by Michael Tod
‘Do they want a boat, or can we carry them on sticks in our mouths, that would be easiest. It’s not far this time.’
‘Sticks would be fine.’
They discussed the finer details and them Malin asked how the five would return.
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Marguerite admitted, ‘everything is happening so fast.’
‘It’s the New Moon in two weeks time. We’ll pick up your scouting patrol from the same beach as we drop them at, on New-Moon night. If they’re not there we’ll come back each New Moon until they come. Rely on us. Until the morning then.’
The three dark bodies swam out into the tideway and disappeared under the water.
There was only an hour to daylight left. Marguerite ran off to find Burdock.
‘Can you get a message to Sycamore, Bluebell, Rosebay and Willowherb tonight?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘I’m a News-squirrel, not a Post-squirrel, but yes, I’m sure I can, Marguerite-Ma. What’s the message?’
‘The dolphins will pick up five squirrels at Pottery Point at first light tomorrow to take them to the Mainland to bury Spindle and the two Greys and to find out what the other Greys are up to.’
‘You only gave me four names; who’s the other?’
‘Chip. I’ll tell him.’
‘Oak-your son-wanted to go!’
Marguerite thought quickly, one extra squirrel would not make the patrol too large, and Oak needed the experience. ‘If you can find him, tell him to be ready as well. And…’
Burdock stood expectantly.
‘A true message this time. No elaboration…’
‘Marguerite-Ma – as if I would!’
It was one of those late-summer mornings when autumn lets you know it is not far away. A certain chill in the air, and a smell of ripeness, with just a hint of decay, drifted through the woodland to tickle the nostrils of early risers.
At Pottery Point it seemed that the whole squirrel population of Ourland was there to see the patrol leave. The dolphins were just off-shore, each holding a length of driftwood sideways in their mouths. They swam in small circles picking up the sense of squirrelation that was coming from the massed ranks on the beach.
The six squirrel scouts were on the beach, watched by envious youngsters, most of whom would have given their whiskers, if not their tails, to have been able to join the patrol. Marguerite was clearly in charge, pairing the squirrels and allocating each pair to a dolphin.
‘Oak, you go with Bluebell, swim out to Malin – that’s the biggest dolphin. Chip, you and Sycamore swim out to Lundy, and Rosebay, you go with Willowherb and climb on to Finisterre’s stick. You can all swim, can’t you? The water’s quite warm and you will dry off quickly when you’re ashore. Good luck!’
The remaining squirrels watched the scouting party disappear into the early haze as the dolphins swam up the channel. Just Poplar and Clover came to Marguerite’s side.
‘Can we have a word with yew when the otherz have left?’ Just Poplar said quietly.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
‘Marguerite.’ Just Poplar said when only the three of them were left on the beach. ‘Who iz the zelected Leader of Ourland?’
Marguerite immediately realised the import of the question and felt a rush of concern and regret. She had organised all of this activity without any reference to the Leader, the Tagger or any of the other senior squirrels.
‘Oh. Poplar, I know what you are going to say and I am sorry. I just got swept along. All of those young squirrels wanted to go and bury Spindle and when the dolphins offered to take them…’
Her voice trailed away. She realised that she was speaking her defence and may have to do so before the full Council if Clover accused her of acting incorrectly. Having been Tagger herself, she knew that she had done just that.
Clover saw the contrite look on her friend’s face and reached out a paw.
‘It’s all right, Marguerite-friend, we’ll call it ‘acting on your own initiative.’
Initiative
Is a name for successful
Disobedience.
‘Let’s hope that the patrol are able to carry out their mission and return safely. They’re all fairly young.’
‘I thinkz it will be good for them,’ said Just Poplar. ‘Uz’d have liked to go zcouting on the Mainland when uz wuz young. Too old now though. Being Leader iz tiring enough with all theze troublezome youngzterz. Do yew know what zome did yezterday?…’
The dolphins swan steadily westwards, keeping to the deepest waters. Malin explained to Chip, who could follow dolphin-think, that this way would avoid the mudflats and the boggy harbour shores and they would land at Tallships Point beyond the Long Island.
The squirrel’s fur was dry again by the time they reached Tallships. The dolphins cruised along, watching the shore and looking for the best place to land the scouts. There was a Man-drey on the point and, to the south of this, two oak trees grew right on the water’s edge, with their roots washed out from under them by the sea so that they appeared to stand on many legs.
‘Those are a good landmark,’ Malin indicated to Chip. ‘This is where we’ll pick you up again at dawn after the night of the New Moon.’ They turned in towards the beach as Chip thanked them.
Rosebay helped her sister Willowherb, who she knew was a poor swimmer and frightened of water. Wet through once again, the squirrels climbed the low gravelly cliff and sat in the heather watching the dolphins swim down-channel.
‘We’re on our own now,’ said Oak the Wary, ‘the sooner we can get to those trees, the better.’
On Ourland Marguerite, Poplar and Clover climbed to the top of the bank and found Rowan and Meadowsweet waiting there.
‘We’ve not really been introduced,’ Rowan said to Poplar. ‘I am Rowan the Bold and this is Meadowsweet Rowan’s Love. Our daughter, Bluebell, is one of those who has just gone with the dolphins.’
‘Thiz iz Clover,’ Poplar said, ‘but yew will remember her from when yew were all at the Blue Pool, her iz now the Tagger of Ourland, and uz’z Juzt Poplar, the Leader. Uz iz zorry that uz haven’t welcomed yew before. Zo much zeemz to be happening all at wonze! Yew’r zizter iz highly thought of here.’
Hearing this, Marguerite smiled and her tail rose noticeably.
‘Uz expectz that yew will want to rezd after all yew have been through, ‘Poplar continued.
Rowan replied, ‘I - we are fine. We were hoping to find something to occupy us. We are both experienced teachers and enjoy that. Can you use us in any way?’
‘There iz a lot of thingz not right here at prezent. Perhapz yew, zeeing it with new eyeze, zo to zpeak, can zee what needz to be done and teach uz what to do.’
Sitting in the areas flattened by the tents of the departed boy scouts the five squirrels held an impromptu meeting in the grass behind Pottery Point to analyse the problems that were afflicting the squirrel population of the island.
Most seemed to have grown out of boredom. With an abundance of food and no predators, there was nothing to keep the youngsters on their claws.
‘That party that went to the Mainland this morning –‘ Clover said, ‘if we could organise such scouting patrols regularly, they would provide adventure for the youngsters.’
‘Would your dolphins help us again?’ she asked Marguerite.
‘They’re not really my dolphins, but yes, I think they would.’
Meadowsweet said, ‘All the scouts would need to be taught how to look after themselves and survive in hostile country, that could be a job for Rowan and me. We know quite a bit about the Greys as well as about squirrelship and survival.’
‘We must put these ideas to the Council,’ said Clover.
‘What Council?’ said Poplar. It’z zuppozed to include all the zquirrelz but hardly any com’z nowadayz.’
‘I don’t think you can have a Council with all the squirrels, like we used to at the Blue Pool,’ said Rowan.
‘You probably need to have a Counci
l of just a few senior ones and make each of those a guardian of different things.’
‘Zum zquirrel would have to be in charge,’ said Poplar. ‘A zort of King like uz father wuz.’
‘The problem then, was that he made all the decisions. No other squirrel’s views mattered,’ Marguerite reminded him.
‘Uz knowz that. That’z why uz abolished it all. Uz wuz King vor a few minutez, remember. That kind of power corruptz. Yew’d make a good Queen, Marguerite-Friend, it would be hard to corrupt yew.’
‘Me? I’d never be a Queen!’
The scouting party had paused in a tree overlooking some wide fields. So far it had been easy. Humans had made a wooden walk-way through the marshier places and the squirrels had scurried along that, then taken to the trees, mostly oak and birch, all close enough together for them to run and leap from one to the next.
In a state of high exhilaration, they eventually slowed down and halted to regain their breath. A noise like a wasp immediately drew their attention towards a human, tiny I the distance, bent down at the foot of a tree and holding something red. The wasp-sound changed slightly, held steady for a minute, then the human stood up and stepped hurriedly back. The squirrels watched in horror as the distant tree lurched over and fell to the ground. The swish of its leaves and the crunch as the trunk hit the earth reached the squirrels a second later.
Oak, shocked, said, ‘We must move on, this is a dangerous place.’
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Marguerite was with her old friend on a branch outside Wood Anemone’s new drey, talking of the time when they had been forced to flee from Ourland together. She wanted to know about the moon mushrooms but felt that it was better to raise the subject obliquely and not rush straight on to it.
‘You were called Woodlouz them,’ she said.
‘Zo uz wuz! It do zeem a long time ago.’
‘It was a long time ago,’ said Marguerite, ‘and your Spindle was called Spider in those days.’
‘The Royalz alwayz called zervantz after creepy-crawliez, them did it to keep uz in uz plazes, them zaid.’
Mention of Spindle had made both squirrels think of his body hanging from the Eyeland tree and each wondered how the scouts were progressing with their mission. Five days had passed since Wood Anemone had said farewell to her twin daughters. She had since realised that if they did not come back from what could be a hazardous journey, her family line would end.
‘Uz wishez that uz had only let won go with yew’r dolphinz,’ she said to Marguerite.
‘You know that Rosebay and Willowherb are always together. Sun-knows what will happen when one chooses a mate. It’ll be ‘take me, take my sister’.’
‘Marguerite!’ said Wood Anemone, shocked at the suggestion. ‘That’z the zort of things the Royalz did.’
‘Poplar suggested that I should be Queen,’ Marguerite confided to her friend.
‘Yew zhould be; yew would make a good Queen,’ replied Wood Anemone bluntly. ‘Yew iz vull of good ideaz and all the zquirrelz lovez and rezpectz yew.’
‘Some call me Miss Hoity-Toity,’ Marguerite said ruefully.
‘If uz hearz any doing that, uz’ll pull their tailz,’ said Wood Anemone. ‘Yew ignore them. Yew’ll make uz a good Queen.’
‘I’m not going to be Queen. It was only something that Poplar said.’
The two sat in comfortable silence enjoying the early September sunshine and watching the people who passed underneath. The human youngsters seemed to have suddenly stopped coming to the island. Only a few days before they had been there in great numbers, now the humans they saw were mostly older and in pairs, or were those men who wore the ‘Acorn’ badge on their green coverings.
‘How many squirrels were on the island before we came? Marguerite asked.
‘Yew knowz uz can’t count like yew do’z, but there were a ‘lot’ of Royalz and ‘lotz’ of zervantz.’
‘Did there ever get to be too many?’
‘Oh no. Uz zaw to that.’ Said Wood Anemone enigmatically.
‘How do you mean?’ Marguerite asked.
‘Uz’z zorry, Marguerite-Friend, uz can’t zay.’
‘Come on, of course you can. We’re friends. Whatever it is, you can tell me.’
‘Uz can’t. Uz zwore to keep the zecret. Uz can only talk about it with a King or a Queen, or with their matez. Uz zwore not to tell otherz.’
‘Tell others what?’
‘How to stop zquirrelz breeding too vazd. With the King and the Kingz-mate Zun-gone, only uz knowz. Only Woodlouz knowz.’
‘The Kings-mate was saying something like that to me when she was dying. She said, Woodlouse knows’.’
‘What elze did her zay?’
‘How the mushrooms of the moon can control breeding. I want you to tell me everything you know. It’s very important.’
‘Uz can’t tell yew, unlezz yew’z a Queen.’
Nothing Marguerite said could get the old zervant to tell her any more.
The scouts were resting in a hedgerow tree.
‘Alert everyone, dogs in sight,’ Oak said quietly.
They peered between the leaves. Two brown and white dogs had just wriggled under a gate on the far side of the field and were sniffing their way along the hedge. Two men appeared at the gate and the squirrels watched them open it and come through. Each man was carrying a short stick under his right arm with the thinnest end pointing towards the ground.
‘Guns,’ said Bluebell. ‘Rowan-Pa told me about them. He saw them when he was on climbabout. Humans use them to kill animals and birds.’
‘Squirrels?’ asked Sycamore.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Bluebell, ‘but you never can tell with humans; they’re so unpredictable.’
‘Keep still and don’t show yourselves,’ said Oak the Wary, parting the leaves carefully.
The dogs were sniffing their way in zigzags across the field when a covey of partridge, two adults and eight young birds, burst into the air and flew towards the squirrels.
The men raised the guns and fired four times. The squirrels instinctively ducked with each retort, then ducked again as shot rattled like hail stones on the leaves.
A gap appeared in the arc of birds as two dropped in tumbled heaps of feathers to be seized by the dogs. Two others glided awkwardly into the hedge bottom where they lay, struggling pitiably, the larger of the two trying to escape on its one unbroken leg. The survivors of the family cleared the hedge and dropped into the field behind.
A dog found one of the injured birds and carried it, still cheeping, to the taller of the two men, who pulled its neck. The cheeping stopped. The man grinned at his companion as he put the limp body into the bag slung across his shoulder.
‘No squirrel move,’ whispered Oak.
The shocked squirrels watched the last injured partridge, its feathers stained with blood, fluttering feebly as its life drained away and the brightness faded from its eyes.
Its brothers and sisters scurried noisily along the dead leaves beneath the hedge, then rose again and flew off behind the cover of the bushes.
A dog found the dead bird, carried it to the man, received a pat on the head and returned to the tree, where it sat looking up into the branches. In whined softly and the other dog joined it. The men walked across to the tree and peered up.
A gust of wind caught Willowherb’s tail and one man seeing the movement, raised his gun and pointed it at her. She sat petrified with fear.
‘Keep very still,’ Oak whispered.
The second man joined his companion and they appeared to be arguing. At last the other man lowered the gun, whistled to the dogs to follow him and the two men walked down the hedgerow in the direction that the partridges had flown.
‘That was close,’ said Oak. ‘This Mainland place is a dangerous place. And I still don’t know whether humans kill squirrels.’
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Marguerite left Wood Anemone and wandered up the island, knowing that her f
riend held the secret of why Ourland had not been overrun with squirrels in the past, and frustrated because she would not, or could not, confide in her. The secret was in those Moon Mushrooms, whatever they were.
‘Greetings, Marguerite the Seeker.’
Marguerite looked up to see Heather Treetops and Chestnut the Doubter. She had forgotten that ‘the seeker’ was her tag. Somehow tagging seemed to be losing its importance. Many of the youngsters had not yet been given tags and those that had, largely ignored them. Youngsters were as often as not referred to by their father’s name. She could not remember the tag, if he had one, of Elm Larchson.
She greeted the two formally in the old way, and accepted Chestnut’s invitation to see their Woodstock plantation.
In that quiet copse, away from any Man-tracks, Heather and Chestnut had dug up more young honeysuckle plants from other places, replanted them near the roots of several hazel bushes, and were training the growing woodbine shoots around the hazel saplings. Evidence of the earlier raid by idle youngsters was to be seen in the piles of creeper stems, bitten into short lengths, which lay nearby.
Chestnut saw Marguerite looked at these, and said, ‘I hope for all our sakes that we don’t need these Woodstocks too soon. Those Sun-damned young idiots set us back a whole year.’
‘I hope we never need them,’ said Marguerite.
‘So do we, but I don’t trust Grey squirrels not to try and come here, and it is best to be ready,’ Chestnut said.