Lucky

by Chris Hill

  First Daughter’s eyes narrowed. If Lucky withdrew now she might as well Cast him Down, and banish him from the Avenue today. “Lucky will wrestle, Trial Instructor,” she said coldly.

  “He will be publicly defeated, ma’am—and humiliated.”

  “Then make it as quick and painless as possible,” ordered First Daughter. I am going to lose my son, she thought, and there’s nothing else I can do to save him.

  That afternoon, a very nervous Nimlet was summoned to Ratter’s drey. It was in one of the oldest and most spectacular chestnut trees in the Avenue, and it was also next to the Albion gates and the Northend border. The Trial Instructor liked to keep a close eye on the enemy.

  Nimlet shuffled unhappily from foot to foot and his bushy tail twitched with a life of its own. Why does Ratter want to see me? I bet it won’t be good news. The interview, however, started off rather well.

  “Mr. Nimlet, I had low expectations when you first joined the Cadet Troop, but you have proved me wrong.”

  “I have?” This was a surprise—Ratter admitting he was wrong!

  “Indeed. All students in Wrestling lose at least one bout. But you have beaten every opponent paws down, apart from me, of course.”

  “You want us to wrestle?” Nimlet couldn’t hide his horror.

  “Tooth and claw—no!” Ratter shook his grizzly head, making a strange snorting sound. It was his attempt at laughter. It wasn’t very good. “Mr. Nimlet, you have received the highest marks in Wrestling that I have ever given any student.” Nimlet found himself glowing with pride. “I now need to consider very carefully who you are to be paired with for the Wrestling Trial.”

  A small niggle of doubt formed in Nimlet’s mind.

  “The opponents for the Wrestling Trial have been drawn up,” the Trial Instructor went on crisply, “and you will be paired with Mr. Lucky.”

  “But that’s not fair!” exclaimed Nimlet, before he could stop himself.

  “Of course it’s not fair, Mr. Nimlet. But that’s not the point. You have beaten every squirrel in your troop and two former cadets. You are the best wrestler of your year. Even the Patrol Leader has noticed you. You should be proud.”

  “Yes, but—it’s just not fair!” spluttered Nimlet, close to tears, his tail swishing in distress.

  Ratter sighed. “No, but it is logical. I will pair the cadets with equal abilities; it will be a fair contest for them. Mr. Lucky is going to fail the Wrestling Trial, whoever I pair him with, and you are going to pass.”

  “But Lucky is my friend!” wailed Nimlet.

  “I am aware of that,” snapped Ratter. “So you can make sure he is pinned with minimum harm and we can have a quick-surrender result. This is the best outcome for everyone concerned. Do I make myself clear?” He raised an inquiring eyebrow. What could Nimlet say? You didn’t argue with the Trial Instructor. “Do I make myself clear, Mr. Nimlet?” Ratter repeated sharply.

  Nimlet gave in and, nodding in dumb, miserable agreement, left the drey.

  Lucky searched the trees for Nimlet—he hadn’t seen him for days. At first Lucky had been lying low, too ashamed and embarrassed at running away from the training branches. But then he started to get worried. Was Nimlet angry with him? I suppose Cloudfoots never run away, he thought bitterly. He’d find him today. Ratter was announcing the pairings for the Wrestling Trial, so Nimlet had to be there.

  Lucky joined the excited jostling cadets, waiting for Ratter to appear. There was Nimlet on another branch. He won’t even look at me, thought Lucky. What’s going on?

  The Trial Instructor arrived and began to announce the pairings to the expectant gathering. It was too late for Lucky to talk to his friend.

  Ratter went down the list. “And finally,” he said, “Mr. Nimlet will wrestle with Mr. Lucky.”

  There was a gasp of horror from the cadets. That wasn’t fair! Lucky took one look at Nimlet’s guilty face and guessed that he already knew. No wonder Nimlet had been avoiding him!

  It never occurred to him that Nimlet was supposed to beat him. He could only think of one reason for the pairing. Quivering with rage, he scurried over to the branch.

  “I don’t care what Ratter’s told you to do. You’re going to fight me properly—you stinking Cloudfoot!” Nimlet tried to interrupt, but Lucky was too furious to listen. “He can’t bear to lose face, can he? He trained me and I’m going to fail. So that … that rat has told you to let me win—I can’t believe you’d do that, Nimlet!”

  “Lucky, that’s not it—you’ve got it all wr—”

  “Shut up!” screamed Lucky. “You’d better fight me fair, Nimlet—because it’s no surrender! I’m going to fight you to … to … to a pulp!” And he leapt off the branch and sped into the distance.

  Nimlet sat dazed and confused. This was all horribly wrong. He wished he had someone to talk to, but the only real friend he’d ever had was Lucky.

  And, after the Wrestling Trial, Nimlet knew that Lucky would never talk to him again.

  The big day was drawing closer and the Avenue was alive with tumbling, chattering males getting more and more excited. All the cadets were frantically practicing their wrestling skills—except for Nimlet, who spent the days alone, wandering unhappily from tree to tree. Lucky wouldn’t come anywhere near him and he had no idea what to do.

  Disobeying Ratter was unthinkable; none of the other cadets could help him and Mazie would just tell him to follow orders.

  What would happen afterward? If Lucky surrendered, then he would be banished from the Cloudfoot trees. I’ll never see him again, Nimlet thought wretchedly. I don’t want to join the Patrol Leader’s troop, not without Lucky—there’s got to be something I can do!

  But try as he might, there didn’t seem to be any way out, and on the morning of the Wrestling Trial he had to join the other cadets in the arena. There was Lucky, scowling angrily, and Nimlet knew it was too late to explain.

  The Trial site was between two old sycamore trees that grew closely together. The cadets could wrestle in the mesh of branches not too far from Ground-level, so any thrown squirrel would land safely on a soft bed of leaves.

  There was a good turnout; every Cloudfoot wanted to see the cadets wrestle. The trees still needed defending, so messenger squirrels were ready to run the length of the Avenue with news. Every male in the Watch and Patrol had a son, brother, or cousin competing in the Trial, and if their family did well they wanted to know about it immediately!

  The females gathered in groups exchanging the latest gossip. Old males were found comfortable viewing branches, but the best viewing place was set aside for Ma Cloudfoot and her First and Second Daughters. A special store of acorns, reserved for the occasion, was broken out and distributed among the crowd.

  The gossiping and chatter stopped dead as the Trial Instructor entered the site. The spectators settled down for the traditional opening address. It began.

  “Fellow Cloudfoots,” announced the Instructor, “we are gathered here today to witness the strength, speed, and stamina of a new generation of males! We males learn the skill of wrestling to defend our Clan and our Avenue.” The crowd murmured approval. “Our aim is not the Falling—”

  “Quite right!” interrupted an old gray male before he was hushed.

  “Our aim is for the enemy to surrender and retreat. If our enemy will not surrender, then he shall be Cast Down!”

  “With No Mercy!” chanted the crowd.

  “All holds are allowed, but the drawing of blood is not. A throw is a worthy outcome for both opponents, but surrender will result in banishment.” All the Cloudfoot squirrels nodded; everyone understood this. “Let the Trial commence!”

  The first wrestling pair came into the arena. First they bobbed to Ma Cloudfoot, who acknowledged their greeting with a formal nod. Then they scurried to the starting point and the Trial Instructor stood between them, holding back each at arm’s length.

  “Gentlemen,” said Ratter crisply. “You may wrestle—now!” He jumped swi
ftly off the branch, and the two squirrels crashed together.

  The cadets leaned forward to get a good view. Nimlet was keen to watch, despite himself. He’d wrestled both these large, strong males and they’d been tough opponents—which one would win here?

  The two squirrels grappled, rolled, and twisted through the branches trying to get a hold. Finally they both tail-locked onto a branch and hung upside down, wrestling in midair.

  That’s great wrestling, thought Nimlet, impressed.

  The audience was enthralled, and even Ratter had a small smile of approval on his face. The males seemed evenly balanced in speed and skill, but the contest wore down their strength, and the inevitable happened. One squirrel was unbalanced and thrown. He crashed down through the branches, twisting and spinning, trying to get a hold. But he was falling too fast and plunged toward the ground. The crowd groaned.

  He hit Ground-level with a heavy thud—but immediately jumped up and accepted defeat with a gracious tail gesture. The crowd went wild with delight. What a show of sportsmanship!

  The next pair of contestants were twin brothers, and everyone waited with eager anticipation. Rivals from birth, they had begged Ratter to pair them. This was going to be a serious fight.

  The squirrels came together like deadly enemies, grim-faced, with no holds barred. Neither could get a firm hold—they had an uncanny ability to judge each other’s moves. Up and down the branches, frantically trying to find a weakness, the two furious brothers wrestled on and on.

  At first the crowd shouted their encouragement. But cheers turned to groans as the two males became increasingly battered and exhausted, and eventually Ratter slid between them and pushed them apart. They strained to continue, glaring at each other, gasping for breath, their tails thrashing and shaking wildly.

  “Gentlemen, please!” said Ratter, still having to hold them apart. “I’m afraid we don’t have all day.” The delighted audience tittered. “We shall resort to the tiebreaker.”

  The brothers, taken to two opposite trees, scurried out to the end of the branches that almost touched. Whichever squirrel could grapple and throw his opponent off first would win.

  But it was the usual tiebreaker result. Neither squirrel, wrestling on the slender branch tips, could keep their balance. They both fell, unbelievably still grappling, dropping swiftly through the air. There was a stunned silence as the brothers hit the ground, still locked grimly together.

  It was an honorable draw, and everyone should be happy—that was the theory. The males stood up shaking off the dead leaves; they turned to face each other, battered and spent, and you could have heard a nut drop in the surrounding trees. The audience held its breath.

  Suddenly they were embracing each other, grinning widely from ear to ear, and the crowd let out a sigh of relief. The cheers and stomping of feet were deafening as the twins slapped each other on the back and held their paws up together in a victory salute. No one would have believed that they had been fighting like mortal enemies moments before. Waving to their family (their mother was in tears), they staggered off, exhausted, arm in arm, to be congratulated by the other cadets.

  Now it was time for Lucky and Nimlet.

  Ratter wanted to get Lucky and Nimlet’s bout over with as early as possible. They made a ridiculous pair, standing on either side of him on the starting branch.

  The crowd was not impressed, and there was a low rumble of discontent; mutterings of “no contest” and “not fair” could be heard running through the trees. This was going to be a very short bout.

  Second Daughter sat on the viewing branch next to the Ma, trying not to let her emotions show. She was greedily anticipating the downfall of her hated sister’s weakling son.

  First Daughter sat stony-faced. She dared not glance in Mazie’s direction. The young female knew nothing of wrestling, but she’d been missing from the drey for days. Trying to help him, thought First Daughter. But it’s too late now.

  The Trial Instructor held them at arm’s length. The spectators settled down, waiting for the inevitable to happen quickly. “Gentlemen, you may wrestle—now!”

  Ratter skipped backward off the branch and Nimlet lunged with all his strength. I’ll pin him down fast and get it over with, he thought. But instead, Nimlet found himself flat on the branch, clutching at thin air. Where had Lucky gone?

  Now he dropped down onto Nimlet’s head and bounced quickly off, leaving Nimlet dazed and hurt. What was Lucky doing?

  Lucky glared down from the next tree, tail swishing violently. “Come on, Cloudfoot!” he jeered. “What’re you waiting for?”

  Nimlet lunged again, but Lucky was too fast and tricky. Somersaulting backward off the branch, he dove swiftly down and, after a stunning head kick, he sprang off, out of reach again. The audience gasped in horror. What sort of wrestling was this?

  With watering eyes and ringing ears, Nimlet rose angrily from the branch while Lucky leapt around the tree above him.

  “Come here and fight like a Cloudfoot!” Nimlet shouted.

  A red blur swung down from the tree and Nimlet leapt up and grasped at Lucky’s feet; at last he had him—and he wasn’t going to let go!

  Locked together, they rolled and tumbled down the tree until Nimlet managed to lash his tail to a branch and stop the fall. The crowd cheered and frantically signaled approval—this was more like it!

  Still in the high branches, Ratter couldn’t see what was happening. This needs to end quickly, he thought.

  “Right!” panted Nimlet, pinning Lucky down. “We are going to fight by the rules, and you are going to surrender.” Lucky struggled under the squirrel’s weight, his hind legs kicking, desperate to break free. “Surrender now!” demanded Nimlet.

  “I—don’t—think—so,” Lucky gasped. Twisting around, with all his strength he bit into Nimlet’s arm.

  Surprise and searing pain loosened Nimlet’s grip and Lucky half wriggled out—but Nimlet grabbed Lucky’s neck. Through a haze of pain and fury he held on with all his might. No escape this time!

  “Surrender, you runt!” he spat. “Surrender or I’ll Cast you Down!”

  “Never,” Lucky croaked.

  “Surrender, you fool!” shrieked Nimlet, tightening his grip.

  “No.” It was a whisper.

  Lucky went limp as he passed out. “Surrender!” Nimlet screamed, shaking Lucky furiously.

  “Mr. Nimlet!” The Trial Instructor’s stern voice cut in from the branches far above. “Mr. Nimlet, I must point out that your opponent cannot surrender if he is unconscious.”

  Nimlet looked down in horror at his friend. What am I doing? This can’t be real—how could I have done this? Lucky slid slowly down and slumped at his feet, and Nimlet sobbed as he leaned over the lifeless squirrel.

  “Lucky! Lucky, please wake up,” he begged. “I wasn’t supposed to let you win—it wasn’t like that! I was supposed to beat you quickly—I didn’t want to hurt you!” Tears ran down his face and blood trickled down his arm.

  He started to shake the squirrel, desperate for him to move, and Lucky finally coughed and shuddered into life. Nimlet picked him up, thumping him on the back as Lucky fought for air.

  “E-e-enough, Nimlet,” he managed to gasp.

  They sat on the branch, hanging tightly to each other, Lucky still taking great gulps of air.

  “I am so sorry, Lucky. Ratter said it was the right thing to do. Please surrender.”

  “Ratter wanted you to beat me?” he croaked, finally understanding.

  Nimlet nodded miserably. “I should never have agreed. I knew it wasn’t fair—I’m so sorry.” He started sobbing again.

  “Throw me down, Nim,” whispered Lucky hoarsely.

  “What?”

  “It’s the only way. I’ll never be accepted as a Cloudfoot, but I won’t surrender. So throw me down.”

  Nimlet’s world snapped into sharp focus. With a wonderful cool certainty he knew just what to do. That it was the right thing to do. He clasped Lucky
closely with his good arm and leapt off the branch, Casting them both Down into the cold winter’s air. The loud thud as the two squirrels hit the ground echoed through the trees, and the crowd was deathly silent. What had happened?

  Ratter knew—he was going to have to declare a draw. He was furious! Lucky could take part in the Final Run now.

  He spiraled down the sycamore trunk to Ground-level, not daring to look at First Daughter. “Mr. Lucky—” he began, then stopped, seeing Nimlet’s bloody arm. Ah! Now he could disqualify Lucky! “There seems to be some irregularity here,” he said coldly, masking his relief. “There is a blood wound on your arm, Mr. Nimlet. You have been bitten.”

  Nimlet glanced down at his arm. “Oh, no, sir,” he lied smoothly. “I’m so clumsy I scratched it on a branch.” He looked the old squirrel squarely in the eye, daring him to disagree. “So you’ll be declaring a draw,” said Nimlet. It was a statement, not a question.

  Ratter was so angry that he was lost for words. He had been wrong, very wrong—neither of these squirrels was Cloudfoot material.

  “Ouch!” Nimlet tried to pull away from Mazie’s firm grip. “Miss Trimble, you’re hurting me!”

  “Don’t you ‘Miss Trimble’ me, you stupid male. If I don’t clean it properly, that arm really will hurt.”

  “But, Mazie, don’t you think it’s clean—”

  She spun toward Lucky. “And you! What did you think you were doing? Cloudfoots don’t bite when they wrestle. I never told you to bite him, did I?”

  “No, Mazie,” said Lucky, hanging his head.

  “Avoid him, that’s what I said. In and out quickly—don’t let him get a hold,” she carried on crossly, licking the wound clean. “There, that’s the best I can do. Now come along, we’re leaving.”

  Nimlet looked confused. “Where are we going?”