Lucky

by Chris Hill

  Second Daughter smiled and spread her paws in a convincing display of amused confusion. “I have no idea what to say. The poor child has obviously had a terrible time and must be in shock. I have never seen her before in my life.”

  Why won’t she tell the truth? thought Nimlet miserably. But in his heart he knew. He knew she was lying to protect herself. That she’d betrayed them all. That she was no longer his mother.

  The Ma frowned; this was extremely irritating. Then she muttered an order to a Daughter Attendant, who disappeared swiftly into the Mid-levels. The Ma regarded them all with the same cold contempt, but her gaze came to rest on Nimlet.

  Oh no! thought Nimlet. Please not me! Not now.

  “Cadet.” She gestured. “Come here.”

  He came stumbling forward and made the clumsiest bob the Ma had ever seen. It almost made her smile, but not quite.

  “So you are Mr. Nimlet,” she mused, “the champion wrestler?”

  “Y-yes, ma’am.” He screwed up his eyes, willing his tail to stop shaking.

  “You must be an excellent wrestler to beat the final Watch Squirrel.”

  Nimlet nodded dumbly; he only hoped she hadn’t heard how he’d beaten him.

  “And you did this so that Mr. Lucky and Mistress Tarragon could get to the Albion gates?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” This was going better; she seemed to understand.

  “So the Watch Squirrel spotted all three of you?”

  “Oh, yes!” said Nimlet.

  “Excellent,” said the Ma, just as the Watch Squirrel was brought in. “We can now proceed.” She fixed the unhappy demoted animal with her beady eyes. “Corporal, do you recognize this male?”

  The Watch Squirrel looked at Nimlet with utter loathing. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Yes, ma’am, he is the cadet who got past me during the Final Run.”

  “Splendid,” said the Ma. They were getting somewhere now. “And do you recognize this female?” She gestured toward Tarragon.

  “No, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  Tarragon and Nimlet gasped in unison.

  Second Daughter hid her malicious little smile. “Did you not see her with Mr. Lucky?”

  “I saw neither of them, ma’am. The first I knew was when she turned up at the Albion gates—with him.” He glared at Nimlet.

  The Ma stood up. She was so furious she could hardly speak. “We are returning to our drey. Keep these animals under guard until we have the time and inclination to deal with them.”

  Tarragon stepped forward to protest, but the Ma held up her paw. “No! No more lies and nonsense! We Have Had Enough!”

  “But, ma’am,” interrupted Nimlet desperately. “Lucky can prove it—he heard the Major’s plan!”

  “Mr. Lucky,” said the Ma coldly, “has failed the Final Run and is Cast Down from the Avenue. He is no longer a Cloudfoot and no squirrel will speak his name in these trees again!”

  Nimlet and Tarragon stared in speechless horror as the Ma turned to go. But her exit was blocked as a breathless and disheveled Patrol Leader staggered into the drey.

  “Ma’am!” He drew a deep jagged breath. “The Northenders, ma’am! There is an army at the Albion gates—we are under attack!”

  Word of the attack reached First Daughter’s home-tree moments after Lucky had arrived. “I must go and help the Ma immediately,” she declared.

  Lucky and Mazie moved to go with her.

  “What do you think you two are doing?” First Daughter demanded. “Miss Trimble, you will ensure that Lucky stays here safely in the drey. I want both of you out of sight until this is over.” Lucky started to protest but First Daughter silenced him. “Lucky, you are no longer a member of the Clan. Until I get to the Ma and explain, you are in danger. It would be the duty of any Cloudfoot to Cast you Down if they saw you, understand?”

  Lucky nodded miserably as First Daughter leapt out of the drey, and the two squirrels watched her disappear through the branches at breakneck speed.

  “Hmm,” mused Mazie. “So, my orders are to keep you in the drey?”

  “And we have to keep out of sight,” added Lucky.

  “So, if I couldn’t keep you in the drey and we both stayed out of sight, then we wouldn’t exactly be disobeying orders, would we?” suggested Mazie.

  “You’d do that?” Lucky was amazed. Mazie never disobeyed orders!

  “D’you want to sit here while the Avenue’s under attack?”

  “No! I want to find Nimlet and Tarragon! But they could be anywhere.”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” said Mazie. “If they went to see the Ma there’s only one place they’d be, and that’s the Meeting Drey.”

  “Great! Let’s go,” said Lucky. “But we mustn’t be seen. I don’t want to ‘disobey orders’!”

  Old Ma Cloudfoot had more flecks of white in her fur than gray. No one knew how many leaf-falls she had seen, and no squirrel would dare to ask. She had come into the Meeting Drey moving slowly and stiffly. But at the news of an attack, she moved like a young cadet. Storming over to the gates, she gathered Daughters and barked orders to the Watch.

  First Daughter joined them as they sped toward the Albion gates. She told a grim-faced Ma that Lucky had reached her, confirming the Northend plot and Second Daughter’s treachery. Nimlet and Mistress Tarragon had been telling the truth.

  Second Daughter, strangely enough, had slipped away, depriving a furious Ma of judgment and justice. If that traitor ever steps foot in my trees again, she thought savagely, I will Cast her Down myself—With No Mercy! She bristled with rage and leapt even faster through the trees.

  The Ma arrived at the Albion and gazed with horror at the scene of confusion and carnage. The attackers were already swarming up through the first chestnut tree into the Avenue. “Where is the Trial Instructor?” she demanded.

  Then she saw him. Ratter’s drey was surrounded by a mob of lean and vicious Northend troops. The old warrior was fighting valiantly, furious that his Watch and Patrol had been caught unawares. He lunged and spun at the enemy squirrels coming from all sides. No Northender would live to set foot on his home-tree!

  The Ma scanned the trees. How many were there? Too many! On every branch outnumbered troops battled the Northend swarm and injured Cloudfoots crashed bloodstained through the branches—they never reached the ground.

  Birds swooped out of the sky, their metallic-black snapping wings propelled beak and claw, and there were desperate screams as falling squirrels were borne away by the delighted hungry hunters. “Ca-ca-cack!” A feast! A feast!

  They have a plan, thought the Ma bitterly as she watched the well-drilled forces of Fleet and Coppice. The Patrol Leader was right. This is more than one Family, and still they come! Across the gate poured squirrels from Glade and Bracken. It was not an organized advance, but they were a large and angry mob.

  The news had spread to all the Northend Families—how dare the Cloudfoots steal one of their Honorable females? Their trees would be forfeit and their males Cast Down! Together they could take the lush and plentiful Avenue—and never be hungry again. It was a cry to arms few Families could resist, and Northenders rushed to join the throng.

  The Ma watched, stony-faced and calculating, as the invading hordes poured over the third chestnut. She turned to her Daughter Generals and ordered a retreat.

  “No, ma’am!” spluttered the Patrol Leader before he could stop himself. “We must fight!”

  “Fool!” snapped the Ma. “Can’t you see we are outnumbered and unprepared? Retreat to the sixth chestnut, we shall hold them there—and rally all the Watch and Patrol. We shall have need of soldiers.”

  The Patrol Leader was Cloudfoot material through and through. He would never disobey the Word of Ma. But as he rushed through the trees, ordering the retreat, he spotted the Trial Instructor in the distance, still defending his drey. He was surrounded by the mauled and bloody bodies of Northend troops, but the tide of squirrels hadn’t stopped. More shapes were scurrying across th
e Albion gates and spiraling up the Avenue trees. Retreat would be unthinkable for the Instructor. The old warrior was going to be Cast Down—alone and abandoned by his Clan.

  That, thought the Patrol Leader through gritted teeth, is not going to happen on my Watch! He gathered all his strength and leapt skillfully through the branches. Enemy claws scrabbled to catch him, but he was the best of the Cloudfoots and could fly through the familiar trees faster than any Northender. He reached the old Trial Instructor’s side just in time—Ratter was pinned down by two ragged Northenders who were going in for the kill.

  The Patrol Leader wrenched the first Northender from Ratter and tossed him off the chestnut.

  The second squirrel lunged at him with teeth bared and claws outstretched, screeching in rage for his fallen comrade. The two warriors crashed furiously together: a thrashing many-limbed beast, twisting and turning in a frantic effort to deal a death blow. The Northender came out on top and the Patrol Leader squealed as his enemy lunged forward with outstretched claws. Suddenly the Northend squirrel went limp as his body was shoved aside by Ratter.

  “Stranglehold,” said the Trial Instructor drily. “Not often used in battle conditions.”

  The Patrol Leader looked at him, dumbstruck. Was this really the time for a lecture? “Sir,” he said urgently, “the Ma has ordered a retreat, to regroup at the sixth chestnut.”

  “Indeed?” said Ratter. “Then we must obey the Word of Ma.”

  Your parents got in my way … The Major’s words echoed around and around in Tarragon’s head. She paced the Meeting Drey, her face screwed up in concentration. Got in his way? What did he mean?

  She tried to remember … I’ll happily sacrifice you too … And he would, wouldn’t he?

  Your parents got in my way …

  But he’d tried to save them from a Cloudfoot attack, hadn’t he? That was the story he told. He’d become Head of the Family, a hero and her protector!

  But the Cloudfoots weren’t murderers, they were nice! Why would they attack the Northend anyway?

  And if the Cloudfoots didn’t kill her parents …

  Tarragon suddenly remembered the corporal’s old grandmother, and her sad little gift. She’d been afraid … they were all afraid … of him. A hot, sickly rush of understanding ran from whisker to tail. She shuddered.

  How stupid I’ve been, she thought.

  Nimlet sat near the mouth of the drey wrapped in his own misery. We’re at war. Lucky is banished. All because of her lies, he thought bitterly. I know she never liked me much, but how could she do this? Lucky’s my only friend, and I’ve got to get out of here and find him. We could leave the Avenue together!

  He crept to the entrance and peeked over the parapet. The Watch Squirrel stood on the branch, blocking any escape. He’d love me to try and get out, thought Nimlet. Any excuse to Cast me Down. There must be another way.

  He started to move around the walls, pushing at the woven twigs. At the back of the dark drey they felt softer … and furrier? Nimlet leapt back in surprise as Lucky’s head erupted through the wall.

  “Stop pushing, you idiot,” he said, spitting out bits of twig. “I’m trying to get in!”

  “Lucky! How did you find us?”

  “Mazie knew where you’d be.” He wriggled around the gap in the twigs. “I can’t make it any bigger, so you can’t get out this way.”

  “We can’t get out the front. The Watch Squirrel’s on guard.”

  “The angry one with the swollen nose? Nice one, Nim!”

  “Yeah, well, he’s not moving. Ma’s orders.”

  “Mr. Lucky! What’s happening at the Albion? Are the Cloudfoots winning?” Tarragon asked.

  “I don’t know—” Lucky stopped. “Are you okay?” Tarragon looked very strange and … flushed.

  “We’ve got to get out,” she said urgently. “We’ve got to get to the Albion!”

  “Okay,” said Lucky, his head disappearing back through the hole.

  The Watch Squirrel had been on duty for hours and could hardly stand to attention. Only cold fury was keeping him upright. He’d followed Second Daughter’s orders as a dutiful soldier, but knew he’d taken the wrong branch. The Avenue’s under attack and I’m stuck here! He ground his teeth in frustration. I should be at the Albion!

  The first stone hit him sharply on the ear. The second bounced off his already tender nose. He gave a yelp of pain and looked around wildly. Was it a Northender? Then he spotted Lucky dancing on a slender branch above. The mutant was hurling pebbles and insults down at him—and the insults were getting ruder and nastier.

  His final taunt hit the spot: No one should use those words about someone’s mother.

  “No one calls my mother that!” screamed the Watch Squirrel, angrily moving from the mouth of the drey. He looked up at Lucky and furiously shook his fist. “Come down and fight like a Cloudfoot, you dirty red runt!”

  “But he’s not a Cloudfoot, is he?” said Mazie, dropping lightly down behind him. Surprised, the exhausted male spun around off balance, and she easily pushed him off the branch. He fell screaming through the air. When he hit the ground there was silence—and he didn’t move at all.

  Bud and branch! thought Mazie, amazed at what she’d done. I think my chances of promotion are ruined!

  The stunned Watch Squirrel shook himself awake with a whimper. Every limb protested and his head throbbed. He staggered to his feet, scanning the branches in vain for Lucky and Mazie, but they had gone.

  The squirrels traveled high above the Mid-levels to keep out of sight. But the trees were deserted—every Cloudfoot was at the Albion.

  They heard the angry cry of battle long before they reached the chestnuts. Soon they were close enough to see the violently shaking branches, which were alive with squirrels rolling and writhing together in combat. Wood cracked and splintered as they crashed through the Mid-levels.

  It was hard to make out what was happening amid the noise and frantic action. But Nimlet’s hearing was much better than his sight, and he caught fragments of the Daughter Generals’ shouted orders on the wind, and stiffened in horror. “They’re retreating! I don’t believe it; they’re calling for a retreat!”

  “It’s worse than that,” said Tarragon flatly.

  “What could be worse than that?” demanded Lucky. How could she be so stupid?

  “There are squirrels from every Northend Family here in your trees,” said Tarragon.

  “So?” said Nimlet.

  “Don’t you see, Cloudfoots? Every Northend Family! My uncle has succeeded. He has a united army at last. He will take your Avenue.”

  “Finlay!”

  The old dog cocked his ear and opened one eye. His human was calling. Hmm, thought Finlay, he doesn’t sound very happy.

  “Finlay—come here now!”

  Finlay rose stiffly to his feet from the rug in front of the fire—he’d been deeply asleep for hours. He had a quick stretch and a scratch, and then padded out to the hallway. George stood by the open door.

  “Look!” demanded the human, pointing to his Land Rover parked on the road. “The cheek of it! Unbelievable! Finlay, see it off.”

  There, sitting on the hood of the car cleaning her paws, was Amber. “Hiya!” She beamed.

  What does she want now? thought Finlay crossly. “I’m going to pretend to chase you up the road,” he growled, “then you can tell me why you’re here—and it had better be good!” He launched himself forward and put on a good show for George, barking fiercely.

  Amber leapt off the car and fled.

  Finlay stopped halfway up the road, panting heavily. “All right, that’s far enough.” He didn’t like to admit it, but he really couldn’t run as fast as he used to. “What were you doing outside my house?” he demanded. “In fact, how did you even know it was my house?”

  “Smelled ya!” said Amber smugly. “Front gate’s got your mark all over it—and the lamppost’s a dead giveaway. Told you I’d be a good police fox. I can track an
y scent trail and I’ve got powers of detection!”

  “Oh, really?” said Finlay.

  “Yeah! And I’ve detected that there’s something going wrong with your squirrel friends. I think you and Mr. Eric might like to take a look.”

  Finlay couldn’t believe his eyes when he reached the Albion. The sun was just setting, but Northenders were still scurrying across the gates to climb up the first chestnut. There didn’t seem to be any Cloudfoots in the trees at all. Where was the Ma?

  “Blimey, looks like they’ve been ’avin’ a right scuffle,” said Eric, pointing to some scraps of fur that had once been on a squirrel.

  “Yeah, they were fighting in this tree earlier,” said Amber. “But I did manage to stop the birds getting some of them.”

  “You saved squirrels?” said Finlay, amazed.

  “Well, it was good fun chasing the birds off—and you did say we were supposed to be friends. So what are you going to do now?”

  “Now?” said Finlay grimly. “Now we’re going to find out if there’s any chance of stopping this slaughter.”

  Surely the Northenders can’t win? thought Mazie. She peered over the treetops, straining in the failing light to make sense of the action. The Daughter Generals were holding off the enemy, as the defeated Watch and Patrol stumbled back to the sixth chestnut. More Cloudfoot reinforcements were arriving from the Avenue to join the Ma and hold the line.

  Yes, that was it. She understood now. They were going to make a stand at the sixth chestnut.

  She recognized Ratter and the Patrol Leader, brutally forcing their way into the crush of Northend troops. They were going to the rescue of small bands of Cloudfoots, who were struggling to retreat. But they were only two against many. As soon as one Northender fell, another took his place: again and again.

  They’re outnumbered, she thought. There are too many of them!

  Lucky’s sudden cry of alarm cut through her thoughts. “Look! Up in the fifth chestnut—it’s First Daughter!” He pointed wildly to the tree.