She sat down on the edge of the bed and mopped her own brow. "Whew! Is it hot in here, or is it just me?"

Faith Spinney felt her forehead. "Are you all right, m'dear? My, you do look frazzled."

Nasturtium stood up, swaying a little. "Silly me, complaining of the heat. Now all of a sudden I feel quite cold!"

Abbess Vale placed a paw about her shoulders. "Good job I've just made up this fresh bed, Sister. Time you had a rest- you're a patient from now on."

Droony waved a limp paw at Nasturtium. "Plenty o' ro-seywater an' medsin furr 'ee, Sister. Naow you'm lie abed an1 go t' sleep. Do 'ee gudd!"

"Thank you, Doctor Droony." Hollyberry smiled as he mopped the little mole's brow. "Now how about taking a bit of your own advice and trying to get some sleep?' *

The Abbess and Faith Spinney folded a sheet together, worry and concern showing through the weariness on their faces.

"Oh, Faith, do you think Thrugg will get the Flowers of lector?"

"There there. Vale. I'm sure he will. Mr. Thrugg is a good otter. I 'ope he's takin' good care of Baby Dumble."

Thrugg and Baby Dumble were in fine form, composing songs as they marched northward on the old path.

"O give me a road to walk along, An' a bite of food or two, I'll tramp an' eat the livelong day, My liddle friend, with you."

~ Dumble rummaged in the haversack and found a vegetable pastie. Pa.s.sing it down to Thrugg, the infant dormouse threw $. back his head and sang uproariously loudly: t f "O, I'll sit on top'a Mista Thugg f An' give 'm food to scoff, 'V. 'Cos he's my great big matey an'

'E won't let me fall off!" .' 4; Thrugg munched the pastie as he thought of his next verse.

]*. "O, Dumble is a scallywag, *** v Fat as a liddle frog.

'&' p He's eaten so much vittles, He's 'eavier than a hog!"

Dumble selected an apple and began polishing it on Thrugg's bead. As he did he chanced to look back down the road. ,Dumble's eyes widened, then he turned them ahead again, this time singing in a low urgent voice: "O Mista Thugg, don't turn around, And don't you cause a fuss. There's four oF foxes wiv big sticks- i" I fink they're followin' us!"

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Keeping his paws in front, Thrugg fitted a stone to his sling. "Let's see what these coves want then, matey."

He halted and stood in the center of the path as the four foxes approached. They were roving beggars who haunted the path, waiting for helpless travelers or any easy prey that came their way. Two of them carried rusty swords, the other two were armed with cudgels.

"Good summer day to ye, mates!'1 the brawny otter greeted them.

The foxes exchanged knowing smiles. One stepped forward. "Top o' the summer to ye, yer 'onner. What's in the 'avvysack?"

Thrugg grinned cheerfully at the raggedy fox. "Four unconscious foxes with their tails chopped off who tried stealin' our vittles. Why do you ask?"

"Hee hee, we've got a funny un 'ere mates!" one of the foxes sn.i.g.g.e.red.

Another fox drew his sword, testing the edge with his paw.

"Yeh, wonder if 'e's tough as Vs funny?"

Thrugg twirled his sling ominously. "Why don't you come an' find out, mudface?"

The first fox saw that the big otter was no easy proposition, so he adopted a whining tone. "Now be reasonable, friend. We're not lookin' fer trouble. You wouldn't begrudge four starvin' creatures a bite, would yer?"

Thrugg took a step toward him. "Begrudge a starvin' creature a bite? Not me, matey. You come 'ere an' I'll bite you anytime. Now listen, you lot: be off with you. Go an' scare some crows."

The fourth fox pulled out his rusty sword and began swinging it. "Yah, we're four to one. Gerrim, lads!"

Baby Dumble let out a terrified squeak. Suddenly Thrugg realized that he could not fight and look after the infant; escape was the only solution.

"Hold tight, Dumble. 'Ere we go!" Bulling through the foxes, Thrugg bowled them aside as he rushed off the path into the woods. Dodging and ducking, he skirted tree and bush with the outraged cries of his pursuers ringing behind him.

An idea began to form in Thrugg's head. He put on an extra burst of speed to gain a little time.

The foxes stumbled and b.u.mped into each other as they hurried into the woodlands. They ran a short distance and halted. Thrugg was lost to sight.

"The coward, 'e's 'idin' somewheres!"

"Yeh, spread out an' search. We'll find 'im."

"Hee hee, roasted dormouse-ages since I tasted that. Ringworm, you go with Splidge. Me an' Blitch'H fan out the other way."

They had not been searching long when the one called Ringworm spotted their quarry. He gave a low secret whistle to the others. When they came he cautioned silence, pointing forward as he whispered, "Ssshh! There they are, mates- 'idin' be'ind that there bush. See the liddle brat settin' on top of the 'avvysack?"

Sure enough, the haversack and the back of Baby Dumble were visible above the spread of a thick clump of willowherb.

"Now let's do this quiet like. Sneak up an' jump 'em!"

"Yeh, good idea. Clubs 'n' swords ready. Let's go!"

Within feet of the vegetation they threw caution to the winds and leapt at the clump of willowherb, stabbing and striking.

Whack! Bonk! Thwack! Thud!

Four foxes lay senseless on the ground, half in and half out of the clump of rosebay willowherb.

Seated atop the haversack, which was strapped to a low sycamore branch that dipped into the willowherb, Baby Dumble looked as if he were still perched on his friend's shoulders. The trick had worked perfectly! The infant dormouse shouted excitedly: "Mista Thugg! Did ya biff th' foxes, Mista Thugg!"

Thrugg stood over the prostrate foxes, twirling his heavy stone-loaded sling. "Aye, matey, I raised lumps like duck eggs on the villains!"

The big otter disarmed the foxes, throwing their weapons off into the surrounding shrubbery. Breaking off a whippy 154.

willow switch, he revived them with a few smarting cuts. "Come on, hearties. Snooze time's over. Up on yer paws!"

Each contributing a shoulder, the four foxes were made to bear the haversack with Dumble sitting on it between them. Thrugg walked behind as they trekked along the north path, making sure they did not flag or lag with his willow switch. By nightfall the foxes were sore, hungry, weary and in tears. Thrugg had driven them a fair distance, even at double speed through a ford where pike lurked.

"Waaahahhooh!" The fox named Ringworm bawled unashamedly. "A pike bit me back there. It ain't fair!"

Thrugg waggled the cane under his nose. "Stop moanin', mate. You won't die, though maybe the pike will. Righty-ho then, you scruffy bandits, 'ad enough?"

"Oh, let us go, sir. We've 'ad enough!" The foxes collapsed weeping in the road.

Dumble took charge. Swishing the cane perilously close to them, he made them repeat extravagant promises never to be naughty, to help other creatures and to get a good wash every night. Thrugg chuckled at the sight of the infant dormouse making sure each fox repeated his lines word for word. The otter then took out his sling and loaded it.

"Right, me lucky lads, I'm goin' to count ten. Then if I can still see you I'm comin' after you. We need porters for tomorrow, see. One, two, three ..."

Before he had reached seven the four foxes were rapidly vanishing into the distance down the dusky path.

Thrugg and Dumble camped at the edge of the path that night, beside two curiously shaped stones known to travelers as "the otter and his wife" because of their odd contours. Seated by a merry little fire they had a good supper of beechnut scones, cherry cake and cider.

Thrugg stirred the flames with a stick as he ruminated. "Hair, who knows what lies beyond the 'orizon tomorrer, matey."

Baby Dumble also picked up a stick and prodded the fire, 155.

nodding his head seriously as he imitated his big otter friend. "Oh harr, matey. Might be more foxes an' serpinks. But you stick wiv Dumble, Mista Thugg. I'll take care of ya."

Stifling his laughter, Thrugg tossed his warm jerkin at the infant. "You liddle villain, I'll take care of you if you're not asleep soon. Wrap y'self in that there jerkin."

The quarter-moon hung like a golden sickle in the summer night. Hardly a breeze stirred the mantle of the woodlands as the two adventurers settled down to rest by the fire's glowing embers.

19.

The Guosssom shrew flotilla cut off down sidestreams and weaved its course along barely navigable waterways shrouded by hanging vegetation from tree, bush and foliage. Mara and Pikkle had lost all sense of direction, but the voyage was soothing and the quiet waters transmitted a sense of tranquillity. The young badger maid lay across the prow, half asleep as she watched sunlight dappling through a tunnel of willows onto the barely rippling waters. Dragonflies hummed and once a kingfisher flashed past like a brilliant jewel. Her sense of urgency over returning to Salamandastron waned as, lulled by the steady dip and fall of shrew paddles, she was overcome by la.s.situde and slipped into the realm of sleep.

The treetrunk boats drifted to rest with a slight b.u.mp against a bank overhung by lavender, willow and rowan. Nordo cupped his paws and gave a short call.

"Logalogalog, Guosssom home!"

Only half awake, Mara and Pikkle were escorted through a tunnel in the bankside which opened out into a well-lit and s.p.a.cious cave. All around them shrews were bustling hither and thither, carrying food from earth ovens to long shelves around the side of the cave which served as tables.

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"I say, this is more like it, wot?" Pikkle rubbed his paws together in antic.i.p.ation. "Shrew tucker and loads of it, by the look of things. Lead on, old Log-a-thing!"

Log-a-log and Nordo seated them at a semicircular ledge. Immediately as they had sat down, a large fat shrew, accompanied by two small thin ones, approached them with a scowl on his face. He prodded Mara and Pikkle roughly.

"You've taken our places. Those seats are for Guosssom shrews, not for ragtag stripedogs an' rabbits!"

Before either of them could say anything, Log-a-log gave the fat shrew a sharp shove. "Mind your manners, Tubgutt. These are my friends. Go and sit at the other end with your pals, do you hear me?"

Log-a-log's paw strayed to the rapier at his side. Nordo stood beside his father, grim-jawed and ready for trouble. Tubgutt gave them a surly glance and retreated to the seats at the other side of the table, muttering something to the two thin shrews, who nodded and sn.i.g.g.e.red rudely.

The shrew fare was excellent, starting with shrimp and watercress soup, then on to an admirable salad served with soft white bankcheese, and after that there was a magnificent pas-tie of chestnuts, mushrooms and leeks, followed by hot spiced apple pudding. The two friends did the food full justice, washing it down with beakers of sweet shrewbeer.

Log-a-log watched Pikkle eating and shook his head in amazement. "Witherin' waterweeds! Where do you put it all, Pikkle?"

The young hare demolished his second portion of apple pudding and licked the spoon clean. "No bother, old Log-a-thing. Scoffin' is me fav'rite sport, wot!"

"Rabbits can't scoff, it takes a shrew to do real scoffin'." The loud remark came from Tubgutt, who was sneering openly at them across the table.

Pikkle chuckled as he waved his spoon. "Maybe rabbits can't scoff, m' fat friend, but I'm Pikkle Ffolger, a hare from Salamandastron, and I'll scoff you under the table any day in the season!"

Tubgutt stood up, his face dark with temper. "n.o.beast can 158.

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outscoff Tubgutt of the Guosssom!"

Pikkle turned to Log-a-log. "May I?"

Log-a-log nodded. "Certainly, Pikkle. But watch out for Tubgutt-he's sly. I've noticed that he was waiting to challenge you, so he has hardly touched any food,"

Pikkle shrugged. "Well, I only did a quick practice scoff m'self."

A table that was formed from an old oak stump in the center of the cave was cleared. Seated at it, Pikkle and Tubgutt faced each other as Log-a-log stated the rules.

' 'Do both contestants agree to hot spiced apple pudding?' *

Both the protagonists nodded and picked up their spoons.

Log-a-log waved a paw to the servers as he continued, "It is a contest to a pawstill, then. Bowley the cook will count the dishes emptied by each creature. Shrewbeer may be drunk while eating. No half-finished dishes will count, and no throwing food on the floor or hiding it in clothing. First one unable to raise his spoon from the bowl must admit defeat. Make it a good clean scoff and best of luck to you both. Spoons ready ... then begin!"

Servers fought their way to the table through the throng of Guerrilla Shrews packing round the two contestants. Steaming hot spiced apple puddings were stacked at its center as hare ate against shrew. Tubgutt went to it in a rush, spooning out three bowls of pudding in record time, his fat jaws working madly as the spoon plowed up and down in a blur. Pikkle paced himself, eating slow but big mouthfuls, chewing each morsel with relish. A large contingent of the shrews began cheering for Tubgutt. Mara stood between Log-a-log and Nordo, viewing the proceedings from a ledge some distance away.

Tubgutt had downed five bowls to Pikkle's two. Nordo was beginning to look worried.

"That Tubgutt-look at the speed of him! He's picking up his sixth bowl. What's the matter with Pikkle? He's awfully slow, Mara."

The badger maid merely smiled. "Don't fret yourself. Pik- kle can hold his own with creatures twice his size. He's eating slowly because he's enjoying it. Tubgutt may be fast, but he's no Pikkle Ffolger. You watch!"

Back at the table, Pikkle licked his spoon clean, quaffed down a beaker of shrewbeer and began on his third pudding. "Absolutely delicious pud, wot? You must tell cook to give me the recipe. Old Tubbyguts is enjoyin' it, too, aren't you old lad? My my, you are a messy eater, Tubbyguts!"

With pudding festooning his chin and apple smeared across his face, the fat shrew lifted his head and glared at Pikkle. "The name's Tubgutt, hare, and I'll make you sorry you ever went into a contest against me!"

"Sorry, old chap? One could never be sorry with all this beautiful scoff about. May I pour you some more shrew-beer?"

At the end of his eighth bowl Tubgutt began to slow down. He put the bowl aside and reached for another. Bowley the cook rapped his paw with a ladle.

"Bowl not finished there. Still puddin' in it, see."

"Never mind, chum." Pikkle grabbed the bowl from Tubgutt. "You carry on-I'll finish it. Waste not want not, that's what we always say back at the mountain!"

Pikkle was becoming very popular with the shrews. His good humor and impeccable table manners endeared him to them. The Gousssom began to cheer support for the young hare.

"Come on, Pik. Slow and easy does the trick!"