‘Hmmm, er, yes, well. Tell you wot h’I’ll do, sire. H’if the young miss requires a sunshade then you shall both be h’entitled to ’ave one. But if’n she don’t, sire, then h’I’m h’afraid you’ll ’ave to do widout the sunshade, sire. Miss Dorothea, do you want h’a sunshade, miss?’
Dotti nibbled a woodland trifle thoughtfully. ‘Not really, thank you, ’tis far too nice a day. Actually I quite enjoy the early summer sun, don’t you, sah?’
The bankvole shrugged apologetically to Bucko. ‘There you ’ave it, sire – no contestant shall ’ave unequal advantage of the other. You’ll ’ave to feast on. Sunshades are out, h’I’m h’afraid!’
Bucko sprayed cakecrumbs as he glowered at his opponent. ‘Ah’ll still beat ye, wee miss prissypaws!’ He downed another two goblets of wine, cold from the keg, thinking it would cool him down.
It was midday. The sun was beating down on both contestants. Dotti was full. She did not want to look at, smell, or taste any more food that day, but she carried on, keeping up a good front, as she had been instructed by her friends. She marvelled that Bucko, hot and perspiring as he was, carried on bolting down huge quantities of food. He ate indiscriminately now, not choosing one thing over another. Pies, puddings, breads, salads, flans and pasties were devoured without favouritism. He was slopping the wine about quite a bit, but still going at it. Bucko, like all March hares, was unpredictable. He was wolfing his way through a strawberry shortcake when he paused and winked at Dotti.
‘Ye can’nae defeat me by consumin’ yer vittles slow. Hohoho, ah’m watchin’ ye, pretty one. Weel now, two can play at that wee game, missie – ah can eat as slow as ye. Aye, an’ still be settin’ here taenight at sunset!’
Dotti put aside her mint tea and chose a small almond tart. For the first time, Bucko noticed that she appeared slightly disturbed. She fussed about wiping her spoon. ‘Then do so, sah – ’tis no concern of mine at what rate you fill your flippin’ face!’
Bucko grinned triumphantly and began chewing his food slowly. He drained his goblet leisurely and picked up a honeyed scone. Slowly he chewed it, ever so slowly, washing it down with lingering draughts of wine.
Shortly before mid-afternoon, most of the onlookers moved into the willow shades on the streambank. Dotti plodded on with a single slice of dry bread, hating the very thought of food, her appetite completely sated. Southpaw and Bobweave ignored her, focusing all their attention on Bucko, refilling his goblet, heaping up his plate, leaning over him as they did and yawning. Bees buzzed somewhere nearby, not a breeze disturbed the hot noon air, the remainder of the crowd at the ringside had fallen silent.
Then the eyelids of King Bucko Bigbones began to droop. His head started to nod forward on to his chest, and a morsel of wild cherry turnover slipped from his half-open mouth. Bobweave winked at Dotti; the haremaid held her breath. Bucko’s half-filled goblet toppled gently over on to the tabletop. He did not seem to notice. The king’s eyelids drooped lower . . . lower . . . then closed softly, his ears flopped forward and he started to snore.
Dotti continued eating as silently as she could, nibbling on the same slice of bread. After what seemed like an age, she saw Lord Brocktree stamp heavily across to the referee. Blinking, as if he himself had not been caught napping, the bankvole struggled upright.
‘Ahem, you shouldn’t really be ’ere in the ring, sire.’
Brocktree nodded in solemn agreement. ‘I know, sir, and I apologise, but from this angle you can hardly see that one of your contestants has stopped eating.’
‘Where, er, what, er, stopped h’eatin’ ye say, sire?’ The bankvole waddled anxiously across to the table. Dotti stopped eating her bread to point at Bucko.
‘I’m terribly sorry, but this chap’s been like that for quite a while now. Would you wake him, please?’
But Bucko could not be wakened. His head fell forward on to an apple pie and he lay there snoring lustily. The bankvole was extremely upset. He climbed on to the table, taking care not to tread on any food, and shouted, ‘Miss Dorothea, erm, erm, Miss Dorothea the winnaaaaah!’
He went on to roar about how the king had forfeited the day by not being able to continue, quoting chapter and verse of the rules (set down by Bucko himself) and calling on the other bankvoles to bear him out as witnesses.
King Bucko slept on, oblivious of what was going on around him. A crowd of mountain hares lifted him on to a food trolley and bore him off. Still snoring, with his cheek resting in an apple pie. Defeated!
Fleetscut and the hare twins set about demolishing the remainder of the feast. Dotti tried not to watch them, her eyes glazing over in disgust. ‘Yuurgh! How can you dreadful savages even think of food! I never want t’see another flippin’ pie, bloomin’ pudden, or blinkin’ salad again in my young an’ fatally beautiful life, d’ye hear? Get all vittles out o’ my sight!’
The trio obeyed her instructions with alacrity.
‘Gettin’ these painful reminders out o’ your sight, miss. I say, don’t hog all that trifle, old lad!’
‘Rather! We’ll try not to prolong the agony, miss. Pass the scones an’ honey, will you, Fleet!’
‘Pass ’em yourself – you young rips are too fast for me. A bit of respect for age, please. That damson pudden’s mine! Desist, wretch, or I’ll report you to your grandpa, wot!’
Lord Brocktree’s eyes twinkled as he shook Dotti’s paw. ‘Two down, one to go, miss. That was a decisive victory, I’d say. I wonder if they’ve managed to wake Bucko yet?’
Dotti twitched her ears disapprovingly. ‘D’you know, sah, I’ve got a feeling we cheated.’
Log a Log Grenn replaced the bung in her wine keg. She held it up and shook it, listening to the swish it made.
‘Nearly ’alf a keg the blaggard supped. Cheated, you say, young ’un? We never cheated at all. Bucko defeated himself by showin’ off an’ bein’ so greedy – ain’t that so, Jukka?’
‘Aye, ’tis true, miss. ’Twas no small thing to vanquish him at his own game, in his own court, an’ under his own rules. Bucko had defeated all corners, I’ll warrant, by fair means or foul, until he met thee. Thou art a worthy champion!’
Dotti attempted to rise and fell back, holding her waist. ‘Y’mean I’m an overstuffed wreck. D’y’know, I think my ears have gone fatter!’
Jukka heaved Dotti upright, a smile hovering on her normally serious features. ‘Up ye come! Grenn, take her other paw. Methinks a good long walk until nightfall will cure thee, miss. If that proves useless there is always an old squirrel remedy for one who has overeaten, eh, Fleetscut?’
The old hare glared at Jukka. He had not forgotten. ‘Take the walk, young ’un, tramp about ’til your bally paws feel ready t’drop off. If y’don’t I know what’ll happen. That bushtailed poisoner’ll boil up half the woodlands in a pot an’ sit on you ’til y’drink it. Take my word, just the smell of that squirrel’s foul concoction’d make a worm gag, and rot the feathers off a blinkin’ buzzard!’
Brocktree and Ruff watched the haremaid totter off between the squirrel and the shrew. Ruff sat back on his rudder. ‘Our liddle Dotti, eh, a future Queen o’ Hares. Who’d ’ave thought it?’
The Badger Lord replied confidently, ‘I would, friend, that’s why I chose her. That young ’un has courage, nerve and wit. She’ll make a truly perilous queen.’
‘Tchah, she still gorra biff Bucko tomorrer. I fink she be’s too likkle for dat!’
Brocktree looked over his shoulder at Skittles, seated on the great sword hilt. ‘Aye, you’ve got a point there, wretch. Under Bucko’s rules Dotti’s two wins count for nothing if he beats her tomorrow. Our plans and her work will have been all for nothing.’
‘Hah, B’ock plan ’arder an’ work more. Skikkles ’elp!’
Brocktree tickled the hogbabe’s footpaw affectionately. ‘Well said, mate. I wish I’d been as clever as you when I was a badgerbabe.’
Skittles scoffed at the idea. ‘Chahah, no likkle one’s cleverer’n Skikkles, not no big ’uns nei
ver, me cleverer in all d’world, ho aye!’
‘I wouldn’t argue with ’im, mate,’ Ruff murmured solemnly to his badger friend. ‘He’s got hold o’ the sword!’
They walked back to the camp under the willows together. Brocktree’s mind was seething with a host of thoughts: his father old Stonepaw, Salamandastron, the mountain that was his spiritual inheritance. The army he needed to raise so he could regain it. And Dotti. All of his plans, hopes and dreams rested in the paws of a young haremaid. Granted, she did not lack courage or determination. But Bucko was an experienced warrior, a wild March mountain hare, with countless victories under his belt. Nor was he particular about the way he accomplished them. Was Skittles right? Would Dotti prove too young, small and inexperienced to overcome King Bucko Bigbones in this the most difficult of her three challenges?
25
UNGATT TRUNN ACQUIRED a new enemy on the night that Groddil made his escape from the underground cavern. Battered, bleeding and totally exhausted, the fox was swept out into the sea. He floated awhile, letting the tide sweep him along, half dead, but half alive. He had craftily hung back in the blue tunnel, letting Fraul run eagerly in front of him. Straight into the spider crabs.
The stunted fox clung to a piece of driftwood, salt water stinging his eyes as he was swept south on the current. He watched Salamandastron recede and swore to himself that he would return one day. Outwardly Groddil shivered with the cold, but inside he was burning with the unquenchable fires of vengeance.
The following evening Ungatt Trunn presided over the trial of four Blue Horderats. These had been brought before him by Karangool, the only other fox serving in the Hordes beside Groddil. Karangool held the title of Captain in Chief in all the wildcat’s vast armada. Karangool was a disciplinarian; he lived by his master’s rules and laws. Very little aboard the ships escaped his keen notice.
He gave his evidence in a strange clipped voice. ‘Wharra these beast charge with, Might’ness? I tell you. They fish, keep fish themselfs, eat ’em!’
The four Horderats knelt before Ungatt Trunn, roped together by a thick line about their necks. He watched his spiders awhile, then turned to the rats as if noticing them for the first time.
‘You know what you must do with any fish you catch?’
Karangool kicked the rat closest to him. ‘You, ansa!’
‘Give ’em t’the cap’n o’ the fishin’ party,’ the rat mumbled.
The wildcat’s voice carried no anger, nor any emotion whatsoever. ‘So you know my law. Why did you disobey it and eat the fish?’
Without any urging, one of the four stood up, his face a mask of sullen defiance. ‘’Cos we ’adn’t ’ad no vittles fer two days. We was ’ungry!’
Ungatt Trunn smiled, and the rat shuddered. He knew what was coming; he had witnessed that smile turned upon otherbeasts.
‘Do I look fat and well fed, does the Fragorl, or your captain? We are all hungry until proper foraging grounds have been found. But we do not steal food from the mouths of our comrades – that is why we are the Chosen Ones.’ He beckoned the Grand Fragorl with his sceptre. ‘Give orders to all my captains to assemble their creatures on the beach at high tide tomorrow. These four will be made an example of; my Hordes will witness their execution. Guards, take them away and watch them well. Karangool, stay. I would talk with you.’
When the guards, prisoners and Fragorl had departed, Ungatt Trunn questioned his Captain in Chief.
‘What are they saying aboard my ships? Is it mutiny?’
‘Might’ness, not yet. I whip ’em, work ’em ’ard, but no food? They talk, whispa, steal! Need food t’live!’
With all the sinewy litheness of a great cat, the Conqueror bounded from his throne and swept out of the room. ‘Follow me. I think I have the answer!’
Karangool was fairly quick on his paws. However, he had a job keeping up with his master as they bounded upstairs.
A guard captain was waiting at the stairhead. At Trunn’s nod, he fell in behind them.
Sailears pulled Stiffener out of the shaft of evening light which framed him in the window. ‘Hide yourself! Somebeast’s comin’!’
Stiffener stowed himself behind some of the older ones huddled in a corner. He heard the key grate in the lock. Torleep joined Sailears, and they stood together in front of the others as the door swung open. Threatening with his spear point, the guard captain jabbed at them.
‘Back, you lot! Get back an’ stand still!’
Ungatt Trunn and the hard-faced fox walked in. Torleep took a pace forward, his voice shaking with indignation.
‘I demand food for these hares. We’ve had nothin’ but one pail of water since we were locked in here. Disgraceful, sah!’
The guard captain struck him down with the spear butt. ‘Silence, longears. Lower orders do not speak in the presence of mighty Ungatt Trunn. I’ll slay the next beast that speaks without permission!’
Sailears and several others knelt down and began ministering to the fallen Torleep. Ungatt Trunn nodded towards the hares and smiled, raising his eyes at Karangool.
‘Yes?’
The fox nodded, satisfied. ‘Yes, Might’ness!’
They swept out, the door slammed shut and the key turned.
Torleep sat up, rubbing at his swollen face. Stiffener hurried to his side as he murmured in a half-dazed voice, ‘Huh, what d’you suppose that was all about, eh?’
Woebee sobbed. ‘Oh, did you see how that villain an’ the fox looked at us? My blood fair ran cold, I can tell you!’
Stiffener helped Torleep up on to his footpaws. ‘Don’t blub, marm, it ain’t ’elpin’ anybeast. I’ve got a pretty good idea what they was sizin’ us up for, but we won’t be hangin’ around to find out the truth of it.’ Unstowing the rope from where he had hidden it throughout the day, the old boxing hare began giving orders.
‘It’ll be dark soon an’ Brog will be waitin’ down below with ’is otters. Sailears, is there any way we can jam that lock so they can’t come bargin’ in ’ere?’
‘Give me a tick an’ I’ll think of somethin’, Stiff.’
‘Right y’are, marm. I’ll make the line fast an’ watch at the window fer Brog an’ the crew. Torleep, if yore feelin’ better, line ’em up in order t’go. Oldest an’ shakiest first, fittest last. We can lower the first lot, second lot can shin down without ’elp.’
Sailears had a brainwave about the lock. ‘Woebee, give me that necklet you’re wearin’, please.’
The fat old hare clapped a paw to her neck. ‘You can’t have this. It was left to me by my mum, an’ Grandma had it before her. ’Twas always in our family, an’ I won’t give it up. Not my necklet, ’tis far too precious t’me!’
Sailears slapped Woebee’s paw aside and wrenched the necklet off, losing one or two beads in the process. ‘Don’t be so silly, marm, this is a matter of life an’ death, d’ye hear? An’ it could mean your life or death. Anybeast got a bit o’ fluffy cloth about them?’
‘Here, take the corner of my shawl. Itchy fluffy old thing, I never liked it really.’
‘Oh, thank you. I’ll need to borrow the pin you fasten it with – looks good and pointy.’
Using the pin, Sailears poked the homely knitted shawl end into the keyhole, popping in a bead here and there. She went at it until the lock was packed tight with fluffy shawl and slippy beads.
‘There now, try turnin’ a blinkin’ key in that lot, wot!’
Day’s final sunrays melted scarlet and gold into the western horizon; a pale sliver of silver crescent moon was visible in the deep dark blue sky. Suddenly the great heron Rulango filled the window space.
Stiffener breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Good to see you, mate. Is Brog an’ the crew down there?’
One emphatic nod, and the heron flew off.
The boxing hare spat on his paws and rubbed them. ‘Right, miz Woebee marm, step up ’ere. Yore the first!’
As soon as the rope end encircled her oversized waist, Woebee went into a
wailing panic attack. ‘Oh oh, I’ll never make it, I’m not goin’, I’ll slip an’ fall, I know I will! No no no, I’m not goin’, I’ll stay here! Oh me, oh my, oooooounh!’
Torleep bristled at Stiffener. ‘I say, old chap, did I see you strike that lady? Bad form, sah, jolly bad form!’
Stiffener patted Torleep’s chin, none too gently. ‘Now now, don’t go off the deep end, ole feller, I didn’t ’urt ’er, ’twas just a tap in the right place. ’Twas either that or leave ’er be’ind. You wouldn’t like one too, just to ’elp y’down an’ save yore nerves, sah?’
Torleep assisted Stiffener and Sailears to lower Woebee’s limp bulk down on the line, woffling away. ‘See what y’mean, sah, very good, slides down easy, don’t she, wot! No bally need for that sort o’ thing with me, y’know, don’t mind heights at all, not one little bit. Paw over paw, wot, that’s me, old chap, turn a bally squirrel green with envy, rappellin’, abseilin’, call it what y’will!’
A tug on the line told them Brog was ready for the next escaper. Things went smoothly for the next hour or so. Stiffener had got all the oldest ones down and half of the fitter ones when Torleep held up a paw of warning.
‘Hist, it’s those two beasts from down below, Ripthing an’ his confounded brother!’
Stiffener froze. He could hear the voices. ‘That’s torn it. They’ll see them goin’ by their window!’
Torleep listened more carefully. ‘Hang on, they ain’t below, they’re at the blinkin’ door!’
Ripfang’s voice could be heard clearly from beyond the door. ‘Oh, very good, Doomeye, wot a clever brother I got, eh? Steals the key off the guard cap’n an’ now ’e can’t even open the flamin’ door wid it! Cummere, let me try!’
There followed a deal of poking, scratching, and some very colourful language. Doomeye could be heard giggling.
‘Heeheehee, yore good at this, ain’tcher? Now you’ve got three beads an’ some damp fluffy ole blanket. Any more in there, Rip?’
‘Look, shut yer stoopid gob an’ gerron lookout, willya? The guard cap’n might come back at any time now. Yore the one who started this, you woggle-’eaded wipesnout!’