by Michael Tod
ABOVE THE BEACH TO THE BRIDGE –
FROM THERE YOU WILL FLY ACROSS THE SEA TO THE COVE OF LULWORTH WHERE THE SEA IS HELD IN A RING OF CLIFFS –
FROM THERE YOU WILL FLY US TO A POOL WHERE THE WATER IS BRIGHT BLUE –
Do you know this place?’
The three heads bowed ‘Yes’.
‘YOU WILL LAND ON THE WATER THERE –
YOU WILL TAKE US TO THE SHORE –
YOU WILL THEN RECEIVE MORE INSTRUCTIONS –
By tonight you will be back here. Thank you for your co-operation.
ACTION NOW –‘
Lundy watched the swans pick up a squirrel each, as they had done the day before, lift it round on to their backs and, shortly afterwards wade out into the calm water.
Marguerite’s farewells blended with her own as, one behind the other, the swans ran across the water, their feet making less and less commotion as the great white wings swept the air away below them. Then there was no sound but the W-wow, W-wow, of the wing-beats. Two of the swans dropped back slightly to take advantage of the easier flying in the turbulence created by the leader’s flight, and the ‘V’ formation climbed higher and disappeared into the distance.
Lundy swam leisurely down the lagoon towards Portland Harbour, the open sea and reunion with her family.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
The wings of the three swans beat steadily. The formation had reached the height chosen by the leader and they flew above the beach until they passed over the Ferry-bridge, then turned slightly to fly across Portland harbour.
At first Marguerite had clung tightly to the swan’s back, her head buried in the feathers. As she gained confidence, she lifted her head and, moving one paw-hold at a time, edged forward until she could look down past the side of the bird’s neck. Far below she could see the curve of the pebble beach reaching out to the great rock of Portland, the waves seeming to wriggle along the shore like a grass snake swimming after frogs. How different it all looked from up here compared with the roaring and crashing they had suffered the day before.
The wings beat rhythmically, W-wow, W-wow, W-wow.
Below her the humans’ travelling boxes were crossing the bridge and then the swans were over the grey ships at anchor in the harbour. Flying seemed so effortless compared with the strain Lundy had suffered carrying them the day before.
Was that really only the day before?
She recognised the harbour breakwaters and, raising her head, she could see the white cliffs on the far side of Weymouth Bay. The great wings rose and fell, rose and fell, the air hissing through the pinion feathers, W-wow, W-wow, W-wow.
She turned to look at Chip and Sycamore. They grinned at her past the swan’s heads.
With the distinctive shape of Lulworth Cove below them, she felt the change of direction that would take them across the land to the Blue Pool. Her instructions were being followed exactly and it would not be long before she was with Wood Anemone, learning the secret of the mushrooms of the moon. It would be good to see her friend again.
Rowan and Bluebell were aiming the Woodstock at the top of the bank across the pool from the Eyeland. Bluebell had caught a glimpse of grey fur and had pointed out the position to her father.
He had calculated that a would be required to curl whiskers and incapacitate any Grey at that distance. He rehearsed the movement and stood alert, the Woodstock sighted on the top of the bank, Bluebell standing behind him.
‘Now,’ she shouted as a grey head showed, and Rowan scratched a on the bare wood. The head dropped back behind the bank at the very moment that the shape of three flying swans appeared over the horizon in the same direction.
The invisible, spiralling force, though weak at that extreme range, seriously affected the birds. Their wing beats faltered, they lost formation and, fluttering and flapping out of control, they tumbled through the air, then, seeming to recover somewhat, spread their wings and turned to make a long glide towards the open water of the pool.
Marguerite was enjoying the flight when the Woodstock power-wave struck. Reacting as quickly as she would when a gust of wind struck a branch on which she was sitting, she grasped the feathers tightly and hung on as the swans fell out of the sky. She fought to dominate their thoughts.
‘SWANS
FLY
FLY
ACTION NOW
FLY
ACTION NOW –
SPREAD YOUR WINGS
HOLD THEM FIRM
MAKE FOR THE WATER BELOW –
ACTION NOW
ACTION NOW –
LAND ON THE WATER
ACTION NOW –‘
The swans lowered their webbed feet, twisted their wings to resist the air and slid across the surface of the pool, then stopped, shaking their heads and hissing angrily.
‘SWANS
YOU ARE SAFE NOW
RELAX
ACTION NOW –‘
In the silence that followed, the swans paddled gently along the pool, dipping their heads under the water as if to clear their brains, then lifting them and shaking off droplets of water.
‘What happened?’ Chip called across to Marguerite.
‘My whiskers are hurting.’
‘So are mine,’ she said. ‘ I feel like someone has used a Woodstock on me.’
‘Marguerite, Marguerite.’
Marguerite was sure that she could hear her brother’s voice calling her – but it was just not possible. Whatever force had brought the swans down out of the sky had clearly addled her brain.
‘Marguerite. We’re here. Here on the Eyeland.’
SWANS
TAKE US TO THE ISLAND
THAT WAY
ACTION NOW –‘
The great white birds, each with a squirrel sitting upright on its back, paddled along the pool, past the pink and white water lilies and waddled ashore on to the island near the pool’s end. As they did so, Chip, clutching the golden coin, lost his balance and the coin fell into the orangery-brown water near the Eyeland shore.
‘Marguerite!’
‘Rowan! Meadowsweet! Bluebell!’
Marguerite had an overwhelming feeling that this had all happened before, then realised that it had, in that summer when they had journeyed from the coast to win back the Blue Pool Demesne from the Silver Tide.
Now though, she also recognised the feeling of being in a battle-zone. She brushed whiskers briefly with her brother and his life-mate and her handsome young niece, saw the Woodstock on the ground at Rowan’s side and then said, ‘What’s going on here?’
‘We are surrounded by Greys, led by one of the Three Lords. There has been a change of leader at Woburn and we were trying to escape to join you on Ourland. Were you really flying on these swans?’
‘Yes. I’ll explain later. How many Greys are there?’
‘Lots’, said Rowan, and Marguerite regretted never having found the time to teach her brother to count above eight.
‘Lots, or Lots and Lots?’
‘Lots and Lots!’ Rowan replied and Marguerite noted the tiredness in his voice.
He led her up the mound to the top of the Eyeland, Bluebell and Meadowsweet dragging the Woodstock between them. A tree trunk lay across the water from the Mainland, forming a bridge. It had not been there when she had last seen the Eyeland.
Clustered near the bridge were the two ex-zervantz and their daughters, all looking bright-eyed if rather tired and thin.
Most surprising of all, there was a Grey on that side of the bridge, amongst the Reds.
‘Wood Anemone-Friend, Spindle-Friend,’ she called and they turned to look up at her.
‘Marguerite-Ma’am,’ said Wood Anemone.
‘Marguerite-Friend, please.’
‘Marguerite-Friend. Where have you come from? Did you drop out of the sky?’
‘Something like that. Look out behind you!’ she shouted.
A phalanx of grey bodies was moving purposefully down towards the far end of the bridge.
‘Heads down,’ shouted Meadowsweet to the squirrels below, and as the turned their backs on her, she swung the Woodstock towards the Greys and scratched a 3 on the bare wood.
Some of the attackers turned and scrambled back up and over the bank while others rolled down on to the level ground at the far end of the bridge, pawing at their whiskers, before wriggling back up the slope and out of right. The Reds watched them go.
Rowan said, ‘We get a charge like that several times a day – they’re not giving up easily. I don’t know where they’re all coming from. The trouble is we don’t know how much power is left in the Woodstock – there can’t be much now.’
Marguerite glanced at the Grey, it seemed foolish to be giving away their weakness in front of one of the enemy.
Rowan saw her look. ‘Don’t worry about Hickory, he’s a Sun-squirrel. He’s with us.’
Marguerite looked across the water. There were no Greys in sight now and she went down to the bridge-end with Chip and Sycamore to make the formal introductions and greetings. She brushed whiskers with them all, even Hickory. Though she remembered him as one of the enemy leaders at the Battle of the Agglestone, he was obviously trusted and respected here.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Rowan’s and Marguerite’s groups exchanged news while watching the banks for signs of another attack. Chip was at the water’s edge peering down as the place where they had come ashore but was unable to see anything as the swans’ feet had stirred up the clay making the water a milky white. The swans themselves were now feeding quietly in the water, reaching down with the long necks and searching the pool bottom for tasty morsels.
Marguerite’s mind was already formulating an escape plan. She stood up and looked along the pool.
‘SWANS –‘
The swans raised their heads.
‘CAN YOU FLY WITH TWO SQUIRRELS EACH?’
The swans raised their heads in unison.
‘CAN YOU FLY WITH THREE SQUIRRELS EACH?’
The swans appeared to consult each other, then shook their heads violently.
‘THANK YOU - STAY CLOSE.’
She counted their combined party and did some calculations, wishing that she had Chip’s Bark-rush to help. She called Chip over and explained the problem. He counted on his claws.
‘With three swans, six squirrels can go at a time, so if six go on the first flight and one squirrel comes back, we then have five, and with the one who came back, that’ll make up six for the second flight – two for each swan. No problem.’
It was decided that Marguerite was to take the other five females on the first flight and return for the five males on the second.
Lord Malachite had seen the swans land on the water and had overcome his fear of the Woodstock sufficiently to peep from behind his tree.
He was amazed to see the three swans wade ashore, each pick up a squirrel and lift it on to its back, then do the same with a second squirrel. He was even more amazed when the swans waded into the water, swam out a little way, flapped their wings and ran along the surface before taking off heavily and flying away to the north-east. He was furious; half his enemy had escaped!
Marguerite guided the swans to land on the lagoon at Ourland in a place away from where they might be seen by humans. The squirrels hurried away, led by Wood Anemone who was the only one to have lived on that island before. Marguerite instructed the swans to return to Rowan’s Pool.
‘SWANS –
ONE SWAN PICK ME UP
THREE SWANS FLY BACK TO WHERE YOU HAVE COME FROM
ACTION NOW –‘
The swans ran across the water and took off, Marguerite on the back of the leading swan. This is getting to be almost a routine, she was thinking. What a wonderful way of travelling this flying business is.
She turned her head to watch the unladen swans behind her. There was only one other there! Away to her left, and now ell on its way towards the swannery at Abbotsbury, was the other swan.
‘THIRD SWAN
REJOIN THE OTHERS
ACTION NOW -
REJOIN THE OTHERS
ACTION NOW –‘
Marguerite projected her thoughts in the direction of the single swan, now just a speck in the distance but there was no sign that they were being received.
‘TWO SWANS
STAY TOGETHER
FLY DOWN TO THE POOL BELOW
ACTION NOW.’
Rowan seeing only two swans return, rushed down to the water’s edge, fearing the worst.
‘Are all the females all right? Meadowsweet, Bluebell...’
Marguerite reassured him, explained what had happened, then turned –
‘TWO SWANS
WAIT FOR INSTRUCTIONS
WAIT NOW’.
Chip was counting on his claws again.
‘There are six of us and two swans, which can each carry two squirrels. So four can go but one must come back, so there must be two flights, with only three squirrels on the last flight.’
Rowan tried to insist that he stay for the final flight but it was eventually settled by drawing twigs. Spindle and Hickory drew the short ones. They would stay, with the Woodstock to protect them.
Rowan and Marguerite were lifted on to one swan and Sycamore and Chip on to the other. Chip had hoped that he could recover his golden coin and had searched for it surreptitiously, while waiting for the swans to return, but without success.
‘TWO SWANS…’
Malachite watched the birds fly off. He was not good at counting but knew there could only be two squirrels left on the island – three at the most. If they got away, so would his chance of ever becoming the Great Lord Silver. He would be the laughing stock of New America. He ordered one more charge…
Spindle and Hickory were sitting on the highest point of the Eyeland, Spindle keeping the Woodstock sighted on the bridge and Hickory watching the opposite bank.
When the grey attackers poured down towards the bridge, Spindle waited until the first were actually on the fallen trunk before scratching a after the on the Woodstock.
The force spiralled out and several greys fell into the water. Spindle scratched another and the mass hesitated, then turned and scrambled awkwardly up the bank. Spindle tried a as they went over the top but there was no noticeable effect on the enemy and no familiar tingle in his own whiskers. The Woodztok’z power huz all gone, he thought.
The last of the wet Greys had hauled themselves ashore and climbed out of sight when a streak of blue and gold flashed past Spindle’s head. A compact little bird with a long straight beak perched on the stump of a broken branch projecting from the fallen tree and peered down into the water below.
‘Turn thiz way, very zlowly,’ Spindle said.
Hickory took one look along the opposite shoreline and did as Spindle had instructed. He saw the brilliantly coloured bird.
‘What is it?’ he asked in a whisper.
‘Him’z a kingfizher bird. Yew hardly ever zeez wun of them. Uz’z lucky today.’
Hickory smiled to himself. He had grown fond of the ex-zervant, with his patient, helpful manner, always ready to accept whatever Life threw at him. Here were the two of them, on a tiny island, outnumbered many times over by squirrels with a totally different outlook, who were determined to kill them both, and he was saying they were lucky to see a bird!
Now he was quoting one of their Kernels:
Zquirrelz do not live
By nutz alone. Take time off
To zeek out beauty.
Hickory looked at the bird again. The blue plumage of its back and tail was brighter than the sky above, brighter even than the reflected blue of the water below. The feathers on its underside glowed more red than gold, more gold than chestnuts. He did not even know a name for that colour.
The bird tilted off the broken branch and dived into the water, to rise a moment later with a dragonfly larva in its beak which it smashed against a tree and swallowed head first.
With a flicker of it’s win
gs it sped along the pool, a gold and blue streak above the pink and white of the lilies.
‘My Wood Anemone do call Kingzfizherz the birdz of happinezz,’ Spindle said.
Hickory’s tail arched into a ‘question,.’ sensed by Spindle though he was still watching the bridge.
‘Her zayz that it iz no good expecting to be happy all the time, Life’z not like that. Now and then yew will get a glimpze of happinezz – like now and then yew will see a kingfisher bird. Enjoy it when yew can, her zayz.’
‘Kingsfishers or happiness?’ Hickory asked.
‘Both, yew zilly zquirrel,’ Spindle said, amusement and affection in his voice.
‘Uz iz lucky then, izn’t uz, Spindle-friend,’ said Hickory imitating the Ourland accent as the Greys again poured down the bank for another attack.
Hickory was alongside Spindle. ‘Use the Woodstock, use the Woodstock,’ he shouted as the Greys streamed across the tree trunk.
‘Him’z Zun-gone,’ said Spindle kicking the twisted stock down the bank and into the water as he leapt for a tree. Hickory leapt for another, ran up it and across a branch into Spindle’s tree.
‘Up to the top,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’
Greys were climbing all three trees, trying to get above the two fugitives but the tree Spindle had chosen was the tallest and the two stopped just below the highest cluster of needles and turned to face downwards, one squirrel on each side of the slender trunk. The top swayed with the movements of the many Greys climbing towards them.
Lord Malachite, having learned that the Totem Stick was dead, had come out of hiding and was standing on the bridge urging others on.