Over their heads Dodo sat, dizzily swaying on the branch, with the grey bird’s wing stuffed into her beak. “I’d goid do fall off id a midid,” she tried to say, and was ignored.
The first of the hunters was a skinny man who looked as if he hadn’t had a decent meal for months. He carried a wriggling sack slung over his shoulder, and when he stopped he let it fall roughly to the ground. A brown paw poked out of a hole in the sack, and he kicked it.
“Now then,” said the other hunter, a tall man with a nose like a hook. He carried a gun across his shoulder. “They won’t be fit for eating if you tread on them.”
“I can soon catch more, if I wants to.”
“Let’s have a look at them,” said the tall man. He peered into the sack. “What’s the use of catching little things like that? I go in for the wild stuff. Big Game.” He sighed. “Not that I’ve caught anything here.”
“That’s because you’re noisy. Never catch nothing if you’re noisy. Got to go quiet, got to go creepy, got to scuttle like a leaf in the wind.”
“Ah, just you wait and see, I’ll be the first to catch the dodo. Just you wait and see.”
The two men sat back with their arms folded, happily dreaming about the dodo they were going to catch. They didn’t hear the little worried screech up in the branch above them, though Tilly did. She flicked an eye open quickly, and flicked it shut again.
“Will you know a dodo when you sees one, that’s the thing,” said the skinny man. “They’re very rare.”
“Of course I’ll know a dodo!” the tall one said. “It’s a great big, monster sort of thing, very fierce of course, with snappy teeth. And it growls. When I catch it I’m going to stuff it and hang it on my wall. Did you hear something squeak just then?”
The other man listened and shook his head. “Not a thing. Now, if I catches the dodo, I’m going to eat it. I’ve heard they’re ugly flappy birds, but nice and fat!”
“Listen! Another squeak! Did you hear that?” They both strained to listen.
The skinny man went on, “And, what’s more, they’re very easy to catch, so I’m told. Do you know, they’re so stupid, they can’t even fly! Whoever heard of a bird that can’t fly!”
They both seemed to find this very amusing, in fact they were laughing so much that they didn’t even hear the third hunter arrive. Tilly could just see him if she slit her eye open. It was the butterfly collector. He was rubbing his arms and his neck where the insects had stung him.
“I can hear you, laughing about dodos,” he scowled. “You needn’t think you can catch one of them, you know.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re extinct!”
This time the squeak came loud and clear and indignant.
“DODO EGGS DON’T STINK!”
Many things happened then. The hunters all set off in different directions in search of the screech. The skinny one tripped over his bag, and a dozen little hairy creatures like guinea-pigs with long legs and silky rabbity ears scuttled out.
“My mole-rats!” he shouted. “I’ve lost my dinner.”
The butterfly collector swung his net round to try and catch them as they darted in and out of all the legs. And the tall hook-nose, the great hunter of Big Game, stuck his gun up into the air and closed his eyes and fired.
Dodo fell from her tree like a stone dropping from a cliff, and landed with a thud in the bushes.
For a moment, everything was as still as sleep.
“Did you see that!” the tall hunter shouted, his voice strangled with amazement. “I shot it! I killed it!”
“Oh no! Oh no! Dodo!” Tilly cried. She scuttled down from the tree, and realized she was scurrying on little lizardy legs. “You’ve shot Dodo!” she shouted, and her voice scrunched like crackly paper, tiny and useless and mad with grief. “Why did you shoot Dodo? She never did anyone any harm!”
She flicked her scaly tail like a whip and skittered under the feet of the three hunters as they ran to pick Dodo up. But when they looked inside the bush, the dodo had gone. They searched round it, and under it, and because Tilly was so small she could slide right among its roots. It was true. The dodo had gone.
“Botheration!” said the tall one. “That was my best prize. I could have stuffed it and kept it on my mantelpiece.”
“I could have eaten it up. It was so fat it would have lasted me for a week,” said the thin one.
“I could have put it in a cage and sold it to a zoo,” said the collector. “I’d have been famous then.”
“Botheration!” the Big Game hunter said again, and he held his gun up in the air and closed his eyes and fired, at anything at all, just to make a noise, he was so angry; and there came an answering bang that was even louder than his, and something floated down on a piece of string, something yellow and tattered and rubbery. The hunter looked at it in amazement.
“By Jove!” he said. “I’ve shot two birds in one day.”
“Funny-looking bird to me,” said the collector. He picked it up and turned it over and over in his hand. “Wish you hadn’t killed it. It would have looked good in my collection.” He peered up at the tree. “Wonder if it’s got a nest up there?”
“Let’s have a look at it,” the thin one said. He pulled its skin to make it stretch, and sniffed it. Then he sucked it and spat it out again. “I’m not eating that.”
“Can’t even stuff it,” the tall one said. “Never mind. It was probably very dangerous. It’s probably just as well I did shoot it.” He marched off, whistling, pleased with himself, with his gun slung over his shoulder, and the other two followed him with their empty sack and net slung over theirs.
When their footsteps had died away, Tilly crawled back out of the bush, slow and heavy with sadness. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sunlight and let her hot tears roll down her cheeks and onto the dusty earth.
Chapter Six
Down Among the Mole-rats
“I’VE NEVER SEEN a lizard cry before.”
Tilly opened one of her eyes. A small brown monkey was crouched on all fours beside her, with its head touching the ground and turned to one side so that it could peer right into her face.
“Don’t cry, Lizard,” the monkey said.
Tilly sniffed. “I’m not a lizard really. I’m Tilly Mint.” Another tear wobbled down her lumpy face. “That’s one of the things I’m crying about.”
“Never mind.” The monkey put out a paw and gently dabbed up the tear. “I like lizards.”
Tilly hiccupped. “Thank you.”
The monkey lay down on one side so it could talk to Tilly more comfortably. “What else are you crying about, Tilly Mint?”
Tilly took a deep breath. “They’ve killed Dodo,” she whispered. “And she’s disappeared. And they’ve shot my balloon, so I can’t fly home again. And I’ve turned into a lizard.”
It was all so much and so terrible that she couldn’t stop her tears coming again, and all the kind monkey could do to help was to pat her head and dab her tears away.
“I’m sure everything will be all right,” she said.
A shadow hovered over them, cold as clouds, and although Tilly couldn’t lift up her head to look at it she recognized its screech.
“I saw it all. I saw the dodo fall,” the grey bird called.
“Where is she now, then?” asked the monkey. “This Tilly Lizard is very upset about her.”
“They carried her away,” the grey bird screamed. “Down the dark caves. Away, away.” And the shadow shifted away from them and flitted back up into the trees.
“Who did?” asked Tilly.
“The mole-rats!” the grey bird screeched, high up in the treetops. “Lifted her up on their backs and ran away with her. Down the dark caves.”
“The mole-rats!” said Tilly. “They were the animals that escaped from the hunter’s bag! Monkey, can you show me where the mole-rats live?”
“Of course I can, Tilly!” The monkey did a handstand, delighted that on
e of Tilly’s problems at least had been solved. “I should have thought of that! They wouldn’t have wanted the hunters to chop poor old Dodo up, you see. Or stuff her. Sorry, Tilly. But those people do terrible things to animals, they really do.”
“But where do the mole-rats live?”
“Here!” the monkey chuckled, dancing again. “Here and here and here!”
And she pointed to holes under the tree roots.
Tilly scuttled to the edge of one of the holes. “Down there? But it’s dark, and deep, and cold down there. Monkey, will you come down with me?” she asked.
But the monkey swung up the nearest tree, somersaulting from branch to branch. “Not me, Tilly Lizard!” she laughed. “I like to play in the sunshine. Don’t like dark holes, cold and creepy. Bye, Tilly Lizard! Good luck! I’m sure everything will be all right!”
And though Tilly couldn’t see her any more, she could see the monkey’s shadow swinging by its long arms from tree to tree.
She peered down the hole again. She could even smell the musky cool dampness.
I wonder if lizards like dampness, she thought, and taking a deep breath, she slid down into the black mouth of the hole.
It wasn’t too bad at first. There was plenty of light filtering through to show her the way, and she could see the marks of little paws, and a scoop in the earth where something had been dragged along. But when she came to a bend in the tunnel the light stopped altogether, and she was darting along in darkness. When she came to a fork in the tunnel she nearly turned back again.
“Now which way? Which way? Which way? Way? Way?” her lizardy voice echoed.
“Who’s that? Who’s that? That? That? That?” a scared voice piped.
“Me,” whispered Tilly, trying to stop the echoes bouncing. “It’s only me.”
Something furry thrust up against her nose, nearly treading on her.
“Don’t do that,” said Tilly. “You’ll squash me.”
The paw moved, and she felt a wet nose snuffling her.
“Ah, it’s a lizard,” the voice said. “You’ll have to turn back, I’m afraid. They don’t like lizards down there. Not much.”
“But I’m not a lizard,” said Tilly. “I’m Tilly Mint really.”
“I still can’t let you in. It’s more than my job’s worth. Only mole-rats allowed past this point.”
‘And dodos?” asked Tilly hopefully.
“I believe I did see a dodo once, yes,” the mole-rat guard said. “Bit fat for down here.”
“Was it just now that you saw her?”
“Might have been,” said the guard cautiously. “Why d’you want to know?”
“Because she’s my friend,” said Tilly. “Was, I mean. Was my friend.” She couldn’t stop her voice from wobbling.
“Now, now. Don’t do that,” the mole-rat begged. “You’ll set me off, and once you’ve set me off you never stop me. I’m that soft-hearted . . .” He wiped his nose on the furriest bit of his arm.
“Then please let me go on,” said Tilly.
“Couldn’t you do something about this lizard business?” asked the mole-rat. “They’d be very upset if I let a lizard go down there.”
It was hopeless. What Tilly would have liked more than anything would have been to turn back into Tilly Mint again, but that would have been no use at all. She’d have been well and truly stuck if that happened. She’d have to stay there for ever, or till she got very thin . . .
“It’s more than my job’s worth, you see,” he explained. “I daren’t let you past, and that’s that.” Tilly could hear him stroking his beardy chin. “Perhaps there’s something else I could do for you? You’ve come all this way – it seems a shame to send you back again so soon. I could sing you a song, if you like. Would that cheer you up a bit?”
“Not very much,” Tilly sniffed. And then she had an idea. “I mean yes,” she said. “It would cheer me up a lot.”
“I love singing,” said the mole-rat. “Better than eating, or digging, or going for long walks by a river. I love singing songs. What number would you like?”
“Erm . . .” said Tilly.
“Have song number seventy-five,” the mole-rat suggested. “It’s my favourite.”
“All right,” said Tilly.
The mole-rat began to sing immediately, in the sweet, high, whistling tone of a choirboy, and now Tilly could see a little better she could just make him out, poised on his back legs with his front paws pressed together across his fuzzy chest, and his head held high, and his eyes closed.
“All things begin in darkness
In shell, in nut, in hole,
In seed, in spawn, in nest, in soil,
We thank the makers of us all.
And so our grateful song we raise
Sing out of darkness in their praise
With squeaks and chirps and croaks and roars
With wings and fins and paws and claws.
We thank the earth, our mother,
We thank the sun, our father,
For giving us each other
And the precious gift of life.”
The mole-rat’s voice echoed round and round the dark tunnels, sweet and clear as water tumbling over stones. And while he was singing, with his paws still pressed together and his eyes closed, Tilly crept past him, quiet as ripples, and down the main tunnel, and as she began to pick up speed she heard him change his tune to a piping, jigging, skipping song that set him dancing and helped her to run as fast as her long-toed feet would take her.
She didn’t stop running until she saw a glow at the end of the tunnel. At first she thought she’d run right through it, and that she’d met daylight again, but then she realized that the tunnel swung round a bend and that the glow came from thousands of little insects, all fluttering and shimmering along the tunnel walls and lighting up a large underground cavern. As she crept nearer, the glow became so brilliant that she was dazzled by it.
From far away at the guard’s end of the tunnel she could hear his voice still trilling a jig, and the stamp of his feet as he danced to it in the darkness. Now as she broke through into the green and gold brilliance of the cavern, the same tune was echoing round and round. Dozens of mole-rats were dancing round to it, whirling each other shoulder high, singing away in high piping voices, leaping round in mad circles, and high above their voices another voice was squawking, loud and froggy and cheerful.
Tilly pressed herself down to peer under the skipping feet. Lying on her back in the middle of the ring, waving her legs about in time to the music, and with her feathers nearly black with dust, was Dodo.
Chapter Seven
Danger Everywhere
TILLY DARTED INTO the middle of the circle of dancing mole-rats. “Dodo!” she cried.
The mole-rats froze in stillness.
Dodo did her best to sit up, though the roof of the cavern was too low for this. She tried to twist her head round and got her beak stuck. “Did fomeone fpeak?”
“I did!” said Tilly. “It’s me, Tilly Mint! Oh, Dodo, I’m so glad you’re still alive.”
“Of courfe I’m ftill alive!” said Dodo to the roof.
“I thought the hunters had shot you! They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“Didn’t touch me!” said Dodo proudly, freeing her beak at last. “To tell you the truth, Tilly, all that happened was that I went a little dizzy from being so high up, you know, and a bit excited I expect, and well, I fainted. I fell off the tree and next thing I knew I woke up lying on my back and being rushed along headfirst through the bushes, and then pushed down a hole, and then dragged along tunnels till I thought my head was going to come right off, and here I am at last . . and, Tilly, these dear friends did it all, and they’ve rescued me from the hunters.”
Tilly looked round and saw that the mole-rats were standing in a line staring at her, nibbling rapidly as though they’d got things stuck between their teeth, and whispering to each other. She was worried. The guard had told her that they didn’t
like lizards much. What would they do to her?
They lowered their blunt flat heads like battering rams and moved slowly towards her.
Her heart started to thump in her throat. “Hello,” she said, and she noticed how her voice had stopped being crackly and was suddenly squeaky with nerves. “I’m Tilly Mint really.”
The largest mole-rat, who was pure white with big red eyes and fine quivering whiskers, stepped out of the line and came up to Tilly Mint, sniffing right up to her face. At last she stepped back, as if she was satisfied. “Hello, Tilly Mint,” she said. Her voice was soft and silky, like a cat purring. “I’m the queen of the mole-rats, and I’m very happy that you’ve come to visit us.”
She nodded to the others. Tilly found herself surrounded by mole-rats all sniffing round her so that they tickled her with their whiskers, and one or two of them began to lick her with quick, busy jabs of their tongue, making her want to giggle.
“Listen to me,” said the white queen of the mole-rats seriously. “I am very pleased to meet you, Tilly Mint, because you seem to be a friend of the dodo bird’s, and she’s very special to us. But how did you get in? Usually only mole-rats and wounded animals in great danger can come down here. You smell of humans, and they’re our greatest enemy. You also smell of lizards, and we don’t like them much either. I can tell there’s no danger about you . . . but how did you get past the guard?”
“He didn’t want me to get past him!” said Tilly. “He told me not to. But I had to find Dodo.”
The queen sniffed at Tilly again, then padded round her, deep in thought.
“Then how did you get past him?”
“It wasn’t his fault,” said Tilly. “Really it wasn’t. You mustn’t blame him. He didn’t see me go past him.”
The queen swung round and padded round Tilly in the opposite direction. It made Tilly dizzy to watch her. “He didn’t see you!” She stopped and faced Tilly. “This is very serious. Tell me. If he didn’t see you . . . was it because he had his eyes closed?”
Tilly Mint Tales Page 8
