The Tale of a No-Name Squirrel

by Radhika R. Dhariwal

  Squirrel felt a fountain of happiness frothing up in him and spilling into every fiber of his being. Without thinking, he too started hopping around the boat, making the boat seesaw with his thumps. The others smiled. Until Azulfa said, “I’m sure that you would make a good student, but Squirrel, you are a slave with no name. And no-names do not go to school.”

  “All the more reason we need to get you free from Bacchu Banoose,” whispered Des to Squirrel. “We will try to find your name and free you, Squirrel. Then you can come to school with me. Think of the fun we could have . . .”

  Squirrel felt his smile curl to the tips of his ears. For the first time, he felt the warmth of a family. For the first time, other people seemed to care about his well-being. For the first time, someone wanted him to be a part of his life—and it felt freakin’ fantastic.

  A long, howling whistle shook the boat. It was Akbar. “Ahoy there!”

  “We’re here—Otter’s Cove,” said Azulfa as they pulled up by the oddest-looking village imaginable. On both sides of the river, gnarled trees had been carved by the wind and the weather so that the trunks formed a rough landing. Lying on the trunks, a colony of otters and kingfishers waited to catch seaweed with nets that lazily swished about in the water.

  “I think this’ll make a good place to rest for the night,” said Azulfa as the gavials slowed down.

  “We’re not really stopping here for the night?” asked Lady Blouse, her pretty eyes widening.

  “I was planning on it,” said Azulfa. “It’s completely obscure. The leaves are so dense there’d be a very low chance of the Kowas spotting us here.”

  “But, dahling, it smells of fish,” said Lady Blouse, crinkling her nose. “Is there no other place we can go?”

  “Lady Blouse, I think that protecting ourselves may be slightly more important than an unpleasant smell,” said Akbar with a smirk.

  “Well, if you’re all comfortable with this, I’m sure I would be too,” said Lady Blouse. “It’s just that I keep a summer home very close, just slightly upstream. Remember, I told you on our way here? It’s called Cobblestone Yard. And you know what a proper home means: warm feather beds, access to a full pantry . . .”

  “Lady Blouse, I thought we had already talked about this,” said Azulfa sharply.

  “We had, dahling,” said Lady Blouse. “But we’re all so much more tired now that I thought I’d offer my house again. I think that you, more than anyone, Azulfa, could use some rest.”

  “You keep a house nearby, Lady Blouse?” asked Des.

  “Just a cottage. But it’s charming, even if I say so myself. The river flows through it and it’s the prettiest spot for picnicking. It’d be a nice spot to get some much-deserved rest. I keep the finest of GrandGrub’s meats, plus there are always fresh, tasty lotus buds from the river. Not to mention we have one of the best-stocked cellars—a nice wildflower wine spritzer sounds sublime right now, doesn’t it? And, Akbar, what would you say to a pint of chilled, aged mead?”

  “Oooh . . . GrandGrub’s meats! Do you have their Roasted Honey Beetles?” asked Des eagerly.

  “That, and jars of shrimp-shell chips and berry-root jams.”

  “I don’t care about the rest of ’em, but I’m coming with you, Lady Blouse,” said Des, a hungry grin on his face.

  “It would be nice to have a feathery bed,” said Cheska. “Not that I have a problem with these tree barks at all,” she added quickly.

  “How would we get there? We’re better off not leaving the cover of the trees,” said Bobby, looking around.

  “This river leads right there. Just think, dahlings. My house is even more obscure than this fishing village. I mean, it’s a private residence and the Kowas would never imagine that I’m here helping you. And don’t you think we’ll be safer inside a solid stone building than outside here, where those monsters can just swoop down and pluck our eyes out while we sleep?” asked Lady Blouse.

  Everyone fell silent. Finally Smitten asked, “Are you sure it won’t be too much of an imposition, Lady Blouse? We are a big group.”

  “Dahling, what’s the point of keeping a cottage if I can’t use it for myself and my friends?”

  “Let’s go,” said Squirrel. “I don’t think any of us can turn down a proper meal and a nice, warm bed.”

  “I’m in,” said Akbar. “I’m always in the mood for some chilled, aged mead.”

  Azulfa frowned. “I still say we’re better off here. But, apparently, majority wins.”

  Twilight at Cobblestone Yard

  Lady Blouse’s house was as pretty as promised. Settled in the bend of the river, the large house was made of pink stones, draped with thick creepers. Crisp yellow buds and pale blue hollyhocks peppered the lawn, along with slender bulrushes, wild reeds, and wispy clusters of baby’s breath. On top of the roof there was a large nest, from which the chirp of hatchlings fluted through the countryside. A family of butterflies flitted about, playing hide-and-seek. Oversize glass windows shimmered in the gathering dusk, throwing glints of warm orange light on the happy spring activity.

  “Welcome, my friends. This is Cobblestone Yard,” said Lady Blouse merrily.

  “It’s beautiful, Lady Blouse!” breathed Squirrel, letting the prettiness fill his lungs.

  Everyone in the boat murmured their appreciation. Squirrel even thought he saw a faint smile soften Azulfa’s face.

  “This looks more like a country estate than a cottage to me,” whistled Akbar. He sprang off the raft and began helping the others, while Smitten paid the gavials and thanked them.

  “Come, let me show you around,” said Lady Blouse with a pleased expression.

  She led them by the river. Past a long bed of wild lilies. Onto a narrow path that led them into a small, dense wood. They wove through old tree trunks carpeted with moss, dodging the large, speckled mushrooms covering the forest floor—until the path turned abruptly.

  There, wedged among the trees, stood an ancient square cobblestone yard, surrounded by pillared arches. The stones that paved the floor were every shade of gray and silver. In the center of the stone courtyard stood an old gnarled tree and an ancient well, complete with a stone pail, a cord, and a big, solid bronze bell.

  “Oh, how quaint!” said Cheska, clapping her hands together in delight.

  “A well! I have never seen something like this!” exclaimed Squirrel, running up to the rim. He curled his fingers on the stone well. The smooth weathered rock was cold to his touch. Ignoring the tightening in his chest, he peered down the narrow stone walls and watched dark shadows skim across the surface of the black water.

  Squirrel heard the leisurely clack of steps against the cobblestones as someone else joined him at the well. By the ticktock of heel against stone, Squirrel knew it was Lady Blouse.

  “It’s like a preserved pebble of history,” Squirrel said. “I’ve heard of wells like this, but I’ve never seen one.”

  “And now you can hear one,” said Lady Blouse, tugging at the cord. The tongue of the bell swayed and clinked against its wide bronze mouth. Lady Blouse tugged harder. This time, the bell chimed out loudly. She kept tugging, letting the clear high chords ring into the dusk until Azulfa snatched the metal rope out of Lady Blouse’s hand.

  “Lady Blouse! What are you doing? We’re in hiding! We must be quiet . . .” But a howl of the evening wind silenced her.

  A dark smoky cloud drifted across the sky.

  The crow went rigid, her feathers at attention. Her eyes went hard and she reached into her long cape.

  “What happened, Azulfa?” Squirrel asked. But Azulfa did not speak. Instead she tilted her face upward toward the sky. Her eyes narrowed.

  Pounding shook the cobblestones. An awful flutter thundered in the blood-streaked sky. Everything went pitch-black as smoke clouded Squirrel’s eyes and the stale stench of carrion punched his nostrils.

  Then he saw them.

  Strong black wings sliced through the smoke and circled downward, cutting off
every possible route of escape. Loud, evil cackles tore through the twilight.

  Squirrel felt friendly hands grab him and lock him between two sets of shoulders. His friends had formed a straight line and had safely tucked him between Smitten and Azulfa.

  Squirrel saw Des tremble; his paws curled into fists. Bobby popped a pellet into a slingshot. Akbar pulled out a wooden club from his shorts. Smitten drew a long curved thorn sword from under his hood. Cheska cocked a tiny bow and arrow. Lady Blouse unsheathed the blade from the garter she wore with her black catsuit.

  Facing them, five Kowas dropped down into a similar line. In a smooth motion, each of them whipped out a long pellet gun. A belt of stone ammunitions was slung across their shoulders. Squirrel recognized one of them, the one with the dented beak. He was the same crow who had rowed him to Smitten and Cheska’s wedding.

  Both camps stared at each other. Squirrel noticed that the Kowas were frowning at Azulfa. She looked straight back at them. Heavy breaths and the whispers of doom were the only sounds that swilled in the deadlocked air. And then, another set of footsteps clapped against the cobblestones.

  All eyes turned to the intruders. From behind one of the pillared arches, two more cloaked, black figures strode into sight. They came and stood in front of the Kowas.

  Both of them pulled back their hoods.

  Smitten gasped. “Uncle?”

  “Why hello, nephew! But, for now, you can call me Colonel,” said the tall, elegant cat, a callous smile lurking on his face. Baron Dyer’s glinting silver eyes moved down the line. As they passed over Azulfa, Squirrel heard her heart pound like an elephant’s. Then the Baron’s eyes settled on someone. “I’ve been waiting here all day. I thought you’d never come.”

  “Sorry about that, dahling! We were camping by a disgusting, smelly fishing village. It took all my charm to convince them to come here.”

  Squirrel’s mind snapped like a wishbone. Why was Baron Dyer standing in front of the Kowas? Was that Mrs. Sox next to him? Was he the one who had hired the Kowas? And, why, why, why was Lady Blouse talking to him so affectionately?

  Then he saw Lady Blouse break the line he was in. With a rather pronounced sway of her hips she sauntered toward the villains’ camp. With growing horror, Squirrel watched as she got there, kissed Baron Dyer on his cheeks, and then, slowly, twirled around to face Squirrel and his friends.

  “I’m sorry, dahlings, but this is the side I should be on,” she purred. There was no apology in her smile, in her face, or in the way she wrapped her arm around Baron Dyer’s waist.

  “You betrayed us? You set us up?” barked Akbar, trying to charge at Lady Blouse and Baron Dyer with his club, but Bobby grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

  “Easy, easy! This is the problem with dogs. They’re just so . . . dramatic!” said Baron Dyer lazily. “Now I’m sure we can resolve this issue without anyone getting hurt . . .”

  But Squirrel could not keep his mouth shut any longer. “Why?” he choked, looking straight at Lady Blouse. He felt the tip of his heart crumble a little.

  “ ’Cos, my dear boy, you have something I need,” said Baron Dyer. “That we need,” he added, stroking Lady Blouse’s arm.

  “What?” asked Squirrel.

  “The key to the Map of Brittle.”

  Squirrel grew quiet. His cheeks grew tight.

  “Don’t play dumb, dahling. I saw you, Azulfa, Des, and Smitten whispering in the desert. I know you have found something. You might as well just hand it over. Then all your little friends can run along home,” said Lady Blouse.

  “What is all this about?” Smitten asked. Squirrel knew he was playing dumb to buy time. “Why would you think Squirrel has the key to the Map of Brittle? What do you want with the key anyway?”

  “Ha. Ha. Ha. Look at you trying to act all ignorant, Smitten. I know that you know all about Brittle’s Key, nephew. I also know you’ve been trying to dig up information about it. And I know that the little dog over there has been sending you letters and telling you where he was going.” Baron Dyer stuck his chest out. “I know because I intercepted the BuzzEx letter and read it. How do you think I knew where to send the Kowas? The dog led me right to you . . . but I guess it was a bit too late. No matter. We have you now.”

  “Uncle, please! See reason!”

  “Listen to me. I’ve found the Map of Brittle. I know where it is. But I can’t read it. And I was told by Falguny himself that the PetPost slave has the key. Why do you think I suggested you invite him to your wedding, Smitten? It was to get the key from him!”

  “Uncle, you are a traitor!”

  “Shush, nephew. Shush. No need for name calling, is there?” said Baron Dyer. “Now, nephew, stop trying to protect these nobodies and I won’t harm you or your pretty wench. And, trust me, the Map of Brittle will not harm your life one little bit.”

  “But it’ll harm my life.”

  The voice was so low that Squirrel was not sure he had heard it. But then he saw Mrs. Sox shuffle in her spot. “If you read the Map of Brittle, you will harm my life a great deal, won’t you? I heard you say I’d be the first one you will enslave. And why would I help you do that, Colonel? I mean, Baron?”

  “Madame, I do not appreciate your tone . . . ,” began Baron Dyer, his voice acid.

  “I don’t care,” spat Mrs. Sox, stepping out of line. “And I know you intend to kill everyone here. Squirrel, don’t help him!”

  Squirrel was shocked. Of all people he had never thought he would ever take advice from mean Mrs. Sox. And then his shock deepened as fat Mrs. Sox leaped forward with surprising agility and came and joined the line he was in, standing exactly where Lady Blouse had stood moments ago.

  “You just made a huge mistake, Madame,” whispered Baron Dyer, his eyes stabbing Mrs. Sox.

  “I’m not scared of you anymore! Why should I be?” yelled Mrs. Sox, removing her own weapon—a slender whip.

  “You should not have turned on me, Madame. You’re quite right. I planned to make you my personal slave. But now I will kill you. Each and every one of you—that is, except you, Squirrel. You I need alive.”

  “You cannot hurt any of us,” said Mrs. Sox, her yellow eyes glowing fiercely.

  A tinkling laugh escaped Lady Blouse’s lips. “Why, I think you forget, Madame, that these strapping Kowas are with us. We can shoot you all down right now.”

  “I think all this running around has muddled your pretty little brain, Lady Blouse,” said Mrs. Sox, her lips turning into a snarl. “The Kowas do not report to you. Nor to you, Colonel . . . I mean, Baron.” She paused, letting the truth of her words sink into the two villains. “I hired them, didn’t I? Doesn’t that mean that those Kowas report to me?”

  The five Kowas nodded their chins slightly at Mrs. Sox as she added, “I command you to stand aside. This is not your fight.” There was a slight shuffle as the Kowas looked at one another. Finally the Kowa with the dented beak nodded at Mrs. Sox. The crows separated themselves from either party and began to dissolve into the surrounding trees. But before Dented Beak himself disappeared, he looked straight at Azulfa and cawed loudly. Squirrel felt Azulfa tense beside him.

  As the last Kowa backed away, the Colonel whispered, “This is mutiny, Madame.”

  “Yes, Baron, it is. Did you really think I’d let you treat me like that? Did you really think you could assault me, and call me a fat carcass every day? Did you really think I wouldn’t figure out what you were up to?”

  “Oh, foolish, stupid Mrs. Sox. I’ll tell you exactly what I’m up to. I’m going to get the key to the map and make all the lower creatures slaves—the rodents, the insects, every small, lowly creature. That’s where they belong. And, maybe, some of the higher creatures too.” He snarled at Mrs. Sox. “I’ll make Bimmau what it used to be. Few masters, many slaves.”

  At this point, Smitten clearly had had enough.

  “Uncle! Please stop this madness. Why do you want to make everyone slaves? Don’t you have enough? And you, Lad
y Blouse? Why would you do this? Let’s forget this episode and just return to Bimmau . . .”

  “Shut up, nephew! You know nothing. Nothing of the threat these dirty critters pose to our lives. Nothing of the loss I have suffered because of them. They should be locked away and be made to do our bidding. But how can I expect you to understand? You’re married to her! A filthy, muddy dog . . . You are an insult to your bloodline . . . to my bloodline.”

  “What are you talking about, you Looney Tune?” yelled Akbar. “Bloodline, bah! I’ll show you the only bloodline you need to worry about.” And, with a howl, Akbar charged forward. With his beefy arm, the dog swung his club at Baron Dyer.

  Squirrel watched with horror as Baron Dyer grabbed the club, halting it midair as easily as though it were a spindle of straw. Then he shoved it with so much force that Akbar lost his balance, flew backward, and hit the cobblestone floor with a loud crack. The snap of bones echoed through the courtyard as Akbar the Alsatian collapsed like a sack.

  “Tut! Tut! I guess the time for violence has come,” said Baron Dyer, swiveling his arms in a stretch. “Squirrel, I know that you have what I want, and I must get it. I’ll have to take you with me. The rest of you, I’ll just have to finish you off, like I did that dirty mutt. Now, who’s next?”

  “Don’t call him a dirty mutt!” screamed Bobby, his eyes welling with tears as he stared at his brother-in-law lying still on the cobblestones. Taking aim with his slingshot, Bobby sent a sharp pellet toward Baron Dyer, who was striding forward, his full lips smiling wickedly.

  Just as the pellet was about to strike the Baron’s shoulder, he hopped out of the way and it whizzed by, not even grazing his perfect fur.