by Michael Tod
She had smoothed her tail as she had said this and Marguerite had turned away to hide a smile.
Oak looked uncomfortable. There was a big difference between being Leader in a stable, year-to-year cycle of seasons, with comforting Kernels from a wise Tagger to guide you in decision-making, and being Leader now with unprecedented things happening in one’s demesne.
‘I doubt if there is anything we can do,’ said Chestnut and turned away to avoid the withering look his mate gave him.
Burdock intervened to cool the debate.
‘We were warned what would happen by the other squirrels who passed through here, though some of us didn’t believe them.’ She glanced at Chestnut. ‘Or didn’t want to.’
Avoid illusions.
Reality must be faced.
Be down-to-earth now.
Marguerite played with the words. She knew that squirrels were at home in the trees and that down-to-earth was what Old Burdock had taught her was a figure of speech, but it was so easy up in the branches to lose sight of all the things going on below in a world which did affect them, even if they sometimes felt above it all.
Larch was speaking now. ‘I wonder what it is they want. Are they intending to stay here? Will there be more of them? Will they want to take more of what they called territory?’
Oak held up his paw. ‘One question at a time. But none of us knows the answers anyway. Time will tell us more.’
If mists hide the view
All will be revealed to us,
In the Sun’s good time.
Finally, a decision was taken to abandon Humanside to the Greys, in the hope that they would be content there. Juniper and Bluebell, realising that the easy pickings from the Visitors would not be his that summer, asked if he could have a new tag.
Old Burdock the Tagger looked at him coldly. ‘The one that comes to mind is Juniper the Diver. Would you like that?’
This raised the only laugh of the day. Juniper turned away. Any new tag would have to be earned.
CHAPTER NINE
Seven days and nights had passed since the Greys had arrived. Marguerite had watched the event, especially the humiliation of Juniper, with interest. Now well grown, she was living up to the early promise that Burdock had recognised. The tag she had been given, the Bright One, was ambiguous. She puzzled over it and wondered if it referred to her glossy brown fur or her eyes. Or was it because she seemed to understand complicated things better than others of her year? It was against custom to ask about your tag, as this would be an insult to the wisdom and observation of the Tagger.
Now she was concerned as to how only four Greys, admittedly bigger physically than the natives, could intimidate a group of squirrels who outnumbered them many times over.
Bluebell was concerned about far more mundane things, like how to get some of the salted peanuts she craved. She hung about the edge of Humanside watching the Greys scavenging at the Tea Rooms, which they called the Eating Man-Drey. Each day she ventured nearer, apparently unnoticed, until one day a peanut, sparkling with salt, thrown by a Visitor, rolled past the Greys towards her. She ran forward, grabbed at the nut and dashed away with it, not daring to look back in case the dreaded Greys were coming after her.
Safely back at Deepend she ate the peanut slowly, relishing the exquisite saltiness. She was hooked. She must have more, whatever the dangers. Early the next morning, before the human Visitors arrived, she returned, planning to be hidden ready to be the first to have any salted nuts that day.
As she came down a tree near the Eating Man-Drey and was about to drop over the bank behind the buildings she saw Flint, apparently waiting for her. She turned to avoid him, her whiskers twitching nervously, and thought of running back to towards Deepend. Then a harsh screech sounded from above her and a grey body dropped from a branch.
She instinctively jumped sideways and Quartz landed where she had been a moment before.
‘Missed you that time,’ he said, striking out at her with his paw.
Bluebell, terrified leapt away and scampered off through the trees, pursued by the mocking laughter of the two Greys.
When she realised that she was not actually being chased, she slowed to a hop and then stopped – the salt craving still on her! She turned; there was no sign of the Greys now and she started back again. Near the Man-Dreys she heard the locking laughter again, but could not make out where it was coming from. Cones were dropped on her and mysterious rustlings came from the bushes, but no squirrel seemed to be there.
Her fur stood on end when a stone rolled down the bank and she had to jump clear. Then she found a square of four stones where she knew none had been a few moments before.
Only the craving for salt held her – every instinct told her to climb and run through the treetops to safety. She kept telling herself that it could only be Flint and Quartz playing tricks to scare her and she hesitatingly called their names, ‘Flint, Quartz, please. I only want some nuts!’
Mocking laughter came from above and behind her, but she could not see her tormentors. Then, hearing the clang of the metal gates being opened, she scampered down the bank and into the area in front of the Eating Man-Drey, confident that the presence of humans would protect her. She stayed in the open, waiting for Visitors to arrive and be brought their food by the Red-Haired Girl, other Greys arriving and also waiting expectantly. Flint and Quartz were amongst them, leering at her and bumping into her as they scurried about.
Then she saw it. A peanut, salt encrusted, was thrown to her. She caught it, dropped it, then ran after it as it bounced down the steps towards the pool. She caught it again and sat up breathlessly, holding the nut, only to be bowled over by Flint who had bounded down the steps behind her. The nut flew from her paws, bouncing and rolling, to splash in the water.
By the time she had evaded Flint and scooped the nut from the shallow water, it had lost its appeal and tasted like the other peanuts which were more easily begged from the Visitors.
She waited all day, enduring the threats and abuse from the Greys until, when the last Visitor had left, she scurried away and ran back to Deepend and the security of her drey.
Juniper had missed her, knew that she had been at Humanside and guessed that she had been overcome by the salt craving. It took him sometimes, and he knew how hard he had to fight within himself to resist it.
He decided not to speak of it that night. He could explain how he could help her in the morning, when she would be calmer. They slept restlessly together, but while he was still asleep she slipped away from the drey and although he searched until the gates clanged he could not find her. Then he saw her near the Man-dreys submitting to every kind of abuse from the Greys.
Bluebell returned to the drey that night, but refused to speak to Juniper about what he had seen.
She was gone again in the morning and it was inevitable that a report on her behaviour reached Old Burdock. To Juniper’s disgrace, as well as her own, she was summoned to appear before the Council and account for her behaviour.
She told how she needed the salty nuts and could only get them at the Eating Man-Drey. Yes, the Greys did treat her badly but she must have salted nuts. Bluebell could not lie, she did not know what a lie was, but she made the various incidents of abuse and humiliation seem almost routine.
No member of the Council could conceive of the idea of an urge so irresistible that it would lead a squirrel into such behaviour, except perhaps Juniper, who remembered the taste from his scavenging days. His mouth watered at the recollection.
A denigratory tag was clearly justified and Burdock thought long and hard for a suitable one, hampered by a lack of words for such an alien action. Bluebell was sent out of listening distance during the discussions. Then, after much debate, she was called back and given the down-tag Who Sells Herself for Peanuts, and with this she crept away from the Council in disgrace, tail low.
Juniper tried to follow but she turned on him, snapping, ‘Leave me alone,’ and later, when he expec
ted to find her at their drey, she was not there and did not return. She had gone to Humanside to live amongst the Greys, totally dependent on a supply of the salt-encrusted nuts.
CHAPTER TEN
Some days later, Bluebell watched the arrival of another posse of Greys which included a confident male whom she recognised as Marble. He was accompanied by his companion Gabbro, whom she remembered as having been strangely silent on the last visit but now chattered constantly.
Marble showed his surprise at finding a Red living among the Greys and greeted her curtly but, as the salt-dominated days passed, she was relieved to find that he always treated her in a civil enough way. By picking up snatches of the Greys’ conversation she learned that Marble had guided this group of colonisers to the Blue Pool and was resting there for a time before returning to Woburn, where it was hinted that he had great expectations. She noted that he was frequently accompanied by a grey female known as Sandstone and one or twice she overheard him address her affectionately as Sandy.
One afternoon, hearing sounds of violent conflict near the Eating Man-Drey, Bluebell was drawn by curiosity to climb on to the wood shingle roof and peer over. Below her, tables were being pushed back, people were standing up, some were shouting and one woman was slashing with a dog lead at a whirling black, white and grey mass on the floor. From her viewpoint she could see that a fight was in progress between a Visitor’s Jack Russell terrier and one of the grey squirrels.
The whining dog, bitten about the nose and ears, was whipped off and dragged away towards the car park, leaving a squirrel, who she should see was Marble, unconscious on the ground. An elderly man with a kind face stooped to pick up the limp animal. Another man, whom she recognised as the Human Who Picked Things Up, shouted at him and he drew back.
The man knelt and called to the Red-Haired Girl who came out of the Tea Rooms and gave him an old towel in which he wrapped the body of Marble. He stood up, holding the squirrel and turned to her.
‘A vet should see this,’ he said.
‘The vet’s here now, over at the paddock with the horses, but I don’t know if he’ll bother with a squirrel. You could try,’ she suggested.
The caretaker went off towards the paddock, carrying the wrapped up squirrel, and found the vet just as he was packing up to leave.
‘Hello,’ he said cheerfully, recognising the caretaker. ‘What have you got there?’
‘It’s a grey squirrel, had a fight with a dog down by the Tea Rooms and got chewed up a bit. Helen, the waitress, said you were here so I brought it over.’
‘Let’s see the little fellow,’ the vet said, reaching out to take the bundle, which was now showing blood on the white towelling. The squirrel was beginning to stir. ‘I’ll just give him a small injection to keep him quiet while I look at him.’
The vet lowered the back door of his estate car to make a platform, laid out a rubber sheet, then prepared a syringe. When he was sure that the squirrel was safely under, he cleaned the blood from its fur and examined the limp body.
‘His right front paw is badly bitten, but there doesn’t appear to be any other serious damage – one can’t be sure, though. I’ll have to take off that paw if he’s going to have a chance to survive. Even then he may have internal injuries. Would you rather I put him down?’
Tom shook his head. ‘No, give the poor beggar a chance.’ The vet reached into his bag for instruments and operated swiftly and cleanly.
‘I’ll be interested to know how he gets on,’ the vet said. ‘Animals can do surprisingly well with one paw missing, but sometimes the others will turn on it and drive it away. Let me know if you see it again, I’m over here quite often.’ Tom cautiously rewrapped the squirrel in the towel.
‘He’ll be okay in a few hours,’ the vet told him. ‘I suggest you leave him in an open box to recover. When he’s up to it he’ll go off on his own.’
Then, as he wiped and put away the instruments, he asked if the other squirrels seemed healthy. ‘There was an article I saw in a journal about some mysterious disease affecting grey squirrels in some parts of the country. No one knows how it is spread, but the squirrels seem to go into a decline, lose their natural resistance and then die from any small infection they would normally resist. There’s research into it being done at Norwich. They’re calling it Gradual Decline Syndrome, ‘Grades’ for short.’
‘The grey ones have only been here a few weeks,’ Tom replied. ‘Prefer the red ones myself, but don’t see so much of them now. Except that scruffy one who’s mad on peanuts.’
The vet raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
‘Oh, yes, do anything for a peanut that one, got to be salted, though.’
‘Well I never,’ said the vet, closing the rear car door. ‘How many Reds are here?’
‘Hard to tell,‘ Tom replied. ‘ About fifteen or twenty, I suppose. Can’t say I’ve ever tried to count them.’
Tom walked back to the Tea Rooms, carrying the squirrel, and found the waitress. ‘The vet fixed him up, but had to cut one of his paws off, and said I should leave him out in a box under the trees until he comes round.’
‘Poor little thing,’ Helen said sympathetically, and reached out to stroke the squirrel’s head. Seeing the sharp teeth exposed where Marble’s lips were drawn back, she paused, then turned and went to find a box.
An hour later, curious to know if it had gone, Tom went over to the box, saw the squirrel still lying there with its eyes closed, and went to pick it up for a closer look at what the vet had done. He instantly regretted this. At his touch the squirrel tuned its head and sank its teeth deep into his finger. He danced about, shaking his head and shouting, ‘ Let go you little beggar, let go, damn you.’ Eventually Marble did so and, as fast as he could in his drugged state and with a front leg that no longer seemed to reach the ground, made for the nearest tree, trying to dodge Tom’s boot as he kicked savagely at him.
‘Ungrateful swine,’ shouted Tom at the squirrel, wrapping a dirty handkerchief around his bleeding finger.
Marble felt very sick indeed. Nauseous from the anaesthetic, with a cruel pain where his paw had been and wishing now that he had not teased the terrier, he crouched behind a tree trunk watching Tom depart, grumbling.
When Marble did eventually get back to the Man-dreys that evening after the humans had left, the other Greys crowded round sniffing and peering.
‘Marble’s lost one of his paws,’ said one, not known for his diplomacy. ‘Where did you see it last, Marble.’
A grey youngster, carefully keeping out of sight behind the other larger squirrels, cruelly chanted, ‘Marble, Three Paws,’ before receiving a cuff from Gabbro. The name, however, as persistent as a red squirrel’s tag, was to stick to him all his life.
That same evening, across the pool, the Reds were discussing the incident involving Marble and the dog. Juniper from his new drey in the Deepend Guardianship, had witnessed the fight. He often watched the Man-dreys, hoping that Bluebell would see him, tire of the way the Greys treated her, abandon the peanuts and come back to him.
‘That dog really got him,’ said juniper. ‘But he fought back well, no trace of hound-dread.’ Juniper was torn between admiration for the way a fellow squirrel, even if a grey one, had defended itself, and pleasure in having seen one of those he now blamed for Bluebell’s downfall savaged.
‘What happened then?’ asked Oak.
‘The Sun-damned Grey was lying there, not moving, and the Man Who Picks Up Things took him away. Later on I saw him put the Grey on he ground near the foot of my old drey-tree in one of those things that people carry fodder in, and leave him there.’ Juniper was enjoying being the centre of attention, and this time not for his misdemeanours.
‘What happened then?’ Oak asked again.
‘Nothing for a bit,’ said Juniper. ‘Then the human came back and the Grey bit him and after that he went to join the others, but was falling about and couldn’t walk very well.’
‘Serves him right,’ said H
eather. ‘Damnation to them all.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Juniper lay in his drey, listening to the crackling and rustling of dead leaves as they twisted and settled into new positions. The dew which had soaked the outer leaves in the night was drying rapidly in the sunshine. He stretched luxuriously, then felt a pang of regret as he once more realised he was alone. Bluebell was somewhere away in Humanside with those grey creatures.
He was stretching himself again, guiltily enjoying the extra space, when his whiskers started to buzz and tingle painfully. He pressed them with his paws but the buzzing continued, then stopped as suddenly as it had begun. He felt a little sick.
Poking his head cautiously through the side of the drey, he looked down and counted eight Greys at the foot of the tree. He counted again. It was eight, the same number as his claws. Four he recognised, but the others were strange to him. More new arrivals? Another wave of the Silver Tide? What were they doing down there?
His queasiness increased and he had some difficulty in focusing his eyes. When his vision cleared he saw that the Greys were arranging a square of stones at the base of his tree. There were ‘lots’ of stones, certainly more than eight. He tried to count again. For some reason, it seemed to be important to know how many stones there were.
He counted four on the one side of the square and four on the other side; in fact there were four on every side. He tried to work out how many that made but still came up with the answer ‘lots’.
The Grey, Quartz, came forward and put his forepaws on one of the corner stones. Juniper’s whiskers instantly buzzed and tingled, much worse than before, and his body started to shake uncontrollably.
