However, he spoke too soon. The sentry coming in the opposite direction heard the otter as he marched by. Thrusting into the shadows with his spear, he called for assistance to the weasel who had just passed that way.
‘Hoi, Skel, back ’ere, quick!’
Stiffener heard a note of uncertainty in the guard’s voice as he shouted round the spur at them: ‘I knows yer in there. Come out now an’ show yerselves. Skel, will you ’urry up? I got prisoners cornered ’ere!’
Stiffener came out at top speed, bounding and leaping. He caught the nervous guard unawares and floored him with a massive uppercut. Flinging aside his cloak, the hare grabbed the fallen guard’s helmet, shield and spear. Clapping the helmet on, he held the shield high, masking his face, beckoning Brogalaw and Rulango to step out, as if he had captured them.
Rather slow and cautious, the weasel sentry appeared out of the darkness, and approached Stiffener warily. ‘Where’d ye find these two, Reggo?’
Stiffener pointed round the darkened spur with his spear. ‘In there!’ he muttered gruffly.
The weasel edged forward and peered round. He saw his companion lying sprawled on the ground and turned quickly. ‘You ain’t Regg — unh!’
Stiffener’s oaken spear butt rapped him sharply between the eyes and he dropped without a sound. Brogalaw and Rulango dragged the two unconscious guards into the bushes.
The otter Skipper began looping the rope end round the heron’s long bony leg. ‘We’ll stay down ’ere an’ pay the line out, mate. You fly up there an’ give ’em your end, they’ll know what t’do.’
Stiffener glanced up at the sky. ‘Too late, Brog. ’Twill be dawn in an hour or so. The journey here took longer than we thought. My friends are old – they wouldn’t stan’ a chance in broad daylight, out on the mountain face.’
Brogalaw was reluctantly forced to agree. ‘You got a good point there, Stiff. So, what’s the drill now?’
Stiffener made a quick decision. ‘Only one thing for it, friend. Let Rulango take the line up. When they makes it secure I’ll shin up there an’ tell ’em what’s goin’ on. I’ll take me cloak an’ stop with ’em. You an’ the bird go back an’ hide out with yore otters for the day. All of you come back ’ere at nightfall an’ we’ll do it then. ’Tis the only safe way.’
Most of the prisoners were sleeping in the high mountain cell. Torleep and Sailears were on duty rota, standing by the window, listening to see if they could hear any news from the chamber below them. Torleep leaned on the sill and rubbed his red-rimmed eyes.
‘These two new brutes, Ripfang an’ Doomthingy, not much at gossipin’ are they? Snore snore all night, that’s all they’ve blinkin’ well done. I say, marm, what’s the matter?’
Sailears was facing the window. She tried to keep her voice calm as she explained the situation. ‘Don’t move, Tor, stay completely still, eyes front, don’t turn round whatever y’do. There’s a whackin’ great bird of some sort perched on the window ledge. Bloomin’ creature could take your head off with a single swipe of his beak from where he is. Don’t move! Let me deal with this, wot.’
She put on her most winning smile and spoke softly out of the window. ‘Dearie me, you are a fine big feller, ain’t you? What brings you up here on a night like this, friend?’
For answer, Rulango lifted his leg. Sailears was taken aback. ‘Well biff me sideways, he’s brought us a rope!’
Torleep turned slowly and found himself staring into the heron’s fierce eyes. He moved closer and waited a moment. ‘Well, he ain’t taken m’head off, so he must be a friend come to help us. Am I right, sah?’
Rulango nodded twice, shaking the rope-draped leg. Under the bird’s watchful eye, Sailears unfastened the line and began knotting it to an iron ring set in the wall.
‘Take it from me, my fine feathered friend, if I were twenty seasons younger I still wouldn’t live long enough to thank ye for the favour you’ve done us, wot!’
Torleep was wakening the sleepers. ‘C’mon, chaps, up on y’paws, we’re bein’ rescued. Woebee marm, I’d be obliged if you keep the old voice down, wot!’
Rulango flapped off into the greying dawn. Sailears had half of her body out of the windowspace when she looked down. ‘Well, I’m blowed! Guess what? There’s somebeast, a hare I think, tryin’ to climb up the bally rope. Look at this, Torleep?’
Torleep squinted down through his monocle. ‘By the left, you’re right, marm, looks like a hare. Hey there, you chaps, lend a paw to haul the feller up here!’
When Stiffener was eventually hoisted into the cell and they recognised their old companion, there was profuse hugging, kissing and paw shaking. The boxing hare put a paw to his lips, urging them not to make too much noise. ‘Coil the rest o’ that rope in afore anybeast sees it, mates.’
Doomeye lay back on a straw pallet, facing the long rectangular window of the chamber below the hares’ cell. Half asleep, he rubbed his eyes.
‘Ripfang, you awake, brother? Was that a rope I saw goin’ up in the air just then?’
Ripfang sat up and yawned.
‘Aye, ’twas prob’ly Groddil an’ Fraul escaped. Tryin’ to catch a passin’ cloud, the fools was. Hawhawhaw!’
Doomeye probed at one eye, blinking furiously. ‘Musta been an eyelid dropped down over me eye. That blue dye plays ’avoc with my eyesight. Thought it was a rope!’
Ripfang was now up and about. ‘Y’never know, it mighta been. Let’s go an’ check on them longears they got locked upstairs.’
But the two rats never got that far. On emerging from the chamber they were faced with the sinister form of Ungatt Trunn’s Grand Fragorl.
‘His Mightiness would have words with you. Follow me.’
The wildcat looked as if he had passed a sleepless night. He sat in front of a blue-smoking brazier, draped in a silken blanket. Ripfang and Doomeye stood stiffly at attention, both thinking that he knew about the wanton slaying of Mirefleck. Trunn surveyed his two new captains from the corner of a red-rimmed eye.
‘You two were searats – you must have sailed many places and seen lots of strange things, eh?’
Ripfang, being the more eloquent, spoke for them both. “Tis so, Mighty One. Why d’yer ask?’ He quailed as the frightening eyes turned to meet his.
‘Never answer a question with a question when speaking to Ungatt Trunn; that way you may see the next sunset. In all your travels, have you ever met a badger, a big beast who carries a double-hilted sword on his back? Think now, did you ever encounter such a creature?’
‘No, Yer Mightiness, we never met such a beast, sire.’
The wildcat dismissed them with a wave of his tail. ‘Leave me now. Go about your duties.’
On their way down to the dining hall, Doomeye chuckled with relief. ‘Heehee, I thought ’e’d found out about Mirefleck.’
‘Shuttup, oaf. ’E will if’n yew keep shoutin’ it round. Funny, though, ’im askin’ about a badger like that?’
‘Aye. I’ve never even seen a badger, ’ave yew?’
‘Not real like, but sometimes I gets ’orrible dreams about one, a big ’un, like Trunn said, but not carryin’ a sword like the badger ’e wants t’know about.’
‘Is that right? I never knew you dreamed about a badger, Ripfang. Er, ’ow d’you know wot a badger looks like if’n you ain’t ever seen one?’
‘I never said I ain’t heard of one! Look, will you shuttup about badgers? I don’t like badgers, an’ I can’t ’elp it if I dream about one, can I? Let’s go an’ get some brekkist. I’m starvin’.’
But breakfast was disappointing. Doomeye prodded with his dagger at the tiny portion of mackerel on a dock leaf and wrinkled his nose, sniffing at it suspiciously.
‘One stingy liddle cob o’ fish – goin’ bad, too, I think. Is this all the vittles we gets? I thought we signed on fer better grub than rotten fish. ’Ey yew, c’mere!’
The Blue Horderat cook saluted. ‘Anythink I kin do fer ye, cap’n?’
‘Cap??
?n? Oh, aye. Wot’s wrong wid the vittles round ’ere?’
‘That’s all there is, cap’n. Wish ‘Is Mightiness’d get that fox of his to magic up some more provisions.’
Ripfang puffed out his narrow chest. He felt it was beneath him to bandy words with a mere low-ranking skivvy. ‘Right, well. Anythin’ else to report?’
‘Aye, two outside guards deserted, cap’n,’ the cook informed him with an insolent grin. ‘There’ll no doubt be a few more if’n the grubstakes don’t improve.’
Ripfang had taken a dislike to the cook, so he prodded him several times on the end of his bulbous nose. ‘Bad fortune to ’em if’n they do – we’ll fetch ’em back an’ use ’em t’bait up the fish ’ooks. Now stop yer gossipin’ an’ git back t’work. Oh, those two who’ve gone missin’. Bring us their pieces o’ fish – that’s an order!’ He nudged his brother and winked broadly at him. ‘One o’ the joys of bein’ a cap’n, eh!’
Outside the weather was beginning to clear. Mist rose from the damp rocks and a warm breeze started to sweep the clouds away. Summer had begun. It was to be a most memorable season for all.
Most memorable!
23
THE STORM HAD not penetrated inland; it was driven upcoast and out to sea. Dotti sat on the streambank, breakfasting on fresh fruit salad with her friends. The haremaid was now under instruction as a contender for King Bucko Bigbones’s crown.
Grenn read out the rules which had been delivered by the king’s seconds. ‘Two days from now the three events will commence: the Bragging, the Feasting and the Fighting. The Bragging will take place on the eve of day one. Whichever beast wins the Brag will be the creature voted by common consent of the crowd to have outbragged the other. Dawn of day two the Feasting will commence; the victor will be the one left sitting, still eating, at sunset, or until one creature yields to the other. Noon of day three is the Fighting. No weapons or any arms whatsoever are allowed to be taken into the ring. All supporters and seconds must have vacated the ring by the time the crown is dropped. The king has the right to decide whether the contest be from scratch, or moving freely. The moment one beast cannot rise and continue fighting, the other will be declared the winner. Note: in the event of Bragging or Feasting being won, lost, or declared a tie, the winner of the Fighting will be declared outright king. These are the approved rules!’
Fleetscut laughed scathingly. ‘Bucko’s rules made by himself, eh? He’s only got to win the jolly old Fighting an’ he’s home’n’dry, wot?’
‘That’s right, ole feller. King Bucko makes the rules in his own court – you’ve got t’be better’n him to change ’em!’
‘Aye, an’ you’ve got to blinkin’ well prove it, too!’
They turned to see two extremely fit-looking young hares lounging nearby, taking everything in.
‘I’ll give you young whelps something to think about if you don’t move yourselves!’ Brocktree growled.
The hares did move, not away, but closer. They were obviously twin brothers, alike as peas in a pod. They spoke alternately, beginning or finishing off sentences, as if each knew what the other was thinking. Fleetscut was watching them closely as they addressed the badger.
‘Don’t get touchy, sah, we’re on your an’ the pretty one’s side.’
‘Rather, on the pretty one’s side especially, wot wot!’
‘I’m Southpaw an’ this fat ugly one’s Bobweave!’
‘Fat ugly one? Go ’way, you bounder, let miss Dotti say. C’mon, miss, ain’t I the best-lookin’ one who cuts the finest figure? Tell the truth now!’
Fleetscut approached them, his paw extended. ‘I’ll tell you the truth, you young rips. Bobweave an’ Southpaw, eh? You’re the orphaned twins, grandsons of Stiffener Medick. I can see it in you both, fightin’ hares born an’ bred, wot!’
‘Rather! How d’ye do, sah!’
‘Pleased t’meet you, old chap!’
They exchanged greetings with all the party. Dotti took an immediate liking to the twins. Though they had the biggest, toughest-looking paws she had ever seen on a hare, both were extra gentle when they shook her paw.
Brocktree had changed his attitude, and was quite cordial with them. ‘So, friends, you have the looks of two very perilous beasts. How can you help us?’
Fleetscut threw a sudden barrage of punches at them. Still smiling and hardly taking notice, they repelled every blow in a casually expert manner. The old hare nodded. ‘Your grandpa talked about you night’n’day. Said you were the finest boxers on earth.’
They shuffled modestly.
‘Oh, we keep ourselves busy, sah.’
‘Always up t’the jolly old mark, y’know.’
Dotti was bursting to ask the athletic pair a question. ‘Er, beg pardon, chaps, but if you two are so good, then why haven’t you challenged King Bucko?’
‘Quite simple really, miss Dotti.’
‘Right. If I challenged Bucko an’ floored him, then I’d be King Southpaw. But I couldn’t give old Bobweave orders.’
‘True, miss, an’ if I challenged Bucko an’ won, I’d be King Bobweave. Hah – imagine me tryin’ to give Southpaw orders?’
‘Besides, Bucko Bigbones, between you’n’me’n’the gatepost, he’s a great big windbag, but he can be sly an’ dangerous as well. Makes all his own rules – an’ breaks ’em too, wot!’
Jukka Sling was beginning to wave her tail impatiently. ‘Then canst thou tell us how the maid will defeat him?’
‘Well, we can’t tell you exactly, marm, but we can help her by pointin’ out Bucko’s weaknesses.’
Gurth chuckled appreciatively. ‘Hur hur hurr, you’m be a-doin’ us’n’s a gurt favour if’n ee can, young zurrs. Tell away naow – we’m all ears!’
Dotti learned a great deal by listening to Bobweave and Southpaw. King Bucko liked to play jokes, but he hated the joke being on him; he was vain, quick-tempered and resorted to cheating at the blink of an eye. But he was surrounded by loyal mountain hares and, moreover, he was no fool at fighting and always won at any cost.
Ruff wagged a serious paw at the haremaid. ‘So you see, miss, Bucko ain’t no pushover. We got to figger how y’can use his faults agin him, upset his apple cart.’
‘Smacka ’im tail wivva big stick. Dat’s wot Skikkles do!’
Mirklewort shooed her babe off with a dire warning. ‘H’I’ll smack yore tail wid a big stick! Go an’ play, yer liddle plague. Can’t yer see this is a serious conservation?’
Skittles climbed up on to Brocktree’s sword hilt and sulked. The Badger Lord reached up and patted the hogbabe’s paw. ‘Maybe Skittles has provided us with the answer!’
‘Burr, you’m mean smacken ee king’s tail wi’ sticks, zurr?’
Brocktree scratched his stripes thoughtfully. ‘In a manner of speaking, yes. We smack his pride. Can you see what I’m getting at?’
Log a Log Grenn caught on to the idea immediately. ‘Aye, that’s ’ow Dotti’ll win, by keepin’ cool an’ calm. Turn the jokes on Bucko, get the supporters on ’er side.’
Jukka began warming to the plan. ‘Play the good-mannered well brought up haremaid. Use thy wit against the braggart. Make him fall into his own traps!’
Dotti’s friends all began making suggestions to help her.
‘Use his own weight against him. Duck an’ weave!’
‘Aye, show him up to his supporters as a fraud an’ a cad, wot!’
‘Keep y’nose in the air an’ dismiss Bucko as a ruffian!’
‘Hurr, make ee king wrassle ee, miz Dott. Doan’t ee box ’im!’
‘Don’t fret, miss, we’ll show you one or two boxin’ tricks!’
‘Rather, an’ when he’s least expectin’ it, you can use ’em!’
‘Right! We’ll outthink him at every turn!’
All that first summer’s day they sat on the streambank, working out a master plan. Dotti practised her new role of the cool calm and distant haremaid, though she had trouble avoiding the admiring glances of Southp
aw and Bobweave, who were obviously smitten with her. Every now and then the twins would be so overcome that they would move further up the bank and box the ears off one another.
Kubba and Rukoo paddled up at mid-noon, with the logboats strung out behind them. Kubba shipped paddles and looked questioningly at Grenn. ‘Wot’s goin’ on ’ere, marm? Are ye wagerin’ on which of those two hares’ll knock the other’s block off first?’
The Guosim Chieftain helped to moor the vessels. ‘Somethin’ like that. I’ll tell ye about it later.’
Over the next two days Dotti wrestled with Gurth, was instructed in the art of boxing by two very enthusiastic young hares, and listened to the wisdom of her elders. It was all very helpful and instructive, except for one thing. Part of her training included a strict diet: no food and precious little water. For a creature of her young appetite it was nothing less than sheer, brutal torture. When meals were served she was forced to sit in one of the logboats, guarded by Ruff, out of the sight of food. Nursing a beaker filled with water with a light sprinkle of crushed oats added to it, she glared at her otter friend.
‘Rotten an’ stingy, that’s what you lot are, miserable grubswipers. When I’m a kingess – or d’you think queen sounds better? – I’ll banish the whole bally gang. Everybeast who refused a fatal young royal beauty a morsel, away with ’em!’
Ruff swiped her ears playfully. “Tis only for yore own good, young ’un. You’ll thank us for this one day.’
‘Oh, an’ pardon me, what day’ll that be, sah, wot?’
Glancing over her shoulder, Ruff whispered, ‘Hush ye now, miss, ’ere comes Bucko hisself.’
A light skiff with two mountain hares plying it drew alongside. Bucko was seated beneath a canopy with a jug of pale cider and a trayful of pasties and tarts. He grinned roguishly at his challenger.
‘Weel now, ’tis a bonny summer noontide, lassie. Would ye no care for a tart or a pastie . . . mebbe a beaker o’ this guid pale cider? Join me, pretty one?’