Murmuring streamwater soon had them all lulled, with the exception of Martin and Folgrim, who sat, outwardly relaxed, but inwardly alert. Fading to glowing embers, the fire burnt down. Somewhere a nightjar called, and moonshadows cast soft patterns through lazy breeze-stirred foliage. Peace lay over the little island in midstream, awaiting the calm hours of dawn.
Day broke fine and clear, with a warm summer wind blowing easterly. Log a Log Furmo hopped aboard the raft, wetting a paw and holding it up. ‘Hoist that sail, mates, an’ ship the paddles. We’re on a good fast run t’the big sea!’
Picking up speed, the raft fairly zinged along the broad watercourse. With his bushy tail blowing forward over both ears, Chugger perched in the bows of a lead logboat, shouting aloud with exhilaration. ‘Whooooeeeeee! Us goin’ a sea!’
Dinny clung nervously to a stayrope, not too sure whether he was fond of the vessel’s wild ride downstream. ‘Hurr, zurr Log, bain’t us’n’s a-goin’ ee bit farst yurr?’
Log a Log laughed and performed a nimble jig round the edges of the logboats flanking the raft. ‘Fast, me liddle fat mate, fast? See the way those banks down yonder take a deep dip? When she ’its there you’ll know wot fast means!’
The mole shut his eyes tight, grabbing the stayrope tighter as Furmo gave it a mischievous twang. Folgrim and Trimp rescued Chugger from his precarious position and tied a line to his chubby middle, whereupon he promptly hopped back to his former position. Furmo began booming out a song in his wonderful bass voice.
‘You stay aft mate, I’ll stay fore,
Mind the rocks an’ watch the shore,
Like good shipmates you an’ me,
Roll down t’meet the sea!
Fast as fast as you can wish,
Through the waters like a fish,
Our ole craft do wend its way,
On this bright summer’s day!
Wid spray in yore face,
An’ a crackin’ pace,
An’ a runnin’ stream afore,
If y’never lack a wind at y’back,
Then who could ask for more!
Ooooooh rum a doodle aye doh
Go where I go
Rum a doodle aye doh follow me!’
The raft bucked sharply, entering a canyon of buffhued rock. Everybeast yelled and held on to something. Chugger was thrown into the water from his perilous perch. Trimp screamed in alarm, but Folgrim had a good grip on the line, and with a powerful heave he swung the little fellow back on board.
‘Up y’come, rascal. ‘Ere, Gonff, look wot I caught, a Chuggfish! Funny liddle critter, never seen one wid a tail that long!’
Shaking water from his ruffled fur, the baby squirrel drew himself imperiously to his full height. ‘I norra Chuggfish, h’i a likkle squiggle!’
White water boiled about the surface, whilst high banks narrowed and dipped sharply downwards. Furmo gave orders to stow the sail, and his Guosim shrews took up their positions at the logboats’ oars, keeping the vessel in midstream with strong skilful strokes. Soon they were all thoroughly drenched by spray and unable to hear each other talk because of the roaring waters. Log a Log and Martin with long poles sculled at the after end. The Warrior mouse noticed that the shrew Chieftain was no longer singing and smiling. Grim-faced and silent, he struggled to keep the raft on course.
Now the raft really began to buck, side to side and up and down, sometimes rearing high out of the stream and returning to hit the water with a resounding splash. Twice it was whirled completely round on the treacherous current, Martin and Furmo poling furiously to turn it. Trimp knew they were in trouble when Gonff pushed her and Chugger flat, shouting at them to hold tight. Gripping the tough vines that held their craft together, Trimp locked both footpaws around her little friend. Lifting her face, the hedgehog maid took a quick glance ahead. What she saw took her breath away.
A rainbow bridged either bank, shining through a misty curtain of cascading watermist. The raft rushed through it. Then there was nothing!
Martin heard himself yell with surprise as his pole snapped on a rock at the waterfall’s edge. The entire vessel, raft and logboats, sailed out into space. Log a Log’s voice cut across the sudden silence.
‘Hang on, maaaaaaaaaa tes!’
Then the thunderous roar of falling water took over. They were falling, down, down, with a view of beach and sea to the front and an awesome sheet of rushing water at their back. Gripping fiercely to anything within reach, the breath torn from their mouths, they plunged downwards, tilting as the raft went head first, for what seemed like an eternity. Down, down, down . . . Whooooooo m!
The broad surface of a pool at the bottom exploded with the impact. By its own momentum the vessel was plunged deep into the pool, breaking into pieces as it went.
Water rushed into Trimp’s mouth. Her eyes opened. Everything was cold, silent and vague. Half conscious, she stared about. Somewhere high above the water was billowing in thick white clouds, and she tried to fight down panic as she felt Chugger pawing feebly at her. They were both trapped under a log from the raft, which had become wedged in the rocks at the pool’s bottom. Then the little squirrel’s paws went limp. Panic surged through Trimp with the sudden realisation that both her and Chugger’s lives were going to end, trapped underwater and alone. Bubbles burst from her mouth as water flooded relentlessly in. Forgetting her plight for a moment, the hedgehog maid felt a tremendous wave of pity tug at her heart for Chugger. The little squirrel was still a baby. What a sad way for him to end a tragically short life. She reached down and held his paw, thinking that at least he would have her with him. Then the arrival of Folgrim jolted her failing senses.
Setting himself between the rocks he bent his body, levering outward with all four paws, veins standing out on his neck as he added the strength of his rudderlike tail and the back of his broad skull. Folgrim pushed until the scars on his face stood out like blue ropes. There was a grinding crunch, followed by a muffled clonking noise. The log floated upwards, free, the rocks trapping it having been forced apart by the otter’s wild strength. Folgrim seized Chugger by his tail and Trimp by one paw. Setting himself firm in the sand, he thrust mightily upward, tail and footpaws working in unison. In a stream of bubbles all three shot to the surface. Willing paws pulled them ashore.
Martin took a quick check of his crew. ‘Dinny, where’s Dinny?’
The words had hardly left his mouth before Folgrim plunged in again, streaking underwater like an arrow. White sand and shell fragments, together with weeds and grains of rock, clouded the bottom a pearly grey colour. Folgrim swam to an overturned logboat and wormed his way underneath. The otter’s head broke water in a small air pocket trapped in the upturned vessel, and Dinny’s head was facing him. The mole tugged his snout in polite relief. ‘Gudd day to ee, zurr. Oi ’oped sumbeast’d cumm afore ee air runned out in yurr. Oi doan’t moind tellin’ ee, oi’m gurtly affrighted o’ liven unnerwater. Us moles be loik that, ’appy unnerground, but sad unnerwater, ho urr!’
The otter showed his filed teeth in a smile. ‘Then shut yore eyes, ’old yore breath an’ ’ang on t’my paw, mister Din. Soon ’ave y’back on land, matey!’
Chugger shot fountains of water everywhere as he recovered. Trimp, who was no worse for her ordeal, sat watching Furmo anxiously. ‘Oh, say he’s going t’be all right, sir?’
Chuckling, the Guosim leader pressed gently on the little squirrel’s stomach and another jet of water arose. ‘This ’un’ll be fine, missie, don’t git yoreself in a fret. I seen shrewbabes swaller twice that amount – it never seemed to ’arm the liddle fellers a bit!’
Chugger opened one eye, his paw rising to point accusingly at Furmo. ‘You keep punchin’ Chugga’s tummy an’ I swirt water in you eye, sh’ew!’
Furmo held Chugger upside down and shook him thoroughly, letting the baby squirrel go as he snapped at his footpaws. ‘See, I told yer, miss, he’s stronger’n a growed eel!’
Dinny rolled himself into the warm sand until
he looked like a white moleghost. He went and sat by Martin, who shook his head and burst out laughing.
‘Have a rest, go to north shores, make it a holiday, take all summer! Some rest, eh, Din? Some holiday!’
Gonff dug a big raft splinter from his tail and sighed with relief. ‘Well, look at me, mates, I’m enjoyin’ meself no end. Only one thing missin’ though . . .’
Martin knew what was coming, so he interrupted Gonff. ‘Food! That’s what it is, isn’t it, you felonious famine-faced soup-stealer!’
Gonff picked his teeth nonchalantly with the splinter. ‘How’d you guess, noble britches? Ahoy there, Furmo, wot’s the position on vittles, matey?’
One of the Guosim cooks answered for his leader. ‘Flour’s ruined, fruit’s all right though, plenty o’ fresh water in that pool. Biscuits we baked this mornin’ are lost in the stream. I reckon we could stand a few fresh supplies of wotever the land has to offer ’ereabouts.’
Martin took charge, issuing orders. ‘Right, anybeast who feels up to it can forage for food. We’ll split up around these hills and dunes on the shoreline. Dinny, you stay here with miss Trimp and Chugger and take a rest. See what you can salvage from the wreckage.’
* * *
12
TRIMP WAS STILL feeling a bit sick and dizzy from her ordeal in the pool, but with Chugger about it was difficult to rest.
‘Chugger, come away from that water, it’s very deep!’
‘Ho, Chugg know it deep, I beena bottum of it!’
‘Yes, well that’s where you’ll find yourself again if you don’t come away. Come on, this instant!’
‘Yah, lea’ me alone, me an’ mista Din doin’ a job, see!’
The mole picked him up with one huge digging claw. ‘Oi can doo ee job on moi own thankee, maister. Naow, you’m do loik miz Trimp tell ee an’ no cheek frumm ee!’
A fox appeared as if from nowhere. Behind him were four roguish-looking vermin, an assortment of rats and ferrets.
The fox looked the wickedest of all five. He was obviously their leader, and wore big hooped brass earrings and tattered silks. Faded tattoos showed on the paw holding a sharp single-headed axe. He gestured at Chugger.
‘Haharr, young ’un, you lissen t’yore elders an’ don’t be cheekin’ ’em. Avast now, cullies, wot ’ave we ’ere?’
One of the vermin sniggered. ‘Dinner, that’s wot we got!’
Shaking his head in censure, the fox growled, ‘Stow that kind o’ gab, Fribb, these ’ere are gentlebeasts – a mite grubby, but respectable. Ain’t that right, missie?’
Trimp had decided instantly that she did not like the vermin, or their leader, but her voice showed no fear. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’
Strutting insolently about, the fox rummaged through the salvaged supplies with his axeblade. He chose an apple, polishing it on his ragged sleeve. ‘I could ask you the same question, me pretty.’
Trimp picked up a solid spar of raftwood. ‘I’m not your pretty, and ’tis usually considered good manners to ask before helping yourself to the food of others!’
Scornful sniggers echoed from the four vermin. Pausing with the apple halfway to his mouth, the fox grinned. ‘This ’un’s got me quakin’ in me boots, mates. Gut me, she’s a right mouthy liddle baggage, ain’t she?’
Trimp brandished her wooden spar, trembling slightly, but still game for trouble. ‘Aye, but you’ll find I can back up my words when dealing with bullies. Now who are you and what do you want here?’
Making as if to go, the fox sidled past Trimp. Suddenly he turned, knocking the spar from the hogmaid’s paw with a deft flick of his axeblade. Dinny went for him with a deep growl, but one of the vermin tripped him with a cutlass blade. He tried to rise, only to find another one menacing his throat with a pike. Biting into the apple, the fox pulled a face and spat the piece out. He held the axe under Trimp’s chin, his voice hard and commanding.
‘I’m Sholabar, lord of these coasts. See that boat out there? Well, ’tis mine. I patrols these waters an’—’
Trimp interrupted him sharply. ‘I don’t see any boat out there!’
Sholabar growled at one of the vermin. ‘Where did ye berth the boat, Grimleg?’
‘Be’ind the point, like y’told me to, cap’n.’
The fox shrugged. ‘Well, no matter. Point is, missie, yore on my land. All around ye, far as y’can see, belongs t’me. Even this freshwater pool. So yore a trespasser, see!’
Trimp pushed the axe away from her chin and laughed in the bully’s face contemptuously. ‘Haha! Don’t talk stupid, nobeast owns the shores and sea!’
Shaking with rage, Sholabar raised his axe at her. ‘Snotnosed liddle spikeback, I’ll skin yer alive!’
Chugger bounded forward and sank his teeth in the fox’s leg.
‘Yahowww! Leggo! Gerrim offa me! Yaaarrgh!’
The little fellow clung like a limpet, sinking his teeth deeper and growling fiercely. One of the vermin grabbed him by the tail. Trimp seized Sholabar’s paw, trying to stop him swinging the axe at Chugger. The fox roared, ‘Aaaargh! Stretch ’im out, Grimleg! Yaaaah! I’ll chop the liddle brat in two!’ He shook his arm, trying to loosen Trimp’s hold, while Chugger’s little teeth dug deeper and deeper. ‘Fribb, get this brat offa me! Eeeyarrr! He’s bitin’ me leg t’the bone! Owowow!’
Before the fox could issue another yell, Folgrim came hurtling out of nowhere and struck him like a thunderbolt. There was an ominous crack. The fox’s head went backward at a crazy angle under the force of the otter’s blow, and he fell slain upon the sand. Taking one swift look at Folgrim, the four vermin fled for their lives. Martin and Gonff were rounding the corner of a nearby dune, carrying wild onions and dandelion shoots, and two of the fleeing vermin ran straight into them. Gonff butted one in the stomach, laying him out, gasping for air. Martin tripped the other one and grabbed him hard by the scruff. The other two vermin ran the opposite way, only to find themselves surrounded by Guosim rapier points.
Hauling the four vermin roughly along, the foragers arrived back at the poolside. Martin had to place himself between the captives and the scar-faced otter, who was trying to get at them with the dead fox’s axe. Martin spoke calmingly to him. ‘No more slaying, friend, they’ve had enough. You four, sit down there and explain yourselves. What’s been going on here? The truth, now!’
Grimleg the ferret managed a good act, whining pitifully. ‘We’re nought but porebeasts, sir, we roams the sands, lookin’ fer vittles t’keep skin an’ bones together, sir. Woe is us, sir, we fell foul o’ this robber band. We begged ’em for food but they attacked us. That liddle ’un tried to eat our cap’n, er, Sholabar, an’ yon ’ogmaid was goin’ t’brain us wid a club. Sir, ’tis the truth I tell ye. See that savage riverdog? That ’un slew our mate Sholabar fer no reason at all, sir. An’ that mad mole ’ad a sword ’e was goin’ t’kill me wid!’ Grimleg picked up the cutlass he had dropped when he fled. ‘Aye, this is the very blade, I swears it on me mother’s eyes, sir. They’d ’ave murdered us if you ’adn’t arrived!’
Trimp noted Martin’s wink before he turned to her stem-eyed and demanded, ‘Is this true, did you attack these poor creatures? Speak!’
Trimp caught on immediately. Cringing and rubbing her paws nervously, she grovelled on the sand, performing a passable imitation of a vermin lying its way out of trouble.
‘Oh, ’tis true, yer honour, ’tis true, we ’ad a wicked upbringin’ y’see. But spare our lives an’ we’ll give up bad livin’, on me granma’s whiskers I swear we will. Kind sir, just let us sail off in our boat, that’s moored be’ind the south point, an’ you’ll never see ’ide nor ’air of us agin, on me oath!’
At the mention of a boat, Furmo exchanged glances with Martin. ‘So they’ve got a boat. What d’you think, matey?’
Surveying the wreckage of what had once been their vessel, Martin nodded, as if considering the matter. ‘Aye, it’d save us long days of walking, eh, Gonff?’
Gonff drew
his dagger and stood over the four vermin. ‘Fear not, friends, justice has come to yore aid. These ruffians, the hogmaid an’ her crew that attacked you so wickedly, here’s how we’ll deal with ’em. My friends an’ I will confiscate their boat an’ take them with us as deck slaves for punishment. That way they’ll bother honest creatures like yoreselves no more. What d’ye say to that?’
Grimleg and his vermin companions were nonplussed. In one fell swoop they had been foiled of their prey, lost their boat and also their captain to boot. The ferret was about to object when Furmo drew his rapier and stood facing him, cold-eyed. His voice, when he spoke, was like ice.
‘I’d say ’twas a good idea. These honest beasts should make no objection, as long as the tale they told us is true. ’Cos I can’t abide a liar, y’see! Liars is worse than thieves or murderers, I always say. Show me a liar an’ I’ll silence his untruthful tongue for ever. Gurr! I can’t stand liars!’
Gonff placed his paw on Furmo’s rapier hilt. ‘Put up yore blade, matey, these are honest creatures!’ Grimleg and his vermin nodded furiously, trying hard to look poor but honest. Gonff pointed an accusing paw at Trimp and her friends. ‘Now this lot, they’re a different kettle o’ fish. They’ve got the look o’ savage murderin’ villains t’me!’
Folgrim narrowed his one eye and squinted wickedly. ‘Aye, I’m a bad lot, allus ’ave been. Ain’t ’appy ’less I’m slayin’ pore honest beasts wid me axe.’
Chugger bared his teeth and emitted a small growl. ‘Ho, we’s villings sure nuff, choppa tail off an’ cutcha froats us will. Gurrr!’
Dinny squinched up his snout and made evil gestures with his digging claws at all and sundry. ‘Burr aye, an’ stuffen ee tails up’n ee noses. Gurrurr!’
Trimp kicked sand at the seated vermin. ‘Hah! Gimme a sharp blade an’ a cookin’ pot, an’ I’ll show ye what I do to pore honest beasts. Yarrrrr!’
Gonff gave a shudder of mock horror. ‘Enough o’ that foul talk, ye blaggards! Off t’the boat with you an’ keep a bridle on those wicked tongues!’