by Emily Rodda
Leo couldn’t hear any difference in the sound of the stream. But it seemed to him that the tapping noise was a little louder, and he could suddenly smell something that made his nose twitch. There was a faint trace of smoke in the air.
‘Maybe we’d better turn back,’ he said uneasily. Smoke meant people – maybe the very people they wanted to avoid.
At that moment, Bertha rounded a bend and stopped. Snorting in disgust, she sat down heavily in the middle of the track.
‘This isn’t right,’ she said, as Leo and Mimi caught up with her. ‘It’s a dead end!’
Sure enough, not far ahead, the path ended at a smooth green clearing in which stood a small cottage with a thatched roof. A thin trail of smoke drifted from the cottage’s chimney. Red roses twined around its green-painted door.
Leo stared, a cold trickle of dread running down his spine.
He knew this place.
Like someone who was sleepwalking, he began to move towards the clearing. With every step, a hand seemed to squeeze harder on his heart.
The scene in the clearing had changed since he’d gazed at it through his magnifying glass. Petals had fallen from the roses, to lie like spatters of bright blood on the ground. The grass at the side of the house was deeply scored with the marks of running feet, and covered with leaves and twigs. The tartan rug lay in a crumpled heap beneath the old apple tree.
And there was no one to be seen. No smiling mother. No laughing father. No baby.
No baby …
Leo’s mouth went dry. His eyes moved to the bushes that edged the clearing. It seemed so long ago that he’d seen the shaggy body of the wolf crouching there, perfectly camouflaged in the shadows.
But it wasn’t long ago at all, really. It was just that so much had happened to him since he’d seen the wolf’s hungry yellow eyes, and the glint of its white fangs. He shivered.
Nothing might have happened, he told himself. And even if it has, I couldn’t have done anything to stop it.
Then a horrible thought came to him. Not long after he’d seen the wolf, he’d arrived in Rondo. He could have sent a mouse to this cottage, with a message. He could have asked Conker to do it. Conker couldn’t have refused.
But he’d forgotten all about the baby and the wolf. Too busy with his own troubles, he’d completely forgotten …
‘Where are you going?’ Bertha called shrilly after him. ‘Come back at once! I insist you take me to the Gap, as you promised! Right now!’
Leo clenched his fists. Don’t lose your temper, he told himself. Don’t take your feelings out on Bertha. It’s not her fault. She doesn’t know …
Mimi ran up behind him, and started tugging at his arm. ‘Come on, Leo!’ she said impatiently. ‘We’ve got to go back to the road. We’re wasting time. And Bertha’s getting really mad. She’ll start yelling soon.’
Leo hesitated, wetting his lips. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about the wolf.
‘The people in that house might know where the Gap is,’ he heard himself saying. ‘I’ll go and ask them.’
I have to know. I have to know if …
He shook off Mimi’s hand and began walking again. He heard her run back to Bertha to explain, and Bertha groaning and complaining in response.
His heart was in his mouth as he reached the end of the path and stepped onto the grass at the edge of the clearing. He jumped as the tapping noise came again from somewhere near. Then, as he could still see no sign of movement, he stole forward.
He crept around to the side of the cottage, screwing up his courage to call out. He rounded the corner, and got a clear view of the apple tree for the first time.
Something was hanging from the tree’s lowest branch. As Leo moved closer, he realised that it was a large basket. And inside the basket, wrapped in a furry grey rug, was the baby, fast asleep.
Dizzy with relief, Leo drew a deep, trembling breath.
The cradle swayed gently as the old tree’s branches stirred in the breeze. The baby slept peacefully on.
It’s all right, Leo told himself, turning away, hardly able to believe it. The fallen rose petals, the marks on the grass, are just quake damage. It’s all –
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of movement. He spun around, saw a blur of grey, saw snarling jaws and burning yellow eyes – saw the wolf, huge and shaggy, burst out of cover at the edge of the clearing and leap for the apple tree.
Without a thought, Leo threw himself at the cradle, wrapping his arms around it, covering the baby with his own body. There was no time for anything else. No time to snatch the baby up and run. The wolf was already upon them.
The beast’s ferocious snarls filled his ears. Its hot, panting breath was searing the back of his neck. He yelled in terror. The baby moved and wailed beneath him. Someone was screaming. A man was shouting …
Then there was the sound of thundering feet, a harsh, blood-curdling squeal, a tremendous thump and a high, wailing yelp.
And the snarling, the hot breath … the wolf itself … were gone.
Dazed, Leo looked up. The first thing he saw was the wood-cutter, familiar in his red-checked shirt and padded vest, running from behind the cottage with a hammer in his hand.
Then he saw the wolf. It was writhing on the grass. Above it loomed a huge pink figure – Bertha, transformed, her flowered hat hanging disregarded behind her ears, her tiny eyes flashing, her blunt teeth bared. As Leo watched, astounded, Bertha lunged forward, butting the fallen wolf savagely, trying to trample it. The wolf howled, scrabbled violently, and at last managed to get to its feet.
It ran for its life, whimpering, its tail between its legs. Bertha pounded after it, squealing savagely. Pale and sweating, the woodcutter ran after them both.
‘Rosebud! Oh, Rosebud!’ Someone grabbed Leo’s shoulders and pulled him away from the cradle. He scrambled aside as the baby’s weeping mother snatched up her child and held her close.
‘You saved her,’ the young woman sobbed, her voice half muffled in the baby’s fluffy blanket. ‘Oh, bless you! Oh, how can we ever thank you? I was only away for a minute – just to check on Grandma. The quake upset her so. But I shouldn’t have left Rosebud. I shouldn’t! She could have – she could have been – Oh, Rosebud!’
‘Leo, are you okay?’
Leo looked around blankly and saw that Mimi was beside him, looking up at him with a strange, scared expression on her face. He nodded and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his trembling hand.
‘I can’t believe you did that,’ Mimi said in a low voice. ‘I’ve never seen anything so incredibly brave.’
‘I told you there was a wolf in the bushes,’ Leo said. It was all he could think of to say.
At that moment, the woodcutter came crashing back into the clearing, with Bertha trotting behind him.
‘Jim!’ cried the woman.
‘Polly! Is she all right?’ the man shouted, running over to his wife and child. Seeing that all was well, he gave a moan of relief and swept them both into his arms.
Bertha strolled up to Mimi and Leo, looking very pleased with herself.
‘The beast jumped the stream and got away,’ she said, yawning. ‘I doubt it will come back. Wolves who tangle with me usually don’t.’
‘Bertha, you were amazing,’ Mimi exclaimed. ‘You and Leo were both –’
Bertha nodded complacently. ‘I am amazing, it’s true,’ she said. ‘Could I trouble you to replace my hat? The sun is quite warm, and I have to take care of my complexion, you know.’
‘What’s all this rumpus?’ called a quavering voice. ‘Polly! Jim! Who are all these strangers? I’m waiting for my tea!’
Leo looked around. Standing at the side door of the cottage, leaning heavily on a stick, was a very thin, very old woman in a frilly white cap. A red fox sat beside her on the doorstep, its ears pricked alertly.
‘Grandma!’ Polly cried, turning tearfully in her husband’s arms. ‘The wolf was here! It trie
d to –’
‘What?’ The old woman banged her stick furiously on the doorstep, narrowly missing the tip of the fox’s bushy tail. ‘That beast is skulking around again? That’s the third time this year! Doesn’t it ever give up?’
‘We think it has now,’ laughed Jim the woodcutter, in high good humour. ‘Go back to the fire, now, Grandma, and keep warm. We’ll come in and tell you all about it.’
‘Come in? I should think so!’ quavered the old woman. ‘I don’t know what you two are thinking of, lollygagging out there with that precious child, and a bunch of strangers, and a pig, of all things, while the wolf’s on the prowl.’
She turned and hobbled rapidly inside.
‘The wolf’s gone!’ Bertha shouted after her, highly insulted. ‘Thanks to me, I might add!’
‘Bertha is old Macdonald’s watch-pig, Polly,’ Jim said hastily. ‘I’ve seen her often at the farm. We were very lucky that she happened along just at the right moment, weren’t we?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Polly said, smiling anxiously at Bertha. ‘Please excuse my grandmother. She once had a very bad experience with that wolf.’
‘Who hasn’t had bad experiences with wolves?’ Bertha demanded huffily. ‘When I was young – that is, younger than I am now, which is very young indeed – a wolf who wanted to eat me actually blew down my house!’
‘Blew down your house!’ repeated Polly, aghast, glancing over her shoulder at her own cosy little cottage.
‘Every last bit of it,’ said Bertha, obviously pleased at the sensation her story had caused. ‘That wolf had quite exceptional lungs. I managed to get away from him, but then, well, I had nowhere to live, did I? So I had to go and stay with my older brother.’
She sighed. ‘It was very good of him to have me, and all that, but he’s such a stick-in-the-mud that I nearly went out of my mind! Darts every Thursday night, without fail. Washing-up done just so, after every single meal. A huge fuss if there was as much as a snout hair left in the bath …’
She closed her eyes, shuddering at the memory. ‘And then our other brother, the middle one, came to live with us too, and that was the last straw,’ she said. ‘He and I had to share a room and his snoring was indescribable!’
‘Is that why you went to work for Farmer Macdonald?’ Mimi asked with interest.
‘Certainly,’ said Bertha, tossing her head. ‘I did a course in unarmed wolf-fighting – graduated third in my class against very strong competition, as a matter of fact – and off I went. My older brother said I’d never make it as a watch-pig. He said I was too frivolous. But I proved him wrong, my word I did! Farmer Macdonald thinks the world of me.’
At the mention of Farmer Macdonald’s name, she became rather wistful. ‘I do – rather – like the farm, you know,’ she said, her voice trembling slightly. ‘Macdonald isn’t a bad old stick, really, and I don’t know what he’s going to do without me. Perhaps I was too hasty, running away like that.’
‘Maybe you were,’ Leo agreed quickly. ‘It’s a very nice farm. And you had a really responsible job there, too.’
Bertha nodded, and flicked back her hat ribbons. ‘If only Macdonald didn’t have this obsession with dots!’ she complained. ‘I really do draw the line at chasing dots. They’re so small. And they won’t stand and fight. They run away, and hide, and poke out their tongues at you. Dealing with them is so degrading!’
‘You should tell Macdonald to get a fox,’ said Jim. ‘Foxes are the only thing to keep dots down. Have you noticed any dots around here?’
‘Why, no!’ Bertha replied. Her eyes brightened. ‘Is that because –?’
‘Because of Rufus, yes,’ Jim said, jerking his head at the fox. ‘Dots are dead scared of him. They know he’s too smart for them.’
Rufus grinned wickedly, his long pink tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.
Bertha’s brow wrinkled.
‘Not that you aren’t clever, Bertha,’ Polly put in hastily. ‘But you’re a wolf-fighter, aren’t you? You can’t be expected to waste time thinking up ways to outwit dots!’
‘Quite,’ said Bertha. Her stomach rumbled loudly. ‘Pardon,’ she said, patting it delicately. ‘Being heroic, and saving babies and so on, always makes me a little peckish.’ She cast a meaningful glance at the cottage door. ‘A hot drink wouldn’t go astray either,’ she added.
‘Oh, of course!’ Polly exclaimed. ‘You must be starving! And Grandma’s waiting, too. Let’s go inside straight away. I’ll put on the kettle, and we’ll all have tea.’
Chapter 18
The Pom-Pom Polka
Some time later, Leo and Mimi were full to the brim with tea, toast and little golden cakes, and Bertha was lying fast asleep in front of the fire, having eaten more than both of them put together. The tale of Leo’s brave deed, and Bertha’s heroic battle with the wolf, had been told in every detail. Rosebud had been admired and played with by everyone. Blue butterflies were coming to rest on the cottage windowpanes. And long, dark shadows were stealing over the grass of the clearing.
Leo’s head kept drooping. Mimi was yawning and rubbing her eyes. Leo saw Polly glancing at them in surprise and smiled weakly. ‘We’ve had a busy day,’ he said, thinking that this was far truer than Polly could possibly realise.
‘You’d be more than welcome to stay the night,’ Jim said heartily. ‘We haven’t got a spare bedroom, but we could make up beds for you here, in front of the fire. You’d be snug as bugs in rugs. That is, if you don’t have to go straight home.’
Leo hesitated, exchanging looks with Mimi. She nodded reluctantly. Desperate to reach the castle as she was, she knew they couldn’t travel through the night – especially with Conker, Freda and Tye on the prowl.
‘We’re a long way from home, actually,’ he said. ‘We’d be very glad to stay, if that’s really all right.’
Polly smiled. ‘We’d love to have you,’ she said warmly. ‘I’ll just send a mouse to your parents so they won’t worry, and –’
‘Oh! No!’ Mimi and Leo broke in together.
Polly looked confused, then a little alarmed.
‘It’s fine, Polly,’ Mimi said hastily. ‘It really is. Leo and I are on our own at the moment, you see. We’re – travelling. Seeing the world.’
‘Really?’ said Polly. ‘Travelling Rondo – alone? But you’re so young!’
‘Oh, ppff! Stop fussing, Polly,’ Grandma muttered. ‘In my day, young people were always going off seeking their fortunes. Happened all the time! Why, Jim did it himself, when he wasn’t much older than these two.’ She scowled. ‘Mind you, he’d have done much better to stay at home. I don’t know what he thought he was playing at, going off to town, working in that sinful tavern, mixing with all sorts of–’
Jim shook his head, smiling wryly.
‘Oh, leave Jim alone, Grandma,’ Polly scolded, rising instantly to her husband’s defence. ‘I’m glad he went away, and you should be too. If he hadn’t gone, he’d have been at home when – when it happened – and we’d have lost him as well …’
Her voice trailed off, and suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. She jumped up, murmured something about putting Rosebud to bed, and ran from the room. Frowning in concern, Jim heaved himself up from his own chair, and followed her.
‘Hmmph!’ said Grandma. But her old eyes were filled with regret.
There was a long, awkward silence. The fire crackled. Bertha snored gently. The fox blinked his golden eyes.
Mimi and Leo glanced at one another bleakly. This cottage had seemed such a haven of peace and happiness, but clearly it hadn’t always been so. Something very bad had happened to this family, and the memory of it was still fresh.
The silence went on. Unable to sit still any longer, Mimi stood up and began restlessly prowling the room. Leo sat stiffly, feeling like an intruder, trying to think of something to say to relieve the tense atmosphere.
‘Who plays this?’ Mimi’s voice was sharp with interest. Leo twisted in his chair and saw that she w
as standing by a shelf, pointing to a shabby old violin case.
Oh, no, not now, Mimi, he thought. Now isn’t the time …
The old woman by the fire looked up slowly. ‘No one plays that fiddle now,’ she said flatly. ‘No one’s played it since my Charlie died.’ The corners of her mouth turned down.
This is getting worse and worse, Leo thought desperately. Maybe we should leave. Maybe I should just get up, say we’ve changed our minds and –
‘Would you mind if I looked at it?’ Mimi asked, staring greedily at the violin case.
The old woman shrugged.
Taking this as permission, Mimi flipped open the catches of the violin case, opened the lid and stared for a moment at the instrument inside.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ she said in an awed voice. ‘Could I … just hold it for a minute?’
‘You play a bit, do you?’ Grandma asked, with a grim sort of smile.
‘Yes,’ murmured Mimi, her eyes feasting on the gleaming violin.
‘Well, go ahead then,’ Grandma said. ‘But don’t you drop it.’
Reverently, Mimi lifted the violin from its case. She plucked the strings experimentally. Then she lifted out the bow, tucked the violin expertly under her chin, and began to tune it, drawing the bow across the strings, then adjusting the pegs at the top of the fingerboard.
Bertha frowned and smacked her lips in her sleep.
‘Knows a bit about it, doesn’t she?’ Grandma asked Leo in a low voice, looking at Mimi.
He nodded.
‘Thought so,’ Grandma said. ‘Charlie always used to warm up that way. Awful racket, isn’t it?’
‘Was Charlie your husband?’ Leo asked, wanting to keep the conversation going.
To his enormous surprise, the old woman burst into loud cackles of laughter. ‘Husband?’ she gasped, slapping her knee. ‘That’s a good one! Arthur wouldn’t have known one end of a fiddle from the other. No, no, no, boy. Charlie was my cat!’