by Michael Tod
The Court was held in the upper branches of the Royal Tree. King Willow and Kingz-Mate Thizle each held a feather from one of the peacocks that strutted around the meadow behind the castle and Next-King Sallow held a white seagull quill which he waved in the air to emphasise any point he wanted to make. It all seemed somewhat bizarre to Burdock and Marguerite who were both used to more simple proceedings.
‘Zilence,’ said the King, waving his gaudy feather.
‘It huz been reported to uz’ – he glanced at Burdock, who shifted on the branch uncomfortably – ‘ that yew, Marguerite, known as the Bright One, huz killed a Royal. Iz thiz true?’ He pointed the feather at her.
‘Yes, what happened was this-‘
Next King-Sallow raised his quill to stop her.
‘Yew admit killing Nipper the Royal?’
‘Yes. But –‘
‘No butz! Yew are clearly guilty by yewr own admizzion. Yew knew it wuz wrong to kill a Royal?'’ He pointed the quill at her.
‘It is wrong to kill any squirrel. What happened –’ Marguerite started to reply, but Next-King Sallow cut her short with a wave of the quill.
‘Thiz was not any zquirrel. Anzwer the question.’
‘What happened was this-‘
She was cut short again. ‘Yew knew it wuz wrong to kill a Royal?’
Marguerite was getting angry. ‘Please, Will you listen to me? Please?’ She shouted.
‘Zilence in the Court,’ ordered the King, waving his feather.
Burdock tried to intercede
‘Yew are only allowed here to zee, not to zay anything,’ Next-King Sallow told her and turned back to Marguerite.
‘Do yew admit that yew killed Nipper the Royal and that yew knew it wuz wrong to kill a Royal?’
‘Yes,’ she replied.
He spread his paws wide and said, ‘Yew have all heard her confezz,’ he said. ‘And by Ourland Law that iz the end of it. A confezzion completez the trial. Uz demandz that the penalty iz paid. Tail-docking iz the decreed punizment.’ He turned to his father expectantly.
King Willow was looking out over the harbour, thinking, then, making up his mind said, ‘Killing any Royal iz a heinouz offenze and muzd be punizhed according to the Law. Tail-docking at dawn.’
Burdock, who could not believe what she was hearing, leaned over to Marguerite and whispered, ‘When I say go, run. Hide by Pottery Point. There is no justice here,’ She turned to King Willow and eyed him coldly.
‘What I have seen here today is a disgrace to Squirreldom. I demand the right to speak before any sentence is pronounced.’
The King looked away towards the castle. ‘Yew are only here to zee. The Court iz over, zentenze huz been pronounced. Tail-docking at dawn. However.’ – he paused and looked at Marguerite – ‘ the prizoner iz allowed by our Law to make won ztatement, and won only.’ He signalled to her with the feather.
Marguerite looked at the distraught Burdock, drew herself up to her full height, raised her tail and spoke the Understanding Kernel.
If you could know all
Then you could understand all
Then you’d forgive all.
She looked expectantly at the King. He could not meet her eye and got up to leave with King-Mate Thizle behind him, both awkwardly carried their peacock feathers. As the other Royals and the zervantz lowered their tails in deference, Burdock leaned over to Marguerite and said, ‘Go. Go now!’
Somehow Old Burdock, despite her age, seemed to be everywhere and in every squirrel’s way, jumping from one of the tree’s many trunks to another and then another and back again. In the ensuing confusion Marguerite launched herself out of the Macrocarpa and into a Chestnut tree.
‘One, she counted.
By the time pursuit had been organised she was six trees in front of the nearest chasers, the zervantz Woodlouz and Zpider, heading, as Burdock had suggested, for Pottery Point.
‘7, 10, 11 … 65, 66, 67, 70…’ she counted as she jumped from tree to tree.
At the boundary she glanced back. She was still ahead of Woodlouz and Zpider by some 7 trees but, not far behind the two zervantz, she could hear the excited chatter of a mass of pursuing squirrels, with Next-King Sallow’s high-pitched voice urging them on.
Then she heard Juniper’s voice calling up from the ground below. ‘Go to the Woodstock Beach,’ he called.
‘I’ll try and divert the others.’ He hid himself under a bush as Marguerite changed course. ‘532, 533, 534…’
‘Her’z heading for Pottery Point, her’z zinking fazt, uz’ll catch her zoon,’ Juniper called up as the first two squirrels passed above him.
Woodlouz and Zpider ignored him, they had seen her alter course and ran on in hot pursuit.
Juniper was more successful with the mob. They heard the first lie he had ever told and headed south-west.
Marguerite was in fact ‘zinking fazt.’ Her energy, already drained by a sleepless night, the tension of her trial and the run through the trees in the heat of the day, was virtually exhausted.
‘775, 776, 777.’ There was one more tree – and there was no number for it! She leapt for the tree, a pine, missed and fell on to the beach. The Woodstock was somewhere ahead and she knew that she could get to it if she could only keep going through the sand, through the sand She struggled on, ‘Through sand, through sand, throu’sand, th’ou’sand, thou’sand…’
Thousands of grains scattered behind her as she made one last scrabbling attempt to stay ahead of the zervantz and reach the Woodstock.
Her sight was failing, her limbs were no longer obeying her brain and she knew that she could not reach it before the zervantz caught up with her. But, as she lost consciousness, her last thought was that, if she had to lose her lovely tail, at least she had found the number which came after 777 – 1000. One thou’sand, one thousand, how beautiful it sounded.
She awoke to find Woodlouz and Zpider licking her face and paws and was surprised at their evident delight when she opened her eyes.
‘Oh, ma’am, yew are awl right. Uz are zo pleazed,’ said Woodlouz.
Yewr Juniper led the otherz away. Uz recognized hiz voize,’ adder Zpider. ‘Yew’re safe with uz for a bit.’
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
On a beach on the far side of Poole Harbour, the human holidaymakers were complaining about the heat. The scent of suntan lotion hung heavy in the sultry air. Instead of lying on their towels, people were holding them above their heads to act as sub-shelters. The temperature rose ever higher. Little whirlwinds raised spirals of dry sand which chased each other about the beach, stinging skin and eyes.
Some people were beginning to pack up and leave, although it was only mid-afternoon. Then, as though directed by some co-ordinating force, the little whirlwinds joined to make one big one which whooshed across the beach, filling the air with flying towels, sunhats and paper bags. A child’s rubber dinghy was lifted high in the sky and dropped far out in the harbour to float away on the tide.
The holidaymakers, strangers until the, gathered in friendly groups to discuss the phenomenon and to sort their own belongings from the heaps scattered across the sand. Above the chatter a little boy’s voice wailed, ‘Daddy, my boat’s gone!’
When Juniper knew that the pursuing Easterners were at Pottery Point searching for Marguerite amongst the broken shards, he went as fast as he could with his half-grown whiskers, though the tangled rhododendron bushes, past the ruined Man-dreys to Maryland and on towards Woodstock Bay. He had to make sure that she had been able to use that weapon to deal with the two zervantz.
On the way he met Tamarisk.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
As they ran together through the bushes, Juniper told Tamarisk of the trick he had played on the Easterners. Then, dropping down on to Woodstock Beach, they were very surprised to find Marguerite being cared for by the two zervantz who were tending her with every sign of affection.
They went across the sand to them, to ensure that she
was safe.
We must get her off Ourland, Juniper was thinking, but it was Tamarisk who saw the red rubber dingy drifting past. ‘Frizzle my whiskers,’ he said, ‘the Sun’s-child is back.’
Juniper looked up. ‘So it is,’ he said. Then, clutching at a leaf, ‘Maybe it’s come to take Marguerite to safety.’
‘It’s not coming in,’ said Tamarisk. ‘You’re the swimmer, you’ll have to swim out and fetch it.’
Juniper looked at the water, calm and blue under the bright sun, took a deep breath, waded in and swan out strongly to the rubber boat. He gripped a rope that was hanging over the side with his teeth, and towed it ashore. Digging his claws into the sand, he tugged until one end of the boat was resting on the beach.
‘Quick, get in,’ he told Marguerite, who had recovered her composure. She started to climb the rope, then dropped back on to the sand.
‘I’m taking the Woodstock,’ she said, ‘it’s up there behind those stones.’ Together they rolled it down the beach and, by piling up other pieces of driftwood to make a ramp, they got it over the side and into the boat. Thinking that she might need it later, she asked them to throw the rest of the wood in after it.
Marguerite climbed the rope, followed by Woodlouz and Zpider.
‘Uz can’t ztay now,’ Woodlouz explained. ‘Next-King Zallow would have uz tailz. Or worze!’ She shuddered.
Together Juniper and Tamarisk waded out, pushing the new Sun’s-child into deeper water, then as a breeze caught it, Juniper climbed up the rope.
‘Are you coming too?’ Marguerite asked.
‘Of course,’ Juniper answered.
‘Help, help me, someone,’ called Tamarisk. And Juniper looked over the side to see him hanging on to the rope and being towed through the water as the new Sun’s-child responded to the strengthening wind.
Together they hauled him aboard and he collapsed, spluttering, amongst the driftwood.
‘It looks as if you’re coming as well,’ said Marguerite.
‘In for a hazelnut, in for a walnut. I’ve always wanted to go climbabout but there’s nowhere new to go on the Sun-damned Ourland. So, what’s to be seen?’ He climbed up the pile of driftwood and peered towards the land. ‘Look at this,’ he called.
They were being blown along past Pottery Point. The squirrels there had abandoned their search and were grouped on the beach, as Next-King Sallow, once again coughing up blood after the exertion of the chase, was giving orders for them to spread out through the trees and try to locate Marguerite by her scent-trail.
Tamarisk, balanced on the edge of the Sun’s-child thumbed his nose at the group, as he had once done at the Greys on the mud-flats, and called out across the water, ‘Who’z a zilly zquirrel, then?’
Next-King Sallow turned, saw the rubber boat carrying the fugitive Marguerite, that creep, Juniper, who always seemed to be wherever Marguerite was, another squirrel who was being openly insulting to the Royal Personage and, worst of all, two disloyal zervantz, all laughing at him.
He spluttered in fury, unable to find words. The sunlight was sparkling on the water, the reflections hurting his eyes. Uz’z not feeling well, he thought. The damned zun iz too hot. Uz muzd get into the zhade.
He started to move backwards slipped on a shard covered in sea-slime, and fell, blood gushing scarlet from his mouth.
The fugitives were, by then, too far away to see this happen or to notice that no squirrel went forward to help the stricken Next-King; they just stood round in a circle and watched him die. When a bottle-blue fly, heavy with eggs, landed on the face of Never-to-be King Sallow, and proceeded to lay the eggs in his mouth, no squirrel moved forward to flick it away.
They all looked at one another. Someone was going to have to tell the King.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
It was strange that no boats had come near the Sun’s-child with the squirrels aboard. Each time a boat with its tall mast and bright sails had looked as though it was coming near, there had been a shift of the wind and it had turned about and sailed away again. The Sun’s-child itself had been blown up and down the harbour but had never come near to land.
As the sun slipped below the western horizon, the wind fell away entirely and the light rubber dingy bearing the five squirrels, the Woodstock and the pile of assorted driftwood was carried on the falling tide out towards the harbour entrance and the open sea. Brownsea Island has appeared to drift past them again in the near darkness, but they could see no sign of squirrel life on shore. Waves slapped against the boat’s side as they were drawn along, the sounds magnified by the inflated rubber ring.
Then the Man-lights of the car ferry crossed in front of them, carrying the day’s last load of vehicles and, feeling the lift and surge of the open sea, they were out into the swell of Poole Bay.
The squirrels did not sleep much that night. Marguerite repeated an old Kernel to encourage them, suddenly feeling the weight of responsibility for others.
Have faith in the Sun
His ways are mysterious.
Faith can fell fir trees.
Faith. Just have Faith. There was nothing else she could so. Just wait, watch and have Faith.
‘Where are we?’ Juniper asked, climbing up the driftwood to join Marguerite as the top rim of a huge red sun showed above the horizon. Around them gulls floated on the gently undulating sea, watching the dinghy with its unusual passengers.
‘Sun-knows.’ She replied. ‘Certainly not where I expected to be.’
A light breeze ruffled her tail, held high so as not to convey her concern to the others below. She had been ‘sensing’ the breeze to try and find out which way it was blowing but it seemed to move about. Sometimes it came from the east, sometimes from the north and even on one occasion briefly from the south.
When the swell lifted them, land was visible far off to the west but hidden when they sank into the next trough, the movement leaving an uncomfortable feeling in Marguerite’s stomach.
Woodlouz woke from a brief doze, nudged Zpider awake and apologised to Marguerite. ‘Uz be zorry, ma’am,’ she said, ‘uz haven’t zeen to yewr breakfazt.’ Then, realising that there was no food on board, bowed her head in confusion. Zpider put his paw on Woodlouz’s forearm.
Marguerite hopped down from the woodpile to where the two zervantz stood together.
‘We have no food, but we are all well fed and can go for days without it if need be. We do in the winter, remember. And you mustn’t call me ma’am. I am Marguerite. We are all friends here.’
‘Yez Ma’am,’ said Zpider and they all laughed.
‘We must do something about your names too,’ she said, then added, ‘unless you like to be called Woodlouz and Zpider, that is.’
‘Zervantz iz always called after creepy-crawliez,’ said Woodlouz.
‘You aren’t zervantz now, you are our friends and companions. Would you like new names?’
‘Yez, please ma’am’ they replied together.
‘Marguerite.’ She corrected them. ‘Zpider, how would you like us to call you Spindle; that is a lovely tree to be named after. It has pink fruit and the leaves turn bright red in the autumn.’
‘Thank yew, ma’am, Marguerite Ma’am, uz would like that. Zpindle, Zpindle, Zpindle,’ he said.
‘And for you, Woodlouz, I would love to call you Wood Anemone. It is one of my favourite flowers; anemone means ‘Flower of the Wind.’
‘Oh Ma’am, Marguerite uz meanz, that iz a nize name. Pleaze do always call uz that,’ she said, her tail rising for the first time that she could remember.
After High Sun, Juniper, who was on watch on the driftwood pile, called down to Marguerite, ‘The land is getting closer!’ and they all climbed up to see. To the west of them were white cliffs and they could see that some had been eroded by the sea to form high pillars of chalky rock.
By evening they were amongst these, being tossed about very uncomfortably by waves breaking around the bases of the rock columns. Above them cormorants and other se
abirds were flying in to roost for the night.
‘It’s like being in a stone forest,’ said Tamarisk. ‘These are like great stone tree trunks.
‘Hold on,’ shouted Juniper, when an especially large wave nearly tipped them over as it smashed against the foot of one of the pillars and, turning over backwards, soaked the squirrels with spray. He eyed the sharp-pointed barnacles under the seaweed apprehensively, knowing how easy it was to pierce a Sun’s-child’s skin. If that happened it would be the end of them all.
‘Trust in the Sun. Trust in the Sun,’ Marguerite kept telling the frightened squirrels in her care, but as the sun itself disappeared behind the cliffs, and the frail craft was tossed about in the surges, even she was losing a little of her faith. ‘Trust in the Sun. Faith can fell fir trees,’ she told herself, wishing that she was in a snug drey high in a fir tree right now. Calling to Tamarisk to take over the watch, she dropped down to comfort Wood Anemone and Spindle below. Juniper, with his short whiskers, was having a bad time balancing and was feeling very sick.
Marguerite was with the ex-zervantz, whispering, ‘Trust in the Sun,’ to each squirrel, when she became aware of something quite outside her experience.
Her ears heard whistles, grunts and clicks coming through the water which reverberated in the hollow air-filled rubber tube of the Sun’s-child, but her mind heard something quite different. Two voices, one clearly male and the other female, were debating an issue in voices as soft and as sweet as breezes in high pines.
‘I think we will have to modify that ancient Great Explosion theory. Since the South Atlantic Right whales found those strange holes in the atmospheric ozone it is much easier for them to pick up the signals placing the Black Holes. Thinking about the Universal Origins, now I believe that matter has always existed. It’s more logical for the Universe to be expanding and then contracting in waves over enormous periods of time; from a Great Explosion and an outward wave, then a slowing down of expansion, then an ever-increasing contraction, then another Great Explosion and off we go again. I never could accept that everything came into existence in one flip.
