The tiny mouse waved the spoon sternly at the hare. "Fuffle say back t' work, or I chop y' tail off!"

Ballaw backed away from the sticky spoon-wielding infant. "m.u.f.f said, old lad. Nod's as good as a wink to a starved warrior. I say, Purslane, you've got a very violent offspring there!"

Lunch was a simple affair, leek and cabbage soup, summer salad, followed by honeyed scones and strawberry cordial. The midday sun was tempered by a gentle breeze from the sea as the newly formed Fur and Freedom Fighters sat about, eating and taking their ease. Rowanoak, Ballaw, Felldoh and Barkjon held an open discussion on the merits and drawbacks of going into battle. Barkjon and Rowanoak were not convinced that it was a good idea.

"Felldoh, you haven't got a tenth of the force that Badrang commands," the old squirrel cautioned his son. "We're not strong enough yet, lives could be lost needlessly in an attack on Marshank."

The strong young squirrel put aside his food. "I'm not talking about pitched battle, Father. Lightning attacks are what I plan. Hit hard and fast, then vanish. What's the matter with you? I've seen the days when we were slaves that you would vow vengeance on Badrang and all his kind."

Rowanoak intervened. "You both have valid points, Felldoh, but I agree with your father. We are not warriors, nor have we been into battle before. Granted that Badrang is evil and Marshank needs destroying, but you must realize that his horde are all seasoned killers and 273.

trained fighters. All that you have at the moment is a small bunch of freed slaves and some strolling players."

Ballaw finished off a scone, licking honey from his paws. ''But we freed the slaves, didn't we? Brome walked right into old Badbottom's fort and bluffed it out. Who's to say we can't become a first-rate fightin' force and whack them for good. What d'you say, eh, Brome old feller?"

Brome avoided Felldoh's eyes. "I can't say much. I may be good at bluffing, but I'm not a warrior. I know that now. I don't want to see creatures killed, particularly our own."

Felldoh ruffled his young friend's ears. "Then you can become a healer, one who cares for the wounded. It takes a brave beast to dash about in battle doing that."

Old Geum dipped a scone in her cordial to soften it. "All this talk of fighting and killing, why don't we just find another place far away from here, where we can enjoy life. Leave Badrang to his own devices and forget about the whole nasty thing, Marshank and these sh.o.r.es."

Suddenly Purslane was up, her eyes blazing. "I'll tell you why, because if Badrang is still there and Marshank still stands, then other creatures will be captured and taken as slaves. I have a little one, and I would fight with my life so that he could grow up a free creature!"

Keyla sprang up applauding her brave words. "Well said, marm. We know what it's like to live under the whips of a tyrant. It's not life, it's living death!"

Felldoh turned to his father and Rowanoak. "These creatures have said it all. I could not have spoken more strongly. I will lead the first attack tonight."

Barkjon looked up at his strong fearless son. "It has been in you to do this thing since you were a little one in the quarry, helping me to haul rocks. May the seasons and good fortune aid you, Felldoh, and keep those under you safe."

274.

Rowanoak shrugged, knowing protest would be useless. "What can I say except, break a leg!"

Felldoh looked puzzled until Ballaw explained. "In the actin' game it's our way of sayin' good luck to a chap."

The baby Fuffle waved his wooden spoon. "Break bofe legs!"

There was laughter and applause for the infant's wisdom.

275.

3i Travelling with Boldred was a real delight for Martin. The owl chose the prettiest paths and was friendly with every creature who dwelt beside them. They stopped often to eat the abundant fruits that grew everywhere. At one place Boldred showed them a tree laden with shiny dark red cherries. The temptation was too great to resist. They stood beneath the low hanging branches, plucking the juicy cherries and gobbling them down.

"Wonder, cudd oi make cherry zoop out'n these yurr?" Grumm ruminated.

Boldred spread a wing. "There's lots of cherry trees round here. Take your time, enjoy them. I'll be back in a short while." She flew off to map new features and talk with other creatures.

They lay beneath the tree, devouring cherries and seeing who could spit the stones furthest.

Pallum plucked a cherry off one of his spikes and popped it into his mouth. "Ah, this is the life for us, pals!"

Without warning, an incredibly ancient hedgehog came crashing through the undergrowth towards them, waving a k.n.o.bbly blackthorn stick. He was completely grey and quite shaky on his paws, but it did not diminish his temper.

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"Get ye gone, ye rascals, ye cherry thievin' wastrels. Be off with ye, or I'll lay this stick across your robbin' backs!"

Pallum stood upright, holding out his paws in peace. "Here now, hold hard, Father. We're not robbers!"

The ancient beast swung his stick at Pallum, but he did it so slowly that the young hedgehog had no trouble avoiding it. "Don't call me Father, ye young brigand. I wouldn't be thy father for a whole plum orchard!"

The old hedgehog wore tiny square spectacles on his snout end, and as he swung the stick they fell off. He groped about, still whacking out feebly. Rose dodged under the stick. Retrieving the spectacles, she held the blackthorn tight as she resettled the gla.s.ses on the grey-snouted creature.

"There, that's better. We're not thieves, sir. We didn't know the cherry trees belonged to you."

He tugged fitfully at the stick that Rose was still holding. "Let go of my stick, damsel. You're no better than ye should be!"

Martin sat up. There was no danger from the old one, but he was becoming very tiresome with his insults and rantings. The young mouse spoke sternly to him.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, old one, and stop waving that stick about-or I'll take it from you!"

The hedgehog managed to get the stick loose from Rose and adopted a fighting stance. "Hoho, ye boldfaced mouse. So ye want to fight me now. Then so be it. Come on, have at ye!"

He raised the stick just in time for Boldred to swoop in and pluck it from his paws. She landed, shaking her head. "Aggril, stop this. How many times have you been told the cherry trees do not belong to you? They are here for all creatures, not just for you!"

The old hedgehog Aggril knocked the heads from some daisies with his footpaws, muttering rebelliously, "Young uns today have no respect for age. Yon mouse 277.

with the sword offered me combat, 'twere no fault o' mine."

Grumm stood up indignantly. "Oo, 'ee gurt fibber. Marthen dood no such a thing. You'm a crafty ole beast, zurr, beggin' yurr pardon, iffen oi do say so."

Immediately Aggril's mood changed at the sight of Grumm. "Oh, a moley creature. Do accept my 'umble apologies, friends. Moleys are the nicest an' wisest beasts alive. Do ye an' thy companions have a liking for cherry cordial? Follow me!"

The four travellers looked at each other nonplussed.

Boldred shook with silent mirth. "Go on, follow him. He's harmless really, just a touch eccentric. I'm mapping a stream course-see you later." She winged off high above the trees.

Grumm started following Aggril, calling to the others, "Coom on, oi dearly wudd loik t' taste cherry corjul!"

The old hedgehog lived in a hollow oak, long dead but still standing, with a small door over a hole at its base. They followed him in. It was cool and dark. Stacked all around its walls were kegs, flasks and gourds of cordial. Aggril was very proud of his stock. He adjusted his gla.s.ses and peered closely at the labels on each receptacle.

"Mmm now, here be a cordial fit for kings an' queens, a score of seasons old, I lined the cask with honey myself to sweeten it."

There was pure white cheese and celery wafers to go with the drink. They sat on upturned casks as he issued them with wonderfully carved cherrywood bowls to drink from.

"Cherrywood be the best of all trees to make bowls from. Taste this and see what thee think of my art."

It was absolutely delicious, dark, cool and sweet. Before they had finished he was opening a large gourd.

"This was made by my mother, or 'twas made by my grandmother, I'm not sure, 'twas so long ago. Notice, 278.

'tis a brighter red and a fizzy taste, more suited to eat with salads."

Gourds were opened, casks unbunged and flasks broached. Martin and Rose sat together in the cool dimness of the hollow oak, eating cheese and celery wafers and sipping so many different cordials, each with its own history, that they lost count. Aggril's voice droned on like a b.u.mblebee hovering round apple blossom, while outside the sun made leaf patterns in the still woodlands. Martin had never known such peace and happiness in all his life. He lay back and closed his eyes, the heavy fragrance of wild cherries scenting the air about him.

It was night. Rose came slowly awake with the sensation that she was drifting, floating under the soft dark canopy of the sky, star-pointed and centered with a waning moon. The mousemaid lay at peace, feeling the swirl of water against silent paddles, hearing the gentle creak of timbers ...

She was on a boat!

"Be still, liddle shipmate, an' take yer ease."

The strong cheerful face of a big male otter appeared before her. Rose sat up slowly, trying to shake off the feeling of unreality.

"Where am I?"

"Aboard the good craft Waterlily an' travellin' on the great Broadstream. Lay back an' sleep now, yore in safe paws, miss."

Martin, Pallum and Grumm were curled up nearby, their contented snores blending with the slight noises of the boat. The otter plied his oar with a hefty tattooed paw as he chuckled, "Ole Aggril certainly slipped you an' yer pals a good measure of his special sleepin' potion. Them three won't know nothin' about it until way into mornin' light."

Rose felt helpless, a pleasant inertia stealing over her 279.

as she slumped gently back. "You mean to tell me that Aggril drugged us?"

The otter grinned and winked at her. "Sure as my name's Starwort. That ole hedgepig don't like young uns noways. He reckons the cherry trees are his, an' it's good night to any beast that messes wi' them. Lucky you was with Boldred, or Aggril might've sent you into a sleep you'd never wake from. As it was, he just popped you off temp'ry so's Boldred could get you out of the way. We 'ad to sling you an' yer pals into 'ammocks an' carry you a fair way to get you aboard Waterlily."

Rose half tried to keep her eyes open, murmuring drowsily, "Where is Boldred?"

The short-eared owl's voice came from somewhere above her. "Perched nice and comfy up here on the masthead. Do as Starwort says, Rose. Go back to sleep."

The mousemaid could hear her own voice as if from a distance. "Back ... to ... slee ... p."

The sun was up, and birds serenaded the new day from the thick foliage bordering Broadstream. The travellers sat with their paws through the midship rails, letting the water run through them. A crew of two dozen otters hauled the single square sail to catch the mild breeze, singing l.u.s.tily as they heaved on the ropes.

"Oh, the Broadstream comes from who knows where, It flows to who knows whither, And I sail with it here an' there, Wand'rin' yon an' hither.

The place of waters is my home, For I'm a fearless rover.

Through calm an' storm I'm bound to roam, Until my days are over.

Roll, roll and flow, and let the seasons gooooooooo."

As the last deep ba.s.s notes died, a triangle's discordant jangle rent the air.

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Grumm sniffed. His homely face lit up. "Hurr, 'tis zoop!"

Small otters poured out of the forecastle cabin, leaping, somersaulting and banging ladles on wooden bowls. Starwort's wife Marigold issued the four friends with bowls and ladles.

"Were I you, I'd 'urry. Those nippers'll lick the pot dry. They're nought but stomachs on paws!"

Over a charcoal brazier on the afterdeck, a fat otter called Stewer was dishing out soup, loaves of barley-bread and a concoction the otters drank called scupper-juice. Stewer filled their bowls to br.i.m.m.i.n.g, cautioning them cheerfully, "Watershrimp, bulrush 'n' hotroot soup, mates. It'll give you fur like velvet an' put a sparkle in yer eye. But drink plenty o' that scupperjuice to cool yer gills!"

Pallum's eyes watered. He fanned his mouth with both paws and gulped scupperjuice greedily. "Phwaw! My poor mouth's on fire. I never knew soup could taste so hot. Oh, my burning tongue!"

Martin and Rose were suffering equally. The soup was delicious, but the hotroot pepper must have been ladled into it.

Tossing aside his spoon, Grumm drank his soup with gusto. The heat of it did not seem to bother him. "Gurr, this be wunnerful zoop, ho aye. Furst clarss! Yurr, you uns 'ave moi bread an' moi drink. Give oi yurr zoop."

Willingly they exchanged their soup for the mole's bread and scupperjuice. Grumm slurped away merrily, watched by the entire otter crew and their families.

Starwort shook his head. "I ain't never seen a creature enjoy our soup so much in all me born days. We can't even take it without drinkin' scupperjuice to quench the burnin'. Grumm, matey, are you sure you've never 'ad this soup afore?"

The mole wiped a bead of sweat from his snout tip. "No zurr, never, tho' oi wisht oi 'ad. Think wot oi been a-missen all these seasons, hurr!"

281.

Streamsailing was a novel experience for the travellers. Under the otter crew's helpful paws they learned to reef and tack, scull, row and steer. Boldred had flown on ahead to contact the shrews. The otters reckoned to meet up with them sometime in mid-evening.

Grumm and Pallum took instantly to the nautical life. The Waterlily was so large and flat-bottomed that they forgot their fear of the water. Both the hedgehog and the mole adopted the otters' rolling gait and streamslang.

"Ahoy, Grumm matey. 'Tis a fair day on an even keel."

"Ahurr, Pallum me 'earty, coom an' sit yurr midships an' drop anchor 'longside oi, you'm ole streamdog!"

Martin and Rose clapped paws to mouths, stifling their giggles at the antics of the pair.

Roach, tench, perch and the odd pike could be seen through the clear running stream, following the Waterlily for the sc.r.a.ps that were thrown overboard. Sometimes they would cruise where the bank was deepsided, enjoying the shade of the trees. Other times they would ride out on the broad swell, catching the breeze. Rose watched Martin waving at a kingfisher which hung over an inlet, whirring its wings in a ceaseless blur as it watched the water for small fry. It was an idyllic day.

Early evening pa.s.sed, coloring Broadstream's banks a limpid green that gave way to gold-flecked cerise in midstream.

They heard the chattering and squabbling of small gruff voices from around a sharp bend in the watercourse. Starwort shook his head despairingly as he manoeuvred the tiller.

"Them Broadstream shrews, never stops arguin' an' disputin', they don't. I once saw two of 'em jump in the water an' climb out to argue over who was the wettest. Reef yer sail, you two streamdogs. We're roundin' the point!"

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Pallum and Grumm attempted an otter's footpaw salute.

"Haye aye, steady as she goes. Reefin' an' furlin' wi' all paws!" Pulling smoothly into the bank, they disembarked into a noisy chaos. The Broadstream shrews were odd little creatures, raggledy-haired and clad in baggy pantaloons. They all carried short rapiers, which they constantly drew and jabbed the air with when making a point. Boldred perched by their campfire, checking the charts and maps she had revised. The travellers sat alongside her, surrounded by a horde of curious shrews. She squinted her large round eyes in exasperation.

"Shrews! They don't even have a leader of this tribe, but each one thinks that they are in charge of everything. Listen to them!"

"I'm not sailin' tonight, we've been on the stream all day!"

"I want to sail tonight, it's the best time for voyagin'!"

"We've done enough. I say we don't sail for the rest of the season!"