by Chris Hill
Second Daughter’s advice was good, thought Lucky. It is quiet this evening, and much quicker at Ground-level. I hope Nimlet catches up soon.
Tarragon kept on stopping, wide-eyed and trembling.
“Come on—we have to hurry,” Lucky urged. “What’s the matter?”
“I’ve never been down here before.”
Lucky was surprised. “Haven’t you foraged for food at Ground-level?”
“What a silly idea!” she said. “Honorable-born Fleets don’t forage—we have common squirrels for that!”
“But you must have been taught the Knowledge?”
Tarragon had no idea what he was talking about. “Why should I need to know anything?” Her little face was screwed up in confusion.
Lucky had never heard anything so silly. “So you know the right thing to do, of course!”
“Oh, I know the right thing to do,” she said brightly. “Trust and obey my uncle at all times, because he knows best.”
“Well, that’s not how the Cloudfoots see it—it’s the Ma who knows best in the Avenue.”
“A female? In charge?” exclaimed Tarragon. “Now that’s really silly!” By this time they’d reached the first Northend trees and Tarragon immediately scurried up the trunk. “I can’t carry on down there,” she panted. “Please, let’s go through the trees.”
“Look,” said Lucky, “I don’t want to risk being attacked by one of your Northend soldiers. It’s dark; they can’t see us as easily on the ground. We need to get straight to your uncle and explain.”
Tarragon sighed, but she came down to the ground again, looking nervously around.
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” said Lucky kindly.
Tarragon hid a smile. She could imagine the strong and handsome Mr. Nimlet protecting her—but this little squirrel with the strange ears? No!
The shadowy outline of the first Fleet Family trees appeared through the dark night and she heaved a sigh of relief. She was almost home and she felt a warm glow of excitement.
“We’ll go straight to Uncle’s drey,” she declared, and scampered up the rough bark of an old sycamore tree.
Lucky followed more slowly and carefully. We’ve rescued her, but the Northenders don’t know that, he thought. I’m still a stranger in enemy trees. He decided to hold back until Tarragon had told the whole story.
“Uncle!” she squeaked. “Uncle, I’m safe. The Cloudfoots rescued me and brought me back!”
In the dark tangle of the sycamore tree branches, the outline of a head appeared from out of the drey. “Tarragon?” said the Major. “Tooth and claw—I don’t believe it!”
“Yes, it’s me! Oh, dearest Uncle, you can’t imagine how terrible it’s been—” She stopped abruptly. The moon had risen above the tower blocks, illuminating the drey, and the furious look on the Major’s face was clear to see.
“Has anyone seen you come here?” he demanded coldly.
“N-no,” said Tarragon, confused. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”
“You simpering little fool,” spat the Major. “Of course I’m not pleased to see you! Tomorrow we attack the Cloudfoots and you turn up—just in time to spoil my plan!”
“But the Cloudfoots didn’t take me—they rescued me!”
“Pah! It doesn’t matter who took you, it’s the excuse I’ve been waiting for. Bracken and Glade are united behind me. With my Coppice allies we’re finally strong enough to invade the Avenue.”
“But you can’t do that!” squealed Tarragon. “They’re really nice!”
“Nice?” snarled the Major. “They’re the enemy, you idiot! Get in the drey. I don’t want you seen. Ever again—you’ll ruin everything.”
“No!” sobbed Tarragon, backing down the tree trunk. “No! No! No!”
“Don’t force my hand, girl!” he declared. “Your parents got in my way, and I’ll happily sacrifice you too!” He started to move threateningly toward her.
Lucky emerged swiftly from the shadows. He wrenched Tarragon’s grip from the tree bark and held her dangling by the tail in midair. “You’ll have to catch her first,” he said cheerfully, and dove off the tree, dragging the terrified and screaming Tarragon after him.
Major Fleet was stunned—what on earth was that? It looked like no squirrel he’d ever seen. Were the Cloudfoots breeding monsters now? Still, no matter, the important thing was to dispose of Tarragon before she was seen.
The Families believed that the Cloudfoots had taken her and it was the perfect excuse to unite the Northenders in a war to conquer the Avenue.
To unite them all under his leadership as Supreme Commander.
Finlay and Eric were sitting comfortably on the bandstand in the middle of the Park. The moon rose over the tower blocks, picking out the grass and trees in silvery gray.
Eric enjoyed patrolling at night. There was a strong chance of spotting a fox up to no good and “apprehending” it. Finlay pointed out that chasing foxes before they’d done something wrong was not proper police procedure.
“Nah, that’s dumb, Fin,” said Eric, shaking his huge head, the studs and spikes on the hated harness sparkling in the moonlight. “Foxes are always up to no good, even if they don’t look like they are!”
“Eric, this isn’t the right attitude. Innocent until proven guilty—remember?”
“Yeah, but they’re all thieves and liars—you said that!”
Finlay’s reply was interrupted by the faint but unmistakable sound of an animal—female?—screaming in fright. Finlay and Eric stiffened, and their ears swiveled in unison toward the source of the sound. It came from the Northend trees.
“Sounds like squirrel,” suggested Eric.
“Hmm … those Northenders are a quarrelsome lot,” said Finlay. “It probably wouldn’t hurt to trot over and take a look, eh?” They jumped from the bandstand and started off across the moonlit playing fields.
Reaching the branch safely, Tarragon could have burst into tears. Instead she was furious. “You—you—Cloudfoot!” she screeched. “Are you trying to kill us both?”
Lucky had almost dropped the struggling and screaming Tarragon. He’d only just swung her to safety at the very last minute. Now she wasn’t even grateful! “No, Honorable Mistress, I’m trying to save you!” he said crossly. “But please yourself! You can go back to your beloved uncle, or you can come with me.”
Tarragon heard the violent crashing sounds in the sycamore tree above. The Major was coming, and if he caught her … she was young and she was silly, but she wasn’t stupid. “I think,” she said, “I’ll come with you.”
They hit the ground running and headed swiftly back toward the Albion. Lucky spotted an animal in the distance rushing toward them. Tooth and whisker! If that’s a Northender, we’re done for.
The shape got nearer and … Thank goodness, it’s Nimlet, thought Lucky. He’s taken his time! “You took your time!”
“Oh, thanks!” This wasn’t the greeting Nimlet was expecting. “How was I supposed to find you?”
“What—?”
“Dogs!” cried Tarragon. She pointed toward the playing fields. The squirrels turned to run as Finlay and Eric trotted up. “Ooh-ooh, I know you! You’re Mr. Finlay—and look! It’s the fox with the pretty tail!”
“Hiya!” said Amber, emerging from the bushes.
Before Finlay could order Amber home, Lucky leapt over to the dog. “Mr. Finlay! We’re under attack!”
“Lucky! What from?”
“Him,” said Lucky, pointing toward the angry gray squirrel crashing through the undergrowth toward them.
“Ah, I see,” said Finlay. “Eric—”
“First bites?” challenged Eric to the fox cub.
“Good hunting!” grinned Amber. They raced off, the Staffy barking frenziedly, and the Major turned tail and frantically scrambled up a trunk. The animals jumped around the tree, their slavering jaws snapping at the air.
Dogs and foxes! The world’s gone mad! Major Fleet thought as he rush
ed back to the Mid-levels. Still, he was safe; Tarragon and her Cloudfoot would be prey to the animals now. Good riddance! he thought, leaping back to his drey. I’ll mobilize my troops at once—we’ll attack at first light!
Eric and Amber returned, arguing hotly over who had gotten to the squirrel first.
“That’s enough, you two,” ordered Finlay crossly. “Now, what’s going on? The Park isn’t safe for squirrels at night. Get back to the Albion before any of your other friends turn up.” He glared at Amber.
“Yes—and we have to be quick!” said Lucky. “The Northenders are planning to attack the Avenue and I have to warn the Ma!”
“Are you nuts?” exclaimed Nimlet. “You can’t go back to the Avenue. You didn’t finish the Run, so you’ll be Cast Down!”
“No, Nim, it’s okay! Didn’t Second Daughter tell you?”
“Tell me what?” said Nimlet, confused. “My mother’s said nothing.”
“We met her,” said Tarragon. “She told Lucky to take me straight home. But she promised to explain that he’d finished the Run, then send you after us!”
She wants Lucky Cast Down! thought Nimlet in horror. She doesn’t care what it takes! She’d even risk the safety of the Avenue to spite First Daughter. He felt so ashamed that he could hardly look his friend in the eye.
“Lucky, I just guessed that you’d gone straight to the Northend,” he said miserably. “My mother said nothing about seeing you. I’m so sorry—we all thought you’d failed.”
“But that means that she didn’t tell them about Tarragon either,” said Lucky, horrified, “and there’s going to be a raid!”
“I’ll go back and warn them,” declared Nimlet. “I’ve got to make this right!”
“No! We all go back. I don’t look like a Cloudfoot, but they’re my Clan and I will protect them!” Lucky pulled himself up to look as fierce as he could, daring them to disagree.
“Even if Ratter wants to throw you out?”
“Let him try!” declared Lucky.
Nimlet grinned and slapped him on the back. “Home to the Albion it is, then!”
In the first huge chestnut tree of the Avenue, a very angry squirrel with a swollen nose stood guard. Yesterday he’d been a renowned wrestling champion, expected to go far in the Cloudfoot ranks. Now he was demoted to corporal and night duty, a laughingstock among all the males. Beaten by a cadet! It was shameful.
He chittered and cursed quietly to himself as he forced his tired eyes to scan the Northend trees and the Ground-level between the Albion gates. Pointless, he thought, there’s no one out there. But he was wrong about that.
Lucky, Nimlet, and Tarragon were hurrying back to the Avenue, with the two dogs guarding their backs.
Amber was tagging along, flatly refusing to go home. “Why can’t I patrol too?”
“You’re too young and you’re a fox,” growled Finlay.
“But I can help. Honest!” she argued.
“She only wants to be friends,” said Tarragon.
“You and I,” said Finlay, sighing, “need to have a serious talk about foxes.”
The Albion gates came into view. “Lucky, it’s nearly dawn and Eric and I have to get home to our humans,” the German shepherd said. “They really can’t be left on their own all night. Will you be all right?”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Finlay.”
“Tell the Ma we’ll be back later, just in case this Northend business gets a bit … messy.”
The squirrels watched as the dogs padded off, with Amber trailing behind, still arguing that she’d be a really good police fox. Honest.
“Right,” said Lucky, “I have a plan. I’ll go to First Daughter, and she can back us up. Nim, you and Tarragon get to the Ma. She might not believe you, but any chance of attack she’ll ready the Watch and Patrol.”
Nimlet nodded. The Ma would never take risks with the defense of the Avenue, however unlikely their tale would sound. “Okay. I’m off.”
“Lucky, be careful,” said Tarragon. She darted forward and pecked him on the cheek. Lucky was stunned, and blushed from the tip of his nose to his tail.
Nimlet snorted and slapped his friend on the back, sending him staggering yet again. “Yeah, be careful—we don’t want to lose you!”
Lucky slipped off through the undergrowth as fast as he could before they did anything else to embarrass him.
There was a faint glimmer of dawn beyond the tower blocks as Nimlet and Tarragon approached the Albion gates. It was enough light for the Watch Squirrel to spot the squirrels scurrying along the Ground-level. He immediately raised the alarm before careering down the tree to confront the two strangers.
Tooth and claw, they’re not strangers, he thought, grinding his teeth. This night gets worse. But he had to make the traditional challenge. “Who steps into Cloudfoot space?”
“Greetings, Cloudfoot,” declared Tarragon formally. “May you store and survive. I am the Honorable Mistress Tarragon Fleet, of the Northend Family Fleet, and this is my companion, Mr. Nimlet. We wish to request an audience with your Ma.”
“Is that so?” snarled the squirrel.
Nimlet recognized him with a sinking heart. Oh, nuts, he thought, of all the squirrels in all the trees, it had to be this one.
“Ma Cloudfoot doesn’t see Northenders,” spat the Watch Squirrel, “and she doesn’t see cowards and cheats!” He glared at Nimlet, who bristled with rage.
Tarragon grabbed him by the arm. “Be nice!” she whispered.
Nimlet wasn’t going to be nice. “You dirty runt!” he growled. “Who are you calling a coward?”
“Stop it, Mr. Nimlet!” said Tarragon, shocked. “You can’t speak like that!”
“Yeah, stop it, Mr. Nimlet!” mocked the Watch Squirrel. “Be a nice little pet for the Northender. What sort of a pathetic animal are you?”
“The sort who left you beaten,” declared Nimlet. “How’s your nose today?”
They were eye to eye, and itching to fight. One more insult would tip the balance. But the alarm had woken the Trial Instructor, and he emerged furiously from his drey. “Mr. Nimlet! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Sir!” said Nimlet, standing to attention. “This is the Honorable Mistress Tarragon Fleet and she has an urgent message for the Ma!”
With a dainty flourish of her tail, Tarragon made a polite bob to Ratter, who was completely taken aback. A Northend female? In Cloudfoot space? This was extremely irregular!
“Sir, my companion, Mr. Nimlet, speaks truly. The Avenue is in great danger of attack and we must warn the Ma,” said Tarragon urgently.
The Trial Instructor snapped fully awake. Attack? “Ma’am, I shall escort you to the Meeting Drey immediately. Night Watch!” he ordered. “Get back to your post; I shall deal with you later. How dare you keep the Honorable Mistress waiting?”
The Watch Squirrel looked completely miserable and Nimlet almost felt sorry for him. But, passing by to follow Ratter, he caught curses that would curl Tarragon’s tail. And a muttered threat that left no doubt. The squirrel wanted revenge.
I’d better mind my back, thought Nimlet. That’s a real enemy I’ve made today.
Nimlet and Tarragon spiraled up the trunk of the chestnut tree, following the Trial Instructor. This is going okay, thought Nimlet, starting to feel more cheerful. Ratter seems to believe us—perhaps we can convince the Ma. They reached the Mid-levels and scurried along the branches to the next tree.
The Trial Instructor took them to a large drey, the meeting place for the Ma and her Senior Daughters. This morning it was cold, dark, and deserted.
“Ma’am.” He bobbed to Tarragon. “Would you honor me by waiting here while I get word to the Ma?” He swished his tail in a dashing manner and leapt out of the drey.
Tarragon smiled as she watched him go; these Cloudfoots were all so nice!
It was not long before the Ma entered with her Attendants. Ratter had swiftly returned to the Albion gates after alerting her. The young Northender�
��s story might be stuff and nonsense, but he was taking no chances with the defense of the Avenue.
Both Nimlet and Tarragon politely bobbed low as the Ma settled on her haunches. As they rose, Second Daughter entered the drey and Nimlet willed her to look him in the eye. It could—it could all be a mistake, he thought, desperately wanting it to be true. But his mother sat by the side of the Ma and ignored him. Nimlet’s heart sank.
The old Ma had not been pleased to be summoned and her face was stony. “Well?” she demanded.
Nimlet hung back, quite overwhelmed by her presence. Tarragon, to her credit, did not show how nervous she really was. She stepped forward with her head held high and declaimed loudly, “Great Ma of the Cloudfoot Clan! I am the Honorable Mistress Tarragon Fleet of the North—”
“Oh, get on with it, girl!” snapped the Ma. “Yes. Yes, we know who you are. What we don’t know is what you want.”
“Mistress, I want to warn you. My uncle, head of the Family Fleet, is planning an attack on Cloudfoot Avenue.”
The Ma’s whiskers flared. “What makes you say this, girl?”
“Mistress, I heard him say so.”
The Ma’s ill-tempered eyes narrowed as Tarragon explained her rescue from the magpie and the Watch Squirrel’s surprise attack. “But Mr. Nimlet fought him off bravely so that Mr. Lucky and I could get to the Albion and raise the alarm.”
“Really?” said the Ma sharply. “So why have we not already been warned?”
Tarragon hesitated. She looked at Nimlet and then at Second Daughter. Would the Ma believe her? I wish Lucky was here, she thought. She took a deep breath and then explained, “Because, mistress, we met Nimlet’s mother and she told us to go straight to the Northend. So we did, and my uncle … um … wasn’t very pleased to see me. I was missing, so he had his excuse to start a war. He was very angry that I’d come back.”
“I see,” said the Ma, turning to Second Daughter. “Well, what have you got to say?”
Nimlet held his breath. One last chance? She’d lied before; would she lie again?
