The Golden Flight (The Dorset Squirrels) Page 5

  The Reds, as they always had, still used a drey for each of their families on Steepbank near the Blue Pool.

  The next morning, to Meadowsweet’s surprise, the Three Lords did come back to the class, taking their places quietly among the other Greys.

  She asked for a volunteer to retell the story of Zander the Great and the Gaudian Knot and she was flattered when Lord Malachite recited almost word for word what she had said the day before.

  She thanked him, and Rowan was about to move on to the Action Kernel when there was a disturbance in the tree tops and Sitka, Hickory’s assistant, leapt into their tree.

  ‘There’s a new Great Lord Silver at Woburn,’ he announced breathlessly. ‘A batch of colonists have just arrived and told me all about it. A Grey from a place called Seven Oaks arrived at the Oval Drey at dawn with a band of supporters, and challenged the Great Lord Silver to fight for his position. The challenger didn’t even wait for a reply; just pitched straight in and had Redwood’s tail off before he was fully awake, but they say he’s quite an old squirrel himself and may not last for long.’

  There was a murmur of excitement from the class. Each knew that a change of occupant at the Oval Drey meant a change of policy. At least Redwood’s had been benign. What changes would this new leader bring?

  ‘What’s the name of the new Great Lord?’ Hickory asked Sitka.

  ‘Monterey,’ said Sitka. ‘By all accounts his views are very different to Redwood’s. Some are saying that he doesn’t believe in the Learn from the Natives policy. It might be back to the Take and Hold philosophy again.’

  Rowan moved closer to Meadowsweet and put a paw on her shoulder.

  ‘The class is dismissed for the day,’ he announced and, looking frequently over his shoulder, he led Meadowsweet away to find their daughter, Bluebell, and the ex-zervantz and their two daughters, Rosebay and Willowherb. They found then replacing the moss used for the linings of their dreys in the tree they all shared on Steepbank, next to the Blue Pool.

  ‘We have a new challenge,’ Rowan said and went on to tell what he had just heard, and explain its significance.

  ‘I think we would be wise to slip away and try to get back to Ourland somehow. Before we’re missed. You can’t trust these Greys when there’s instability at their Headquarters.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like my Rowan the Bold,’ said Meadowsweet. ‘I’ve never known you to ‘slip away’, as you put it. Are we just going to abandon all the good work we’ve put in there? If we’ve done a worthwhile job the Greys won’t harm us; we’ve taught them most of the Kernels.’

  Rowan looked ashamed. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I panicked – not like me – sorry.’

  ‘What should we do then?’ asked Spindle, hoping for firm leadership from his hero, Rowan.

  ‘I’ll go and talk to these new colonists – find out all I can.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ said Spindle.

  Rowan turned to Meadowsweet. ‘Go down to the Little Pool, all of you. Stay out of sight. We’ll be back by High-sun.’

  High-sun passed and Rowan and Spindle did not return. The females waited through the long afternoon, their concern growing as the shadows of the trees grew longer.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘I think we should pray,’ said Meadowsweet as the sun dipped below the horizon and there was still no sign of Rowan and Spindle.

  The five squirrels bowed their heads and followed Meadowsweet as she said.

  Oh great loving Sun

  We are in need of guidance

  Please enlighten us.

  They sat as though expecting something to happen immediately.

  ‘We will have to wait until morning.’ Meadowsweet said brightly. ‘We mustn’t worry. Several of the Greys are friends and Rowan is good at overcoming challenges.’

  She had herself taught Leadership Kernels to the Greys, but had never imagined herself in this situation.

  When the cones are down

  Even if you doubt yourself

  Hide all your concerns.

  The squirrels crouched together on a branch. It was a warm and slightly moist night, typical of early August. Each dozed a little but they were uneasy, listening hopefully for the sound of Rowan and Spindle’s return, but also fearing the approach of danger in the darkness.

  ‘What’s that?’ whispered Bluebell.

  ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ Meadowsweet replied.

  ‘No. Over there – what is it?’

  Meadowsweet sensed the direction her daughter was facing and peered into the darkness. On the far side of the Little Pool something was glowing greeny-white in the darkness.

  All of them were alert and apprehensive now, and each could see the mysterious light. They watched it, all the while whispering to each other, but it did not move nor seem to threaten them in any way. As long as it stayed on the ground on the far side of the pool they knew it was safest to stay where they were until daybreak.

  Dawn came with a light mist obscuring the sun and Meadowsweet was thinking of a break-fast meal when she heard a rustling of pine needles in the next tree.

  ‘Rowan?’ she called tentatively.

  ‘No, it’s me – Hickory.’ A grey face with rounded ears peered out of the foliage.

  ‘Where are Rowan and Spindle?’ Meadowsweet asked, the other females all sitting up in a row on the branch beside her.

  Hickory leapt across to their tree and looked behind him before speaking.

  ‘They’re being held while it is decided what to do with them. I don’t think they’re in danger at present. They are under guard in the Warren Ash.’

  Meadowsweet knew the Warren Ash tree. It was the over-mature ash tree in the North-east Wood, so named because it grew out of a sandy bank riddled with rabbit holes, which, since the Rabbit Plague, were now deserted and empty. There was a squirrel-sized hole in the trunk of the ash tree which the Reds had used as a weather-proof storage chamber in the past and as a refuge in the Great Storm of that spring.

  Greys had enlarged the hole to allow their bigger bodies to squeeze through when they had pillaged all the Reds’ reserves in the days of Crag the Temple Master. The large cavity inside was floored with powered punkwood which filled the trunk to a couple of tail-lengths below the entrance.

  ‘I must go now, or I’ll be missed.’ Hickory said. ‘If I learn anything more I’ll try to get away and tell you. Trust in the Sun.’

  So Hickory has become a Sun-squirrel like us, Meadowsweet thought. I can believe what he says.

  ‘Thank you,’ she called after him. ‘The Sun be with you.’ Then turning to her companions she said. ‘Who’s coming with us to see what was making the light we saw in the night?’

  They all circled the Little Pool, keeping together in the treetops until they were above the place where they agreed they had seen the mysterious glow.

  ‘There’s nothing here but a rotten log.’

  Wood Anemone had climbed down to investigate. She poked at the soft fibres, damp from the mist. They smelt mouldy and particles came away on her paw. She rubbed it against her belly fur and then tried to brush off the crumbs of wood that stuck there.

  ‘Come on up,’ Meadowsweet called to her, ‘we’ll go and see if we can contact Rowan and Spindle. Move quietly now.’

  ‘Kill them both,’ said Lord Malachite. ‘Natives are just a nuisance. The only good native is a dead one!’

  ‘There can’t be many Reds left now,’ said Lord Silica. ‘It’d be a pity to kill them all. Perhaps we could make a reserve for them to live in. Our youngsters could go and look at them and know what New America was like before we came.’

  ‘They’d only breed and then we’d have the same problem again.’

  ‘We don’t know yet what the new Great Lord Silver’s attitude to natives is,’ Lord Obsidian said. ‘I think we should keep them under guard until we know that. We’d better capture the females.’ He turned to Sitka. ‘How many of these are there?’

  Sitka hesitated fo
r a moment, then replied, ‘Five. There’s Rowan’s mate, Meadowsweet, and their daughter, Bluebell; and Spindle’s mate Wood Anemone, and their two daughters, Rosebay and Willowherb. Those two are identical – I can never tell which is which.’

  ‘All natives look the same to me,’ said Malachite. ‘Useless creatures the lot of them.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ said Hickory, whose absence and return had been unobserved. ‘You can’t make broad-leaved statements like that. The ones I know are honourable and decent. They should be judged by their standards, not ours.

  So you’re a native-lover are you? sneered Malachite.

  ‘I’m just trying to be fair, but I agree with Lord Obsidian. We should keep the red males secure while we learn what Woburn’s views are. The females are not likely to go far away while we are holding their males.’

  Malachite was thinking how exciting it would be when he was the Great Lord Silver, with the whole of Grey-Squirreldom in New America waiting on his pleasure and responding to his every whim. Young Grey males were taught that the position was attainable by any one of them.

  ‘Anyone know where the females are?’ Lord Obsidian asked.

  The Greys shook their heads, expect Hickory who was scratching and biting at some irritation on his back, his face buried in his fur.

  The females, moving cautiously in a single file led by Meadowsweet, were nearing the Warren Ash. They made a pretty sight as they moved through the treetops. A weak sun was just breaking through the mist, lighting up their glossy fur. Each squirrel was well groomed and tidy, though none were as fanatical as Rowan’s mother, Fern the Fussy, had been. Their tails were clear of tangles and their claws neat and clean. There was just a suspicion of the ear tufts that made the Reds so distinctive in winter.

  ‘If you see any Greys – freeze,’ Meadowsweet whispered.

  When they were in view of the Warren Ash they stopped and watched. Two Greys who they did not recognise were on guard, one on either side of the hole which showed up clearly where squirrel’s teeth had over many years, worked to keep the bark from growing and closing it.

  Meadowsweet quoted the Reconnaissance Kernel:

  In a strange country,

  Be careful. Time spent looking

  Is seldom wasted.

  They crouched and observed, unnoticed by the guards. Soon two other Greys came and relieved these. Both of the new guards stayed near the entrance hole.

  ‘Does anyone know if there are any other openings in the tree?’ Meadowsweet asked hopefully.

  ‘There izn’t any otherz,’ Wood Anemone whispered back. ‘Uz knowz that tree well. Uz uzed to keep uz nutz there wuntz.’

  Meadowsweet was looking at the many big holes in the ground around the base of the tree, remembering when she and her parents had lived in rabbit holes three summers before. ‘Follow me,’ she said, ‘quietly.’

  They approached the warren from the side away from the guards and slipped unseen into the first entrance they came to. It seemed very dark inside, then as their eyes became accustomed to the dim light they were able to look around. Meadowsweet was especially interested in the roots which showed through the roofs of the tunnels.

  ‘Most hollow trees are hollow right to the ground,’ she told her companions. ‘If this one is, then we may be able to dig up through the soil from below.’

  ‘Thiz wun isn’t.’ said Wood Anemone. It’z vull of punkwood.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s soft, we can dig through that easily.’ Then looking at Wood Anemone, she said, ‘What’s that on your belly?’

  They all looked. Her belly fur and right paw were glowing in the darkness,

  ‘It muzd be zum of that rotten wood uz all zaw lazd night. Uz muzd have got zum on uz fur.’ She brushed it violently.

  ‘Wait,’ Meadowsweet told her. ‘The Sun has heard our prayer. We asked to be enlightened, it looks as if you have been. Come with me, all of you.’

  An hour later they were back, travelling on the ground, avoiding the human visitors near the pool and each bringing as much of the damp rotten wood as they could carry. Inside the warren they made a heap which glowed brightly, giving off enough light to show their faces clearly.

  ‘We may take some time to complete the rescue,’ Meadowsweet said. ‘Wood Anemone, will you take Rosebay and Willowherb and collect all the food you can carry and bring it in here. Watch out for Greys. Bluebell and I will try and see if we can follow the roots back to the tree.

  Each squirrel is free

  To choose its own root through Life

  Guided by Kernels.

  It gives a whole new meaning to that.’

  Meadowsweet heard the others chuckling and saw Rosebay nudge Willowherb. Two jokes in as many hours; she had never been known to tell even one. The twins followed their mother out into the open, still smiling.

  Bluebell took a large piece of rotten wood and held the glowing mass up near the tunnel roof. She could clearly see the roots and tried to judge which was the thicker end. Mother and daughter followed the twisting tunnels, stopping frequently to study the root shapes.

  ‘Meadowsweet-Ma,’ Bluebell said suddenly, ‘how will we find our way back?’

  Meadowsweet stepped to one side and Bluebell could see her smiling over the bundle of rotten wood she was holding. Back down the passage in the darkness that they had just followed, a line of glowing dots shone in the darkness. Meadowsweet broke off another piece and dropped it on the floor of the tunnel.

  ‘I think the roots are getting smaller again,’ Bluebell said. ‘We must have passed under the tree.’

  They circled round and round in various tunnels until they were sure that they were at the most likely place. Meadowsweet reached up and scratched at the roof. A shower of dry soil and powdered wood enveloped her.

  ‘This is it,’ she said. ‘We’ll leave a marker here and get the others.’

  They laid out the shape of one of Marguerite’s s on the ground with the last of the wood they had carried with them, and followed the glowing fragments back to the entrance. The other three had already returned with food which they shared out and ate. Each squirrel then took a piece of shining wood and followed the markers to where the indicated the centre of the tree trunk above them. Meadowsweet reached up and scrabbled some of the punkwood down into the tunnel. The fine dry dust enveloped them and they coughed as it filled their throats and lungs. It was dry and bitter on their tongues.

  Taking it in turns, they pulled more and more of the powdery punkwood down into the tunnel, the others pushing and carrying it away into side passages.

  ‘If the rabbits ever come back, they won’t be very pleased,’ Bluebell said.

  ‘Never mind the rabbits, it’s Rowan and Spindle who are important today – keep digging.’ Meadowsweet told her.

  The squirrels were covered in fine dust and particles of the incandescent wood. They all glowed as they dug upwards, the glowing particles giving off just enough light to see by.

  Meadowsweet looked up to where she imaged the Sun to be and breathed a heartfelt ‘Thank you’, totally unaware that the sun was on the other side of the world and it was now completely dark outside.

  Above them Rowan shook Spindle awake.

  ‘I’m going to see if the guards are still there,’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes, be careful,’ Spindle responded, needlessly.

  Rowan had looked out once during the day, only to have had his face savagely slashed by a grey paw.

  He climbed up from the soft punkwood floor and reached a tentative paw out of the hole. It touched fur, and teeth nipped it hard. Rowan withdrew his paw, trying not to cry out. He dropped back down to the bottom of the hollow and licked away the blood. It was salty on his tongue and he felt thirsty.

  Spindle was scratching in the darkness.

  ‘Do yew think uz could tunnel out? Uz don’t remember a hole lower down in thiz tree but anything iz better than zitting here doing nothing.’

  ‘There isn’t another hole. I know th
is tree well,’ Rowan replied, then regretted saying it. Here was an ex-zervant showing initiative and he, Rowan the so-called Bold, was pouring cold water on the idea.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, ‘anything’s better than just sitting here. There may be a hole we don’t know about.’ He started to dig.

  At first it was easy. Under the top layer of finely powdered wood was a layer of empty hazel-nut shells and a few dry leaves which crackled as they moved them.

  ‘Quiet, hissed Rowan. ‘We don’t want to alert the guards.

  As the hole they were digging got deeper, their challenge was how to dispose of the debris. They piled it around the sides of the chamber but soon the debris started to trickle down on them and they had to lift it out again. Eventually a pile of fine powder poured down on to Spindle and buried him. He wriggled up, coughing and spluttering. Then all the stacked punkwood slid down into the hole and filled it. Rowan and Spindle climbed up to the inside of the entrance hole and hung there precariously, hoping to find clearer air.

  ‘What are you two doing?’ a gruff voice called from outside.

  Below them, the females were making better progress, gravity being on their side. There were frequent cascades of powdered wood, mixed with the scales and dried remains of insects and the occasional leaf or nut-shell. The glow from the particles of rotten wood on their fur allowed them to see what they were doing and avoid the worst of the dust-falls. Even so they were tiring and the rate at which they were moving the rubbish away was slowing noticeably.