CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ingratitude and Treachery
Or, a weasel’s word is only worth the paper it’s written on.
Panic! The air whistled with shots; the water leapt with missiles.
“What’s happening?” cried Toad, and was immediately splashed in the face when a heavy rock landed a mere foot off the stern.
“Look!” cried Humphrey, momentarily losing sight of the fact that their lives were in peril. He pointed in wonderment at the balloon he’d labored on for so long. “It flies,” he said. “Oh, look, Uncle Toad, it flies!”
“We’re under attack!” yelled Rat.
“Row, boys, row!” cried Mole.
“I did it!” shouted Humphrey.
“Sit down!” ordered Badger, leaning into his oar and pulling with mighty strokes.
The boats sped downstream in the gathering darkness. Fortunately for our band of warriors, Providence smiled briefly upon them and turned the wind to their benefit, stalling the balloon and allowing them to make the relative safety of the boathouse. They scrambled from their boats and peered upriver at the balloon.
“We’ve got to get to the Hall,” said Badger. “It’s our only chance.” They looked at the wide expanse of lawn separating them from the security of the stone hall.
“It’s awfully far,” muttered Toad. “Oh, why did I have to have such a grand garden?”
Badger looked at Humphrey, who was really a very squat little toad with very squatty little legs, and said, “Can you run that far?”
Humphrey said, “Um, I can try—”
He was cut off by Badger picking him up and slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of oats. Badger looked at the others and said, “Coming?” Without another word, he wheeled and took off for the hall, Humphrey bouncing on his shoulder with every stride and grimly holding on to his specs.
“Badger’s right,” said Matilda. “We’ve got to make a dash for it.” She tucked up her skirts and said, “It’s our only chance. Look out! The wind is turning!”
Sure enough, fickle Fortune, which had so kindly smiled on them just moments before, now whimsically bestowed her favors on the enemy. The balloon drifted toward them at a fair clip. Rat and Mole and Matilda and Toad looked at one another and then bolted after Badger and his burden, running at top speed. A great chorus of jeers and catcalls and pistol shots from the heavens marked their progress. Toad, furious at having to make a run for it across his own front lawn, paused briefly to make rude gestures and shout unprintable insults, but all he got for his trouble was a direct hit from an ancient tomato and a near miss from an elderly cabbage.
“Look what you’ve done to my waistcoat!” Toad shouted. “Rotten tomato all over it! You’ll pay for this, you will!”
Came the replies: “Ha, Toady, not so grand now!” “Yar!” “Prat!”83
By this time, the others had made it to the shelter of the grand stone portico and were jumping up and down and waving and screaming, “Toad!” “There’s no time!” “Run!”
A pistol shot raised a clump of turf just inches from his toes, which caused him to reconsider his need for a promise of payment of his cleaning bill. He sprinted the last thirty yards at an impressive speed, despite the fact that his progress was hampered by a vicious rain of root vegetables falling down upon him.
“I thought you were a goner, Uncle Toad,” said Humphrey.
“Don’t be silly, my boy,” he panted. “There’s not a weasel born yet that’s got the better of old Toad. Why, I can remember during the great Battle of Toad Hall—”
Ratty said, “There’s no time for reminiscence. If I’m not mistaken, they’re heading for the roof.”
They looked up to see the great airship floating toward the battlements.
Toad said, “I must say, they’re doing quite a decent job of navigating, considering you can’t actually steer it and all. Why, it took me days of practice to—”
“Oh, do shut up, Toady,” said Rat.
“Enough of this,” said Badger. “Everyone inside. We’ll have to make a stand on the roof.”
Rat said to Matilda, “I want you to take Humphrey to his room and lock the door. Don’t come out until one of us comes to get you.”
They rushed into the hall and ran smack into the agitated butler with the anxious cook and scullery mouse hard on his heels. “Go to the wine cellar,” ordered Badger. “Lock yourselves in and don’t come out until we give the all-clear. Understood?”
They looked uncertainly at their master, who nodded and said, “We’re under ambush by stoats and weasels on the roof. Dozens— no, scores—no, hundreds of ’em! I’d do what Mr. Badger said, if I were you.”
The servants blanched and scuttled away. The warriors hurried to the weapons room. Matilda and Humphrey started up the stairs, but the young toad halted their progress and said, “Wait, I’ve an idea, but we have to go to the kitchen first.”
“This is no time to be thinking of food,” chided Matilda.
“I’m not thinking of food,” he said. “I’m thinking of a weapon.” He wheeled and ran for the kitchen. The mystified Matilda had no choice but to follow.
Our heroes, meanwhile, had reached the weapons room. They threw open the doors and were confronted with an enormous confusion of weapons of every sort, both modern and ancient, all jumbled together in a huge, untidy pile. They surveyed the twisted mound of pikes and halberds and crossbows.
“Er,” said Toad, “I’ve been meaning to get to this.”
Badger waded into the pile and pulled out a terrifying battle-ax. Mole followed suit and selected an evil-looking mace. Ratty pulled out a brace of gleaming pistols and stuck them in his belt. Toad, perhaps thinking of his pirate days, selected a long, glittering sword. He tested it by slicing the air, once, twice—whish, whish—and said, “How terribly satisfying.”
“No more playing about,” said Badger. “Everyone ready?”
“Rightio,” said Ratty.
“To the roof!” cried Mole.
“No quarter given,” added Toad, working himself into a frenzy. “The nerve of that lot. Landing on my very own roof in my very own balloon. I’ll show ’em a thing or two. Or three or four!”
They dashed for the stairs, their footsteps ringing on the flagstones. They trotted across the landing, where they crossed paths with Humphrey and Matilda, who were dashing in another direction.
“Where are you going?” cried Ratty without stopping. “What’s that you’ve got?”
“No time,” Matilda yelled, and she and Humphrey ran down the long hall to his room. They threw their burdens onto the bed. Matilda locked the door while Humphrey pushed books and tools off the window seat, clearing a working space. “Hand me that length of pipe,” he said.
The forgotten kite, drooping in the corner, looked down silently on their frantic preparations.
Our band of four continued up the stairs, up past the guest floors, up past the nursery, up past the servants’ quarters.
“Oh,” puffed Toad, “why must there be so many flights of stairs? Why must I have such a grand house? I vow to live a simpler life from now on.”
“Stop complaining,” said Ratty, “and keep up.”
They came at last to the attic, a vast gloomy space, and paused momentarily to catch their breath and adjust their weapons. Then it was time. They put their shoulders to the roof door.
“Ready?” whispered Badger. “On three.”
The Rat thought of Matilda downstairs and wondered if he would ever see her face again, and touch his nose to hers.
“One.”
The Mole thought of the River and wondered if he would ever again drift along in the tiny blue-and-white boat, a good book in hand.
“Two.”
The Badger thought of his snug familiar burrow and wondered if he would ever again sit before the fire on a winter’s eve, warming his slippered feet before the dying coals and drowsing over a mug of hot cocoa.
“Three!”
&nbs
p; The Toad, who was only just beginning to collect his thoughts, did not have time to think of much, for by that point, they were tearing through the door.
Before them lay the open space of the roof, and there was the cannon, kept in good repair for firing on the Queen’s Birthday. Hovering just above it was the great balloon, overflowing with the enemy, all shrieking at fever pitch. Their howls grew even louder when they saw the heroes on the battlements. A rope ladder dangled from the balloon, and the first of them scrambled down it.
“They mustn’t take the cannon,” cried Badger. “It’s all over if they take the cannon.” The four warriors rushed across the roof and were met by a fusillade of musket fire, forcing them to take cover behind a bulwark of chimneys. They watched helplessly as the enemy poured onto the roof.
“What’ll we do?” cried Toad.
“We have to wait until they’ve fired all their ammunition,” said Rat. “Then we’ll advance.”
Mole whipped off his coat, followed by the Canary Mélange waistcoat, which he then hoisted on the point of his sword. It was instantly pocked with musketry fire, and a few moments later, they could hear the clicking of the weasel’s empty guns.
“Good work,” said Rat. “I’ll get you a new one when this is all over.”
Mole looked at his shredded waistcoat and said, “Never mind. It wasn’t really me.”
“Advance!” cried Badger, and the four leapt from their hiding place and ran at the enemy.
Toad found himself face-to-face with the Under-Stoat and shouted, “En garde!”
The Under-Stoat snickered. “You always was so pretentious, Toad. Time to take you down a peg.”
“Pretentious?” cried the outraged Toad. “I’ll show you pretentious!” He saluted his foe, his sword whishing through the air, and the roof was instantly changed into the deck of the HMS Amphibia, the Under-Stoat transformed into the Imaginary Fiend. The admiral lunged at the Fiend and thrust and parried, and drove him back to a turret, and was in turn driven back to a chimney. Back and forth the battle raged, but this time there was no Imaginary Parrot to tilt the scales.
The Rat, who was holding off a good handful of stoats, looked up to see several others reach the cannon. They began to swivel it toward the thick of the fray. “Stop them!” he yelled.
Things looked very black indeed. But just at that moment, Humphrey charged through the attic door carrying a strange contraption that looked like a length of pipe. Matilda was right behind him with a flaming torch.
“Stand back,” Humphrey cried, and dropped to one knee, hoisting the pipe over his shoulder. “Load!”
Matilda pushed a shiny missile into the weapon’s maw.
“Fire!”
Matilda lit the fuse and covered her ears, and a terrible noise—FOOM!—rent the air.
From the mouth of the mortar flew a shiny tin, spewing a jet of dark gold liquid, covering the invaders from head to foot.
They stopped in their tracks and looked curiously at the viscous stuff slowly trickling down them. They sniffed at the strange substance. One or two of the bravest among them tentatively licked at it. It looked like—it smelled like—it was—treacle. And just as it dawned on them that they were now covered with the stickiest substance known to man or beast, Humphrey again cried, “Load!” Matilda stuffed a new fuse into one end of the mortar and what appeared to be a pillow in the other.
“Fire!” cried Humphrey. Another terrible FOOM! split the night, and now the air was inexplicably filled with snow, fat white flakes that drifted gently down and covered the enemy.
But the snow was not snow. It was feathers.
And there they stood, a sticky packet of stoats/weasels, bonded together and frozen in place. Stuck fast, glued as one, treacled and feathered.84
Oh, such heartrending screams of distress as had never before been heard on the Riverbank. “Oh! Oh!” yelled the klumpf. And “Ow! Ow!” they cried, for nothing so upsets and pains a weasel as sticky fur. “We give! We give!”
“You said that before,” Toad reminded them. “Why should we believe you now?”
“’Cos we really means it this time, Mr. Toad. We’re awful sorry.”
They sobbed on and on, and cried copious floods of tears. So desperately downhearted were they, so wretchedly miserable, that even Toad, in all his injured pride, felt a wave of pity wash over him.
“All right,” said Badger. “That’s enough. But for your punishment, you’re going to have to stand there all night long. We’ll send up some soap and hot water in the morning.”
“Look,” said Mole, pointing to the sky as the balloon, now without cargo or pilot, floated serenely away.
“Drat,” said Toad. “Do you think we could—”
“No,” said Badger. “Now come on, you lot. Time for a cuppa.”
Our heroes repaired to the drawing room, and this time, the accolades were all for Humphrey, who had saved the day with his magnificent invention.
“My boy,” said Toad, “you are the true genius in the family. Fancy thinking of a thing like that, and under such perilous pressure, I might add. I’m proud of you.” He then spoke in a lowered voice. “I say, you wouldn’t teach me how to make one of those mortar things, would you?”
“No, Uncle Toad.”
Toad whispered, “Perhaps you’d leave me some of that powder when you go back to school?”
“No, Uncle Toad.”
“Not even a little bit?”
“No.”
“Toad,” snapped Badger, “whatever you’re whispering about, stop it. Give us our tea. We’re all parched.”
“Miss Matilda,” said Toad, “will you do the honors?”
Matilda poured the tea, all the while watched fondly by Ratty. Mole noted this, and saw how the one completed the other, and realized that what would be, would be.
Conversation gradually trailed away, and a contented silence fell over the room, unbroken except for the occasional pop from the fireplace.
On the roof above, the klumpf stood motionless through the night and had many long hours to think repentant thoughts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
How It All Turned Out
In which we come to the end of our tale, as we must.
Reader, you may ask at this point, What of our cast of characters? Well, because you have been steadfast and made it this far, I shall tell you.
The balloon was never seen again. Toad generously gave the reward to Humphrey and Sammy as promised, even though the manner of its return had not exactly gone as anticipated.
Humphrey returned to boarding school and excelled in science, especially in his physics class, where he was allowed—even encouraged—to build rockets and mortars and trebuchets.85 He came up with a new design for a potato cannon that markedly improved both accuracy and distance, thus establishing him as a favorite with his form mates. He extracted from his uncle a promise that he could spend the following summer at Toad Hall, with the stipulation that there would be no more swimming lessons.
Sammy would join Humphrey on the lawn when he was able to get away from minding his brothers and sisters, and together they built elaborate kites and paper airplanes, and even an ornithopter86 powered by a rubber band, which completely confounded the local birds, especially the know-it-all Swift.
For months, Toad did nothing more than potter about in the garden and conservatory. He took up orchid growing, he took up lawn bowls. He even tried to read a book. He really did try to live the quiet life, but of course it didn’t take, and he began to make secret inquiries about the requirements for a license to operate an airplane, taking great pains that Ratty and Mole not find out.87
Badger returned to his extensive warren and spent most of his days enjoying his own company. Every Sunday, the Rat and Mole appeared at his door for a cup of tea, and many an evening was spent telling and retelling the Skirmish of the Birthday Cake, along with the Battle of Treacle and Feathers, both of which gradually passed into legend.
Rat and Ma
tilda were married in style at Toad Hall, Toad giving the bride away and Mole serving as best man. After returning from their honeymoon, they set up housekeeping together, with Ratty pitching in to help with special bakery orders whenever he was needed. A few months later, Mole, now a regular visitor for supper, noticed that Matilda was gaining weight beneath her apron, which he chalked up to the occupational hazard of being a baker. Imagine his surprise when he visited a few days later, and there in seven tiny baskets lay seven tiny rats, each one named for a day of the week. Mole naturally felt a bit excluded at first, what with the new parents being so busy with their offspring. But then Ratty and Matty asked him to be godfather to their litter, an honor that overwhelmed the Mole, who took his duties very seriously. He shepherded the children to and from the River. He helped Ratty teach them to swim and row and fish; he kept them from tickling the dabbling ducks’ chins too unmercifully.
One afternoon, tiny Wednesday took him by the paw and said, “Uncle Mole, will you please read me a story? Please?”
“I certainly will,” said Mole. “What shall we read?” He ran his paw along the bookshelf. So many wonderful stories to choose from! He paused at the book about the girl falling down the rabbit hole; he considered the boy who was pursuing buried treasure; he lingered over the jungle boy raised by a great furry bear. Then he chose his favorite story of all: the story of a mole who, burdened with spring cleaning, throws his brush and whitewash pail aside, scrapes and scrabbles his way up to the meadow, and there meets a water rat, who introduces him to the joys of the River life.
“Look here,” he said to the baby. “Here’s my favorite. It’s about a couple of dear old friends and their sunny days together spent messing about in boats. Would you like to hear this one?”
“Yes, please,” said Wednesday. Mole sat in an overstuffed armchair and she curled up expectantly beside him. He opened the book to the first page and began to read, and knew his happiness to be complete.
THE END
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