The Silver Tide (The Dorset Squirrels)

by Michael Tod

  The Grey lifted his paw and the buzzing and shaking stopped. Juniper hung limply out of the drey coughing and retching, his head aching intolerably.

  Quartz called up to him, his voice faint and distorted by the ringing in Juniper’s ears. ‘Had enough yet, Brown Job?’

  Juniper couldn’t move. He felt weak and ached all over.

  Again Quartz put a paw on the corner stone. The power waves hit Juniper and his body contracted and shook, spasms of pain rippling along his muscles. His back arched from the invisible force and, unable to make his claws hold on, he slipped out of the entrance of the drey and fell to the ground, landing amongst the stones and scattering them, his limbs twitching feebly. The force had gone but he was lying, limp and winded, in a circle of savage grey faces. He had never felt so bad nor so scared in his life. It was worse than the fall into the pool.

  Quartz leant forward, pushing his face close to Juniper’s. Even in his present position Juniper resented the intrusion. This was his space! He tried to draw his head back.

  Always give others

  The space they need to live in.

  Squirrels respect this.

  He was unable to move. The Grey pushed his face right up to Juniper’s. Didn’t the Grey know the Kernel?

  ‘Listen Brown Job,’ hissed Quartz, ‘we’ve had orders from the Great Lord Silver to expand this colony, so we’re taking over this precinct, the one you lot call Deepend. So get out and tell the others; unless you want more Stone force, that is.’

  Not waiting for a reaction, he signalled to the other Greys, and together they turned and left, not one of them looking back.

  Later, when he had recovered sufficiently, Juniper made his way along to the drey-tree of Chestnut the Doubter, Guardian of Deepend, and attracted his attention by scratching on the bark of the tree. He was still unfit to climb. Chestnut came down to investigate.

  ‘Oh, it’s you, Juniper the Scavenger,’ he said. Even now Juniper winced at the derogatory tag. ‘You’re in a mess. Did you find yourself a bag of peanuts?’

  ‘No,’ said Juniper weakly. ‘Some Greys came, eight of them.’ He switched his front claws at Chestnut as if to validate what he was saying. ‘They made a pattern of stones under my drey-tree and I fell. Like you did when that first Grey, Marble, came. Sun, I feel bad.’

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t dream it? Asked Chestnut, true to his tag. ‘How many did you say there were?’

  ‘Eight. For the Sun’s sake go to Steepbank and tell Oak, we’re all in danger. I can’t climb. I’ll go down by the Little Pool and hide. Get him to come down there. I must talk to his. Urgently!’ he added, as Chestnut hung about indecisively, his mate and their two dreylings behind him. ‘Go now.’

  ‘Are you sure it really happened?’ Chestnut asked again.

  ‘Yes. Go now.’ Juniper turned and, stumbling and rolling in places, painfully made his way towards the Little Pool. Here he found a hiding place in a clump of rushes, glad that it was now too late in the morning for foxes to be about.

  Oak was in his drey with Fern, upset and fretting because he felt aware of some serious danger but could not yet sense exactly what it was. When he heard rustling and scratching outside, he poked his head crossly out of the drey and was taken aback to find the entire Deepend family on his look-about branch.

  Chestnut was flicking the ‘Urgent’ signal with his tail.

  ‘What is it? What has happened?’ Oak asked, as Fern tried to wriggle past him through the entrance.

  ‘Shusssh,’ said Chestnut, looking over his shoulder. ‘Danger! It’s the Greys.’ He explained what they had done to Juniper and told Oak that the sick squirrel was hiding on the ground down by the Little Pool.

  ‘I must go to him,’ Oak replied. ‘On the ground, you said?’

  Leaders help squirrels

  Regardless of the dangers.

  Duty demands this.

  He looked around. There was no sign of the Greys, the gate-noise hadn’t come yet, so it was a safe time for him to go and find Juniper. Relatively safe, his cautious mind added.

  ‘You lot stay here.’ He told the Deependers, glowering at Fern so that she knew that her place was to remain with them.

  He found Juniper easily. An odd vibration emanated from his hiding place, causing Oak’s whiskers to tickle gently even when he was some distance away. By turning his head from side to side he knew exactly the direction and how far from him Juniper was. It was uncanny, and unnerving, but he was soon amongst the rushes hearing the events of that morning from the sick and dishevelled squirrel.

  ‘Oak-Leader,’ Juniper gasped, wanting to say ‘Oak-Friend’ but aware, even in his present state that over familiarity would be resented from one with a denigratory tag. ‘Oak-Leader, we are in danger. The Greys are planning to take more territory. Sun, my whiskers hurt.’ He rubbed them with his paws as he spoke. ‘They’re going to take over Deepend. They told me.’

  Oak was about to say, ‘Over my dead body,’ but checked himself, afraid that it might come to that.

  ‘We’ll see, we’ll see,’ he said and then went off to find Clover the Carer to ask if any of her herbs might help Juniper recover.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Guardians of Beachend, Larch and Clover, decided, with the approval of the Council, to move temporarily into the Steepbank Guardianship. They felt exposed and vulnerable so near the Greys occupying Humanside. They had noticed how more Greys were arriving every day and were foraging all through Beachend without any reference to Larch or Clover at all. If the guardians dared to approach, they were either ignored or insulted, and after the incident with Juniper they stayed well away from the intruders.

  Juniper, able to climb again, although still having bouts of nausea, was living in the Strangers’ Drey at Steepbank.

  Chestnut and Heather, the Guardians of Deepend, had differing views on the situation. Chestnut suggested to her that they might consider following the example of Larch and Clover, and move on to Steepbank ‘just in case’.

  ‘Don’t be such a squimp,’ she said. ‘It’ll take more than a bunch of tree-rats to move me out of my home!’

  ‘We’ve got youngsters to think of,’ he said. ‘It’s not just us. If there’s any truth in what Juniper said about those stones it could be nasty for them. Let’s see what Oak thinks.’

  The Council, now meeting at least once a day, decided that it would be prudent for Chestnut and Heather to build a new drey, still within their Guardianship but much closer to Steepbank.

  Larch and Clover, not so brave, built near Oak and Fern’s drey at Steepbank, and satisfied their Guardianship duties by making daily patrols through the Beachend treetops.

  Each day the Greys encroached further, foraging far into both the Deepend and Beachend Guardianships. They had effectively taken over the hazel copse which all the Blue Pool community normally shared in the autumn. Larch and Clover were powerless to do anything other than report back to the Council.

  ‘There are so many of them, and they are all so big,’ said Clover. She proposed to an early morning meeting of the Council that perhaps they should consider moving to a safer area, away from the Blue Pool altogether. ‘The dreylings are all strong enough for a journey now.’

  Larch the Curious backed her up. ‘All those other squirrels who came through here last moon had decided to move on. I’m prepared to give it a try. The weather’s good for travelling now.’

  Oak looked at Fern. He knew that she hated change and had just got their drey the way she had wanted it to be. ‘We can’t just give up our Guardianship like that!’

  A Guardianship

  Given, is a sacred trust.

  Hold and protect it.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Juniper. ‘But how can we do anything? Not only are they bigger, and there are more of them, but they know how to use those stones. And their teeth,’ he added.

  ‘Can’t we learn to use the stones too?’

  The adults looked round to see who had
spoken. It was Marguerite. ‘I saw how Marble did it.’

  ‘Hush dear, while the Council is meeting,’ said Fern.

  Youngsters were encouraged to attend Council if they wished, once they had been tagged, but were not expected to speak at meetings until after their first winter.

  ‘I don’t think we should play around with things we don’t understand,’ said Chestnut.

  ‘Perhaps we should just stay here and see what happens. We can leave later if we have to.’ Juniper said, for he was still hoping that Bluebell would give up those wretched peanuts and come back to him. Each day he ventured as far into Deepend as he dared, to watch her at the Man-Dreys. Each day his hopes were dashed as he saw her humiliated and abused by Grey after Grey and watched her fawning on the Visitors at the tables.

  ‘I agree, for now. We’ll meet again this evening,’ said Oak, and the families dispersed.

  Juniper waited until he heard the gates open, the, staying in the treetops, crossed Deepend until he was close to the Man-dreys. He was almost sure that the Greys would not dare bother him while there were Visitors about. He could see Bluebell hopping about expectantly under the tables, but then, as he watched, he heard grey-squirrel chatter below and had to retreat to avoid being seen by a party of foraging Greys.

  Back at Steepbank he climbed a tree to where he could look out and see the Man-dreys across the pool. He stretched out on a branch and watched, a dull ache in his chest.

  The younger squirrels, aware of the tensions and uncertainties felt by the elders, stayed close to their parents’ dreys, but Old Burdock still got them together once a day for their training and the recitation of the Basic Kernels that each was expected to know.

  Ignorant squirrels

  Not knowing all their Kernels

  Will act foolishly.

  Marble’s stump of a forelimb healed quickly. He had managed to climb to his drey with only one forepaw and Gabbro brought him food but no other Grey visited and he was bitterly disappointed that Sandy had had also stayed away.

  When he felt fit enough, he came out and carefully lowered himself backwards down the trunk, the loss of his paw hampering him considerably. He fell the last few feet to the ground and hopped over to join the other foraging Greys. Sandy was with them but although Gabbro came over at once and greeted him, Sandy kept her distance and Marble soon realised that she had transferred her affections to a large Grey with an exceptionally bushy tail and strong-looking limbs.

  He approached Flint and Quartz but they continued to talk to one another as though they could not see him and, when a chit of a young Grey called out, ‘Marble, Three Paws,’ he turned and went towards the hazel copse and the Dogleg Field. Here Gabbro helped him build a drey in a spruce tree that had once been taken indoors and used as a Christmas tree by humans, before being replanted in the woods. The disturbance had stunted the tree and it had failed to grow to its normal height, but the dense mass of twigs around the lower trunk, was ideal for a three-pawed squirrel to use when it had to climb up or down.

  Here Marble was to live in virtual exile, visited occasionally by Gabbro who brought news of the increasing number of Greys arriving at the Blue Pool Colony, and passing on all the news from Woburn. Marble listened with interest and when Gabbro had gone, would lie in his drey reflecting, ‘If only…’

  Rowan often took his sister Marguerite on short expeditions along the ‘safe’ side of Steepbank, teaching her the names of the plants and trees and showing her the different creatures that shared the heath and woodlands with the squirrels. Recently, at the Little Pool, he had shown her a dragonfly larva as it crawled up a reed-stem out of the water and together they watched for an hour, any danger from Greys or foxes totally forgotten, as the ugly insect clinging to the stem split open along is back and another, apparently quite different, one climbed out of the empty case. The sun dried the four shimmering wings as they unfolded, the huge eyes brightened and the colour of its tail intensified to a brilliant blue. One by one the gaudy insect flexed its legs and tested its wings until, with a whirr and a clicking, it rose, circled over the pool and flew away, breaking the spell that had held them for so long.

  They also visited the Clay-Pan, which in winter was a shallow pool, but in summer dried out to become a favourite place for lizards to bask in the sun, the surface of the pan breaking up into hard grey-white cakes. Overhanging the greater part of the Clay-Pan was an ancient fir tree, its gnarled roots reaching into and over the bank which surrounded the pan and the trunk leaning at an angle which cast a welcome shadow when the sun was at its highest.

  On one of these explorations Marguerite sat in this shade with Rowan, scratching the surface of one of the clay cakes with her claws. She was trying to explain something to him. Something that had been growing in her mind but which she could not yet formulate precisely, even to herself. Rowan indulged her, listening intently, trying to follow.

  ‘You remember what I told you about Marble and Gabbro and the Power Squares?’ she asked him.

  ‘Yes,’ said Rowan, although the memory was not clear.

  ‘Well, I think the way Marble showed the numbers with the pine cones was clumsy. What do you think of these?'’ She scratched some symbols on the clay.

  ‘This is for one.’ She held up one claw, then pointed to a mark in the clay:

  She indicated the angle at the top of the figure as said, ‘Here is a corner to hide one nut in, so this is for one.

  ‘And this is for two:

  ‘See that two has two corners. It’s really quite easy. Here is three:’

  Marguerite showed him 4 5 6 7 and 8.

  Rowan, watching a grass snake on the other side of the Clay-Pan, wasn’t giving her his full attention. What was the use of this obsession with numbers? But then, sensing how important it all seemed to his sister, he turned back and studied the scratches in the clay.

  ‘I don’t like the eight,’ he said. ‘This would be a more elegant in shape and still have eight corners to hide your imaginary nuts in.’ He drew

  ‘I like that!’ said Marguerite. ‘It’s a four with another four underneath it but upside down – eight is two lots of four.’

  ‘What comes after eight?’ he asked. ‘Do you have a sign for ‘lots?’

  ‘I haven’t got that far,’ admitted Marguerite, ‘but I will soon.’ She scratched X to show that they were her marks and turned to follow her brother as he chased after a grasshopper.

  Heavy clouds covered the sun as they returned to Steepbank but, as they passed through a copse of hazel bushes, a single ray of sunshine broke through and shone on just one of the saplings. Marguerite had often come this way but had never before noticed this stem, now lit brilliantly against the gloom of the leaves under the overcast sky. It had a bine of honeysuckle twisting around it, which in growing had strangled the sapling, forcing it to grow into a curious spiral of tortured wood.

  Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the ray of light died and the twisted stem became as inconspicuous as before.

  She ran on to catch up with Rowan.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Bluebell was having a bad morning. Not a single salted nut had come her way and she was feeling desperate; she could not get the taste from her mouth. It was there, but it wasn’t, and it had to be. She had tried every trick she knew to entertain the Visitors but none of the special nuts was thrown to her. Maybe she could find some around by the bins. It was a forlorn hope as there had never been any there before, scraps of food, yes, but nuts, no, but she still went to look, feeling awful. Her limbs were stiff and her mouth was dry and uncomfortable.

  There were Greys talking behind one of the tall metal dustbins. She listened to hear who it was, ready to leave quickly if they were any of the ones who plagued her.

  But then, there might be a nut for her. ‘Salt, salt, salt. Oh, dear Sun, I need the salt.’ She stayed.

  It was a stranger’s voice that she heard. ‘New orders from the Great Lord Silver. Get rid of all the Brown Jobs, k
ill them if need be. We need more Leaping-room. Do whatever you have to. There will be big territories for the most active.’

  ‘No constraints?’

  Bluebell recognised Quartz’s voice.

  ‘None. Do what you have to!’

  ‘Right,’ said Quartz. ‘We’ll soon sort out that decrepit bunch of savages across the pool. I fancy that precinct. We’ll get them before sundown. I’m looking forward to this. Yes, sir. Thank you, Stranger.’

  Thoughts whirled in Bluebell’s head. It was Juniper and all her old friends they were talking of killing – that evening!

  Her mind cleared suddenly. What a fool she’d been, consorting with these ruthless creatures all this time, just for those nuts. No, she mustn’t even think of those; her duty was to warn the others.

  Learning of danger

  Leap, scramble, climb, hop or run,

  Warn all the others.

  She turned to go. She would cut through Deepend and reach Steepbank that way. Her claws scratched on the concrete as she moved.

  ‘Quiet.’ It was Quartz’s voice. ‘Who’s there?’

  Bluebell froze.

  A whispered voice. ‘You go round that way, I’ll take this side.’

  Bluebell leapt for the top of the bin, her claws scrabbling on the smooth metal lid, and from there to the wood-shingled roof.

  ‘It’s the Red – ‘Bell. She must have heard the plan – after her!’