend,” Henry said. “Hillary is a star-nosed mole, a remarkable, adaptable, capable creature . . .” and so on, encouraging and keeping Gabriel company. Both were determined to stay put till Junco and Hillary returned.
There was nothing more comforting to Hillary than being underground. It was a warm, cozy, and secure domain — the best possible place for a mole. In contrast, Junco found Hillary’s home to be horribly, unspeakably terrifying. It was dark, dank, and full of multi-legged creatures that scurried across her feet and unseen horrors that tickled at her back like clammy, ghostly claws. The darkness of the tunnel was a profound black that seemed to pour into her eyes, seep into her bones, and stain her feathers with the color of nothingness. Her eyes were as vulnerable as ripe berries ready to fall off the vine or, worse, to be plucked by some horrible, unseen creature. Finally, she put her wings up in front of her face and stumbled along behind Hillary. The beating of her heart in her ears drowned out the soft padding footsteps of the mole. “Hillary!” Junco called in a panic. “Where are you?”
“Shhh! I’m right here,” he answered in a whisper, directly in front of her. “Don’t worry. I won’t lose you.” She could feel Hillary moving on.
“Wait!” Junco whispered.
Hillary paused and Junco stumbled into him. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. But listen, I can’t see a thing in here. I am completely blind!”
Hillary chuckled. “Doesn’t matter, really. There’s nothing to see — just darkness in front of us, more darkness behind us, darkness above and beneath us, and dirt all around us.”
“That’s not comforting,” said Junco, shivering.
“You may find the darkness less disconcerting if you simply keep your eyes closed and relax. This can heighten your other senses. At least, I find it to be so,” he said.
Junco thought for a moment, then asked, “You can’t see anything eithe
r, can you?”
“No,” said the mole. “I’m nearly blind. I don’t see much, even bright light, so I see absolutely nothing in here.”
“Am I to understand, then, that you navigate this place by, what . . . sound?” Junco asked.
“Mostly by touch . . . and by smell,” replied the mole, who then gave a very audible, very wet sniff. “Ah! See there, no offense to your friends, but they are easy to track. They smell — well . . . let’s just say they don’t smell like my tunnels.”
“So you think they’re still in here somewhere?” asked Junco.
“Quite certain they are, but we still have quite a way to go, I’m afraid.”
Hillary started to press forward, then stopped and sniffed again, causing Junco to bump into him once more. Hillary murmured, “Listen, Junco, I think you ought to know that in addition to your mates, I’ve detected another even stronger scent in the tunnel.”
“What scent?” asked Junco.
“I’m not sure. However, it is a musky odor, not unlike that of fishers . . . or weasels.” Hillary paused. “Can you smell it as well?”
All Junco could smell was dirt. “No. No, I can’t,” she answered.
“If any of those vermin are in my home,” Hillary said with a grumble, “I am not going to be pleased. Not one bit! Despicable, thieving pests, they are!”
“Fishers?”
“No, no, fishers are too big! They’d never fit in my tunnels. No, I’d say weasels are more likely.” Hillary sniffed again. “More than one, I’m afraid, at least two, maybe more. We’d better get moving. Let’s hope we find your mates before the weasels do.”
Junco suddenly panicked.
“Hold on, Hillary!” Junco said desperately. “W-we need a plan.”
“I thought the plan was to find your shipmates.”
“Yes, I know, but our defenses . . . we have none,” said Junco. “And I’m as good as useless down here. I can’t fight what I can’t see.”
“Ah, Junco,” said the mole, chuckling a bit. “We’re not going to fight weasels if I can help it. We couldn’t beat those creatures even if we could see them. No, I don’t fight under any circumstance! I mean, imagine — me a fighter! Ha! My philosophy is to evade and escape as cleverly as possible! That’s my talent, and I don’t mind saying I’m quite good at it.” He chuckled again. “I know these tunnels because they are a part of me. Right now I can tell that your friends are somewhere ahead of us to the north and that the weasels are approaching rapidly from a connecting tunnel just ahead of us.” Hillary paused, listened, sniffed the air again. “Yes, we need to move very fast now. Here, do as I say. Take hold of my tail.” Hillary placed his tail in Junco’s wings. It felt cold and scaly, like a snake, and Junco wanted to drop it in the worst way, but she held on just the same. “Close your eyes and hang on tightly,” said Hillary.
“Why? What are we going to do?” asked Junco.
“I’m going to give you a tow. Hang on!”
Hillary then proceeded to take Junco through the tunnels on a ride that she would never forget. The mole started slowly but quickly built up speed using his powerful forearms, propelling the two of them through the tunnel. Soon the mole was moving so fast that Junco was barely able to keep up. A bird’s legs are not well suited for running long distances, and Junco was about to give up when Hillary instructed her to tuck her head down and pull her legs up. The mole sped up still more, and Junco found herself flying through the tunnels at a speed she could barely comprehend. She could feel the tunnel narrow and widen as they went. She could perceive junctions to other tunnels by changes in the air. From one tunnel there would be a short blast of pine scent, from another, the hummocky scent of worms, and from another, the pungent stink of musk. These scents served as signposts for Hillary’s subterranean highway, and they were as informative to him as anything Junco knew by sight.
The mole finally slowed his pace enough that Junco touched the ground lightly with her feet, ran for a short while, and then came to a stop when Hillary did. Hillary panted in the darkness. Once he had caught his breath, he sniffed the air of the tunnel. “Can you smell them now?” he asked. Junco certainly could. It was a musky stink that offended her beak. As they stood there, it grew even stronger, bearing down on them in the darkness.
“Yes, it’s a terrible smell.” said Junco.
“’Tis, yes,” said the mole. “It’s a bit narrow right here, so I need you to climb over me to pass and to continue down the tunnel in this direction. Just a little further and you will find your friends. Once you reach them, wait for me, but warn them. You must all be prepared to move immediately when I arrive.”
“What are you planning?” asked Junco.
“I’m going to block the weasels’ passage by collapsing a section of this tunnel,” said Hillary. “But both of us must act rather quickly. So, please, if you don’t mind . . .” Hillary nudged her in the dark. “Go, now!”
As Junco squeezed past Hillary, echoing up through the depths of darkness came the loud screeches and trills of the weasels.
“You’ll find your friends straightaway, I promise,” said Hillary. “I’ll join you in a bit. Hurry, please!”
Once past Hillary, Junco drew her dagger and her sword. The weasels were very close, both in sound and stink, yet Junco couldn’t move a muscle. How could she abandon Hillary?
Hillary was busy clawing rapidly and methodically at the ceiling, dropping considerable clouts of dirt into the passageway. Fffoooomp! came one soft thud after another. With each the sound of the weasels faded, and their stench was replaced by the sweet smell of dirt. Foooomp!
Another load of dirt fell close to Junco, burying her up to her thighs. “Oh!”
“Pardon me, old girl,” said Hillary from over Junco’s head. “Listen, you really must go. I have things under control here . . . unless I bury you by accident. Then we’d truly be in a fix.” The weasels’ angry screams, even muted by the wall of dirt, sent chills down Junco’s spine.
“Go, find your mates,” urged Hillary. “Warn them to ready themselves.” And with that, Hillary returned to his digging.
Junco sheathed her sword but kept her dagger handy, stepped out from the dirt pile, and set out to find her mates.
Just as Hillary had said, Junco could smell her shipmates — dirty feathers, damp clothes, and bad breath.
“Ahoy, mates!” Junco called. “It’s me, Junco!” No reply. Junco lowered her dagger and walked forward a bit more. “Ahoy . . .”
“Junco?” came a low and desperate voice from the darkness directly in front of her. The ghost of Chuck-Will’s-Widow? Junco willed herself forward and walked straight into her shipmate’s very solid chest.
“Chuck!” exclaimed Junco with great relief. “I’ve found you!”
“I’m glad yer here, mate,” said Chuck, “but Lord! I swear I nearly stabbed you, thinking you were one of them weasels. I’ll tell you, I’m awfully glad ye called out when ye did.”
“Well, I’m glad for both of us, then,” said Junco.
“Tell me quick, mate! Wot’s behind you?” cried Chuck.
“A friend. A mole who’s blocking the passage of the weasels that are heading our way,” said Junco. “I think he’s held them off for the moment. Where’s the captain? We need to move quickly!”
Chuck exhaled in relief, then called down the tunnel. “’Tis Junco herself, mates! Put yer weapons down!” A muted cheer rose, and Junco recognized the voices of her comrades in the dark.
“There now, folla me,” said Chuck. “The captain will be happy to see, er . . . hear from you.” Chuck led her past her six invisible mates, each reaching out of the darkness to touch her and greet her.
“Glad yer alive, old friend,” came a particularly welcome voice. “I knew you’d be b-b-back.”
“Creeper!” Junco reached out to her friend. “I’m glad you are alive!”
“What’sss become of Gabriel?” asked Creeper hesitantly.
“He’s fine. We’ve fou
nd a safe place for him. I’ll tell you everything once we’re out of here.”
Junco then passed by Snipe, who said in a low voice, “I don’t know how on earth you found us, but if you get us out of here, I’m indebted to you for life, mate.”
“Thank you,” said Junco, “but we’re not quite there yet! Where’s the captain?”
“Crayeee!” Jay reached out of the darkness to find Junco’s shoulders. “I knew ya was a great navigator, but this! This trumps it all! Junco, you’ve saved our skins!” Jay then leaned in close to Junco’s ear and whispered, “You do know how to get us out of this hellhole, don’t you? I swear we’ve about gone mad here, mate!”
Junco was about to tell him, when there was a sudden commotion at the other end of the line. “Pardon me! I’m with Junco. Out of my way, please! Excuse me, I say, let me pass!” Junco recognized the voice.
“Let him pass, mates,” called Junco. “He’s the true navigator of these tunnels.”
The pirates flattened themselves against the wall, and they felt the strange furry shape squeeze past them.
“Captain, this is Hillary,” said Junco, doing her best to introduce two figures that she could not see. “He’s the mole who —”
“Pleased to meet you, Captain,” Hillary interrupted. “Sorry to be rude, Junco, but we really must get out of here quickly. I’ve blocked the tunnel in two areas, but those monsters are digging fast and they’re, well, furious. My barriers may not last for long.”
The muted snarls could be heard through the wall of dirt as the weasels dug toward them.
“Please, Captain!” said Hillary. “Order your birds to make a chain. Hold on tightly to one another’s shoulders, tails, or whatever they can hold on to and follow me.”
Jay made the order. Junco grabbed Hillary’s tail, and the rest followed behind. The mole attempted to pick up speed, but the chain broke twice as the birds careened through the twists and turns of the tunnel.