Blench dipped her ladle in the pool and drank. ‘So, lord, let’s get goin’ right away. D’you know the way out?’
Stonepaw shook his massive striped head. ‘I haven’t got a single clue. Have any of you? Maybe an old ballad or poem might hold the answer. Let’s put our thinking caps on. Hark, what was that? Listen!’
Sound carried far in all directions beneath Salamandastron, and now faint echoes reached them. Voices.
‘Huh, ’slike searchin’ for a grain o’ salt on a seashore down ’ere. Jus’ think, we could all get lost ourselves!’
There followed a screech of pain and the voice of Captain Swinch threatening the speaker. ‘Jus’ think, eh? You ain’t down ’ere t’think, Rotface, yore down ’ere to obey orders. Now git searchin’ or next time I won’t be usin’ only the flat o’ me blade on yer!’
‘We need more torches, Swinch. Send somebeast back for them.’
‘Hah! Couldn’t yer magic us some, Groddil? Yore supposed t’be Ungatt Trunn’s magidan. I think it’ll be a great piece o’ magic if’n we finds anythin’ but rock down ’ere.’
‘Oh, do you indeed? Well let me tell you, Swinch, if we return empty-pawed we could end up paying for it with our lives. You know how His Mightiness must be obeyed.’
‘Aye, yore right there, fox. Hoi, Rotface, you’n’Grinak go back an’ get more torches – an’ fetch some vittles back with ye, too. We might be some time gettin’ the job done. Well, don’t stand there gawpin’. Get goin’!’
The voices faded as the search direction changed, and soon there was silence again.
‘Whew! That was close. Where d’you reckon they were, wot?’
Stonepaw gestured for Trobee to lower his voice. ‘These caves do strange things to sound; they could have been anywhere. One thing you can count on, though – they’ll be back. The wildcat won’t give up until he’s found me.’
Old Bramwil’s stomach gurgled. He rubbed it hungrily. ‘I could eat a mushroom’n’cheese pastie right now, one with a soft-baked crust – mebbe a salad, too.’
Blench patted the old one’s paw. ‘If’n I was in me kitchens I’d bake ye one – aye, an’ a deep apple pudden with lots o’ fresh meadowcream on it.’
Stiffener Medick licked his lips. ‘You could throw in a cob o’ cheese too, marm, the yellow one with sage’n’onion herbs in it. My favourite!’ Then he wilted under Lord Stonepaw’s stare. ‘Thinkin’ o’ vittles when we should be rackin’ our brains for a way out? My fault, sah. Sorry, sah!’
The Badger Lord softened to his faithful creatures. ‘I’m hungry too, but ’tis easier for a badger to forget food than ’tis for a hare. Never mind, friends. Let’s get back to figuring our way out.’
Hours passed, interspersed by the dropping of water and the odd sigh from a hare who could see no answer to the problem. Lord Stonepaw kept his silence, knowing there was no solution available. They were imprisoned inside their own mountain, and likely to perish miserably down in its cellars.
11
FOOD! DOTTI VOWED to herself that she could not touch another morsel that night. Then she relented and set about nibbling candied lilac buds from the edges of an almond cake. Rogg Longladle was surely a master of victuals, unequalled at baking, boiling, grilling or cooking any edible his moles could find. The haremaid watched Lord Brocktree digging into a huge bowl with a wooden ladle, his cheeks bulging as he ate.
‘Well, pickle me ears, sah, y’look pleased enough with that!’
The badger grinned wolfishly over another ladleful. ‘Scrumptious, miss. The moles call it deeper’n ever tumip’n’tater’n’beetroot pie. I could eat it all night!’
Ruff took his nose out of a foaming tankard still half filled with chestnut and buttercup beer, and chortled as he blew froth from his upper lip. ‘Haharr, ain’t it true, though? I’d ’ave never left ’ome if’n I’d got vittles o’ this quality. Rogg, ye ole ovendog, give us another o’ yore kitchen ditties!’
Brandishing his oversized ladle and smiling from ear to ear, the good mole beckoned the little Dibbuns to take their dancing places. Brisk as bumblebees and plump as robins, the tiny molebabes formed two facing lines. Dotti marvelled at the fact that they could eat so much and still be eager to dance. The infant molemaids grabbed their pinafores and curtsied comically as their partners licked paws and dabbed them on their snouts in reply. Rogg’s wife scraped out the opening bars on an old fiddle and all the watchers started tapping their paws in time. Rogg’s rotund body bobbed up and down with the rhythm until he found the appropriate moment to join in with his tuneful bass voice.
‘Ho berries’n’pickles an’ corjul wot tickles,
Gudd apples’n’pears from ee h’orchard do cumm,
Gurt taters’n’beets an’ ee redcurrinks sweet,
Get ee owt o’ thy tunnel an’ go fetch oi summ!
Urr rowtle dee tootle dee, spring be a-born,
Ee fields be all full o’ roip barley’n’corn!
Ho turnips’n’dannyloin, damsing an’ plumm,
Yon loaf’s in ee uvven an’ crispin’ oop noice,
Carrots’n’onions an’ chesknutters cumm,
Get owt’n ee tunnel oi woan’t tell ee twoice!
Urr gollybee gullybee wudd for ee foire,
Oi luvvs ee moi dearie moi ole ’eart’s desoire!
Ho radish’n’celery, custidd’n’cake,
An’ ee sweetest of hunny from bumbledy bee,
Thurr’s beer in ee cellar, cumm naow moi owd feller,
You’m fill up’n thoi tummy wi’ wot pleasures ee!
Urr trucklebee rucklebee larks oop abuvv,
Cumm darnce ee moi petal an’ ’old moi paw luvv!’
Amid the applause Rogg skipped swiftly to one side, giving way to the little ones, who danced furiously, twirling and whirling, smocks, tunics and aprons billowing. It was the funniest sight, all those tiny Dibbuns, bowing, leaping, touching noses, kicking up their paws, whooping in their gruff small voices.
Rogg sat down next to Dotti, rattling his digging claws on the tabletop as he watched the antics of the molebabes. ‘They’m loively likkle darncers sure ’nuff, miz!’
‘Ho aye, zurr Rogg, them’ll sleep loik ’ogs in ee beds arter all ee whurlygiggin’.’
The mole clasped Dotti’s paw, immensely pleased that she spoke his own odd dialect. ‘You’m a gudd hurrbeast, miz Dott!’
In truth the Dibbins did sleep well, though they snored uproariously, which moles consider a virtue among their babes, reckoning that snoring improves the gruffness and depth of voice. Dotti found herself a nice moss-strewn arbour close to the ledge where Ruff and Brocktree chose to lay their heads for the night. It must have been sometime before the dawn hours when the entire mole household was roused by Brocktree.
It was a nightmare, but clear as day; a swaying room, decked with cobwebs and spiders, and flies buzzing everywhere. Tossing and turning in his sleep, the Badger Lord tried to rid his mind of the unbidden vision. Then suddenly a great evil-looking wildcat appeared, its voice grating through him like a rusty blade.
‘Come, show your face to me, come to my mountain and meet with your fate. I am Ungatt Trunn the Fearsome Beast; you will die by my paw the day you look upon my face!’
Still in the grip of nightmare, the Badger Lord sprang up. Seizing his battle blade he roared out in a thunderous voice, ‘It is my mountain! I am the Lord Brocktree of Brockhall! My sword will look into your mind and touch your heart on the day we meet, Ungatt Trunn! Eulaliiiiaaaaa!’
Dotti and Ruff leapt up in shock. The haremaid was knocked to one side as her otter friend hurled himself at her, shoving her out of danger in the nick of time. Brocktree’s great battle blade whooshed past them a hair’s breadth away, cleaving a rock ledge in two and ploughing a furrow in the floor like a small trench.
‘Back, mates! Get back, all of ye!’ The otter was up and waving paws and rudder at moles scurrying about in their nightshirts, wanting to see what all the disturbance was about. Rogg Longladle acted swiftly. T
aking a jug of cold mint tea from the banqueting table nearby, he sloshed it accurately in Brocktree’s face. The Badger Lord staggered back and slumped on the ledge. Freeing a paw from his sword handle, he wiped the liquid from his eyes. Then he looked at the creatures all about him in bewilderment.
‘The room, it was moving from side to side, spiders, webs, flies, everywhere . . . every—’
Without warning the double-hilted sword was in his paws again. He swung it up in a fighting stance, glaring at everybeast with dangerous eyes. ‘Where’s the wildcat? Did any of you see him? Tell me!’
With great courage, Ruff stepped forward, placing himself in the path of the monstrous blade. ‘Put up yore weapon, mate. ’Twas only a dream.’
With a dazed look Brocktree lowered the sword and sat down. ‘I don’t understand it, Ruff. He was here, his name is Ungatt Trunn, and he wanted to do battle with me.’
Rogg dispersed the moles with a wave of his long ladle. ‘Goo on naow, back abed, all of ee. Leave us’n’s be!’
Rogg listened as Dotti told him of their quest for Salamandastron and Brocktree’s reasons for needing to be there. When the Badger Lord recounted the scenes of his nightmare, Rogg had something to say.
‘Wait ee, zurr. Bide yurr ee h’instant!’
He trundled off, returning shortly with another mole, a full-grown male, very sturdy, with a look of Rogg about him. ‘This’n yurr be moi sunn Gurth. Ee’m a foine big ’un, bain’t ee? Uz calls ’im Gurt Gurth. Ee’m a born wunderer an’ fond o’ travellern. Tell um wot ee see’d, Gurth!’
Rogg’s son touched his snout politely to the guests. ‘Pleasured t’meet ee, zurrs, miz. Hurr naow, ’bowt three moons back oi wurr roamin’, south an’ west o’ yurr. Oi waked wun morn an’ see’d ee gurt h’army o’ vurmints, all a-painted blue, trampin’ west’ard to ee sandshores. Them wuz a-chantin’, loik this. Ee chief vurmint, ee showts . . . Ungatt! An’ t’others showt back three toims . . . Trunn! Trunn! Trunn! Oi watched ’til ’em varnished in ee distance, trampin’ an’ a-shouten all ee way. Ungatt! . . . Trunn! Trunn! Trunn! Jus’ loik that, zurr! Bo urr, sez oi to moiself, thurr be a thing to tell ee molefolk back ’ome. But moi ole dad, ee sez t’keep soilent abowt et. So oi did ’til naow.’
In the light of Gurth’s tale, it took a lot of persuading to stop Brocktree following the vermin instantly. In the end he agreed to wait until dawn. They would set off immediately after breakfast.
Daylight had barely cracked when Lord Brocktree levered himself away from one of Rogg’s epic spreads and shouldered his sword.
‘Come on, you two, or are you going to sit there feeding your famine-stricken faces all day?’
Dotti wiped her lips ruefully on an embroidered napkin. ‘I bally well wish we could, I’ve never tasted honeyed oatmeal like that in m’life. I say, Rogg, how the dickens d’you make it taste so jolly good, wot?’
Rogg chuckled at Dotti’s momentary lapse from molespeech. ‘Hurr hurr, young miz, oi chops in lots o’ chesknutters an’ hazelnutters too, cover ee lot wi’ sprinkles o’ candied h’apple’n’pear flakers an’ bakes et slow in ee uvven.’
Ruff twitched his rudder in admiration of Rogg’s skill. ‘Haharr. I can’t tell one nutter from another, but ole Rogg there makes it sound wunnerful!’
The friendly mole dumped four packs on the table. ‘Thurr be vittles for ee journey, guddbeasts.’
Brocktree had noted the number of packs. ‘There’s four lots here and we’re only three?’
Rogg twiddled his digging claws, as moles do when they are confronted with a tricky situation. ‘Urr urr, wudd ee grant oi a boon, zurr?’
Dotti translated. ‘He wants a favour from you, sah.’
Brocktree spread his paws magnanimously. ‘I would be churlish if I refused, after such hospitality. Ask away, Rogg my friend!’
The mole hummed and hahed a bit before coming out with it. ‘Cudd ee taken moi sunn Gurth along with ee? Oi’d be allus h’obliged. Ee’m gudd company, deadly with ee slinger an’ stronger’n any mole aloive. Oi be gurtly wurried when ee goes off a-roamin’ alone, zurr, but moi ’eart’d be easier if’n moi Gurth wurr with gennelbeasts like you ’uns.’
Lord Brocktree shook Rogg’s paw warmly. ‘Gurth will be a welcome addition to our little band – and if his cooking is anything like yours, I beg you to let him come along with us!’
Gurth appeared out of nowhere and swept up his ration pack. ‘Oi been teached ee cookin’ trick or two boi moi ole dad, zurr. Thankee koindly furr lettin’ oi join ee!’
At the river bend the four friends boarded their log and paddled off along the sun-flecked stream, with Rogg and his family calling farewells.
‘Goombye. ‘Twere ee pleasure ’avin’ ee t’visit!’
‘Miz Dott, goombye. Pity ee wurr too fulled t’sing furr us’n’s larst noight. Mebbe nex’ toim!’
‘They don’t know ’ow lucky they were not to hear our Dotti warblin’,’ Ruff muttered under his breath to Brocktree.
Gurth was receiving instructions from his kin, to all of whom he replied with the same phrase: ‘Thankee, oi’ll amember that!’
‘You’m keep a clean ’ankycheef with ee allus, Gurth!’
‘Moind ee manners an’ doan’t scoff ee too much!’
‘Pay ’tenshun to wot gurt Badger Lord tells ee, Gurth!’
‘Bringen a pressink back for ee ole mum!’
‘Be guarden ee young hurrmaid well naow, sunn!’
Gurth’s gruff bass voice echoed back along the stream: ‘Thankee, oi’ll amember that!’
The moles stood in the shallows, waving until the log was out of sight. Gurth’s mother wiped a kerchief about her eyes. ‘Burrhoo, oi do ’opes ee’ll be safe!’
Rogg placed a paw about her shoulders. ’Ee surpintly will, marm. Ee be a rock o’ sense, that ’un!’
12
UDARA GROUNDSLAY WAS a short-eared owl. Unfortunately he had been born without the gift of flight, but this did not seem to worry him one little bit. He had made his birthplace, the Rockwood, and its surrounding moors his domain. Nothing moved or went on there that he did not know about. Udara was immensely wise and very fierce. He protected his territory jealously and made his own rules for any creature venturing within its boundaries. These rules he enforced by his own natural ferocity.
Fleetscut sat with the squirrels around a small fire. It was almost twilight when the owl arrived.
Jukka rose to greet him. ‘Thou art looking hale an’ fine of feather, Groundslay!’
Ruffling his brown and umber barred feathers, the big owl stared solemnly at the squirrels with huge golden eyes which shone in the reflected firelight. ‘Rukkudooh! What brings bushtails to my lands?’
Fleetscut had never heard a creature speaking so slow and deliberately. Moreover, the murderous curved beak of Udara scarcely moved when he spoke.
Jukka politely let a moment elapse before replying. ‘We have brought a longears with us. He seeks news of his kind, or any other beasts seen hereabouts.’
The owl closed both eyes and twitched his ear feathers gently. Fleetscut thought he had gone to sleep, but then the big golden orbs opened again.
‘Hurrukooh! Udara sees all, even in the moondark. Longears have passed through here, young ones, noisy and frivolous creatures. Spikedogs, also. I like not the spikedogs – they are rough, ill-mannered beasts.’
Fleetscut stood up from the fire. ‘How many longears went through here, and when?’
Udara’s body did not move, but his head turned as if it were a separate part of him, in a great half-circle. He regarded the old hare like a piece of mud stuck to his talon, his eyes anything but friendly.
‘Hoorokkuh! You have lessons in courtesy to learn, longears. Speak only when you are spoken to. Your seasons have not made you any more sensible than the young ones of your kind.’
The head turned in leisurely fashion until Udara was facing Jukka once more. ‘Nothing in this life is free, believe my words. If the old longears wants information
he must pay me.’
Jukka shot an enquiring glance at Fleetscut, who nodded his head vigorously. The squirrel spoke for him. ‘The longears wants to know what you require as payment?’
‘Hoooooooh!’ Udara let out the long slow noise as if he were considering. ‘The sweet heavy bread you carry, Udara likes that, it is good.’
Fleetscut tossed his ration pack to Jukka, who placed it on the ground, close to the owl’s talons. Udara Groundslay looked down at it. His eyes closed, then reopened.
‘Uhkuhkuhk! More. I want more than just one!’
The old hare stared around the fire at the other squirrels. None seemed ready to give up their rations. Fleetscut shrugged and held his paws wide.
Jukka stared at him impassively. ‘Udara says one is not enough. Thou wilt have to find more.’
Ruro tossed her ration alongside that of Fleetscut. Silence seemed to stretch out into the growing darkness before Udara deigned to reply to the offer.
‘Rukkudooh! One more!’
‘You hear him, longears. Hast thou any more?’
Fleetscut shook his head. Udara kicked the packs lightly. ‘Hootooh! Then you wasted your time coming here, longears.’
Fleetscut had put up with enough. ‘Just a tick there, featherbag, I think you’re the one needs a lesson in courtesy. It’s no blinkin’ wonder that other creatures avoid comin’ here, wot, y’bad-mannered old swindler. I wouldn’t give you the dust off me paws after the way you’ve treated me!’
A gasp arose from the squirrels. Udara stalked slowly round the fire until his beak was level with the hare’s eye. ‘Kurruhum! Two it is then, longears. You are a perilous beast – I have slain many for less than what you said to me. But mind, two only buys the information that two merits!’
Thud!
Jukka’s pack landed with the other two. ‘There, now thou hast three. Give the longears all your information, Udara. All!’
Hooking the three packs with his talons, the owl slung them up over his useless wings, calling as he stalked off, ‘Be here at dawn light. I’ll tell you all then. Koohumhum!’