by Colin Dann
Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
1 What Sort of Creature?
2 The Pond is Deserted
3 Footprints and Eyes
4 A Waiting Game
5 Strangers
6 The Trail of the Beast
7 Trouble in Store
8 New Measures
9 Captured
10 A Common Aim
11 United
12 Thralldom
13 The Pledge
14 Hearts and Minds
15 Mossy’s Mission
Epilogue
About the Author
Copyright
About the Book
‘It’s horrible, just waiting around for this . . . this Something to make an appearance.’
Terror has come to White Deer Park, driving panic-stricken animals before it. A killer beast is on the loose – a predator so silent and skilful that it leaves almost no trace, and had never been seen.
As the deaths mount up, Owl, Fox, Badger and the elders of the animals of Farthing Wood meet to make a plan. They have survived so many threats before, but have they finally met their match?
Another gripping adventure of the animals of Farthing Wood by award-winning author Colin Dann.
For Sarah, Rachael, David
and Ruth
In the Nature Reserve of White Deer Park the animals were looking forward to the bustle of Spring. It was the end of February and dead Winter’s grasp was loosening little by little with each spell of sunshine. The survivors of the band of beasts and birds who had travelled to the haven of the Park from their destroyed home in Farthing Wood had passed their third winter in the confines of the Reserve. Only a few still survived. The short life spans of most had run their course. But now their descendants populated the Park, and they knew no other home. These voles and mice, hedgehogs, rabbits and hares mingled and mated as natives with others of their kind whose forefathers had always lived within the Park’s boundaries. Yet they were still conscious of a sort of allegiance to the few stalwarts of the old Farthing Wood community who remained alive.
Foremost among these were the Farthing Wood Fox and his mate Vixen, venerated almost as mythical beings to whom the animals turned for advice and counsel. They were the doyens of the Park’s inhabitants, along with the aged Great Stag who was still supreme among the deer herd. Fox’s oldest companion, Badger, was also a counsellor who tried to promote harmony between birds and beasts where it was feasible within their own natural order. Badger was very ancient now and never strayed far from his own set. He was slow, dim-sighted and rather feeble, but his kindly ways made him, if less respected, more loved even than Fox.
Tawny Owl, Adder, Toad, Weasel and Whistler the heron still lived and were occasional companions of Badger’s extreme old age. But the old creature missed Mole, who had been his special friend. Mole’s offspring – the result of his union with Mirthful, a female born in the Reserve – tended to live their own lives. So Badger suffered the loss of the wonderful bond that had existed between the two underground dwellers. Mole’s allotted span of existence had reached its end during the winter. As he had lived, so he died – underground. His home had become his grave, and his tiny body went unnoticed in the labyrinth of tunnels. But he was remembered and mourned.
The descendants of Fox and Vixen now stretched almost to the fourth generation, for in the spring the cubs of their grandchildren would be born. From their own first litter Friendly and Charmer survived. Their cub Bold, who had left the Reserve and died outside it, had mated with Whisper who had journeyed to the Park for the safe birth of her own offspring. Now they, too, would become parents. So each season the Farthing Wood lineage was extended.
Badger and Tawny Owl had never paired off in their second home. They were too old and set in their ways – at least, so they said. As for Adder, who vanished altogether for long periods – well, no one was quite sure about him . . .
It was dusk on one of the last days of February when the first signs of some strange influence in their lives appeared to one of the old comrades from Farthing Wood. Tawny Owl had been quartering the Park’s boundaries where these adjoined the open downland. He noticed an unusual number of rabbits converging on a hole scraped under part of the fencing. The timid animals were jostling and bumping each other in their attempts to reach this entrance to the Reserve before their fellows.
‘Hm,’ mused Owl. ‘This is odd. What’s their hurry, I wonder?’ He was not thinking of the possibilities for himself in this sudden abundance of food. His first thought was for the cause of their fright. He flew out of the Park a little way, following the rabbits’ trail backwards – all of the time expecting to discover what was driving them. But he saw nothing, however much his night eyes scanned the ground.
‘Something scared them,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Yet why haven’t they dived for their burrows?’ Tawny Owl knew all about the behaviour of rabbits.
He flew back and hooted a question at them. ‘What’s all the fuss about?’
Some of the animals looked up but, when they saw the owl, they scuttled ahead even faster. They were certainly not going to stop still to talk to a hunter! And, by the time Tawny Owl remembered his stomach, they had disappeared into the undergrowth.
He perched in an ash tree and pondered, his great round eyes staring unseeingly through the bare branches. He rustled his brown wings.
‘No point brooding on it,’ he muttered. ‘Things reveal themselves eventually.’ He flew off on his noiseless flight into the gathering darkness.
A few days later, again in the evening, Fox and Vixen were emerging from their den to go foraging. In the winter months there was often carrion to be found and recently they had been subsisting chiefly on that. Fox paused as a clatter of wings broke the stillness of their home wood.
‘Pigeons,’ he remarked.
But there were other noises. Birds’ cries, and the sounds of sudden movements in the tree-tops as many took to flight, made the pair of foxes listen intently. There was a general disturbance that went on for some minutes.
‘The whole wood’s been alarmed,’ said Vixen. She stayed close to her bolt-hole in case of trouble.
Fox gazed fixedly at the night sky. At last he said: ‘I think I see what it is.’
Vixen waited for him to explain. He was still looking up through the fretwork of naked branches.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of it.’
‘Well – what?’ Vixen prompted, a little impatiently.
‘There are a lot of birds flying in from beyond the Park. They seem to be wheeling about, uncertain where to go. They must have unsettled those at roost here.’
‘They sound very panicky,’ Vixen observed.
The foxes watched a while longer. Eventually many of the birds from outside found perches in the Reserve. Others flew onwards, and gradually quietness was restored. Fox and Vixen went on their way.
Occurrences such as these became more frequent in the ensuing weeks. All the inhabitants of the Park became aware that something, as yet unknown, was bringing change to their little world. Animals from all over the countryside came flooding into the Park. Sometimes the creatures stayed; sometimes they passed right through or overhead; sometimes they returned again whence they had come. But it was obvious that the wildlife around was in a state of real alarm, and these continual movements to and fro brought an atmosphere of disquiet to the Nature Reserve. Weasel, running through the carpet of Dog’s Mercury under the beech trees, noticed a sudden increase in the numbers of wood mice. These mice appeared to have thrown their inbred caution to the winds – most of them were running about qui
te openly, inviting themselves to be taken. Weasel was not one to refuse the offer and he had quite a field day or, rather, night. It was only later that he realized that the mice had been thrown into a state of panic by the arrival of dozens of hunting stoats and weasels like himself, who were closing in on their quarry from every direction. The poor mice simply did not know where to run next. But where had these hunting cousins of his suddenly appeared from? They were certainly not the ordinary inhabitants of White Deer Park.
Squirrel and his relatives found themselves competing for their hoards of autumn-buried acorns and beech mast with strangers from elsewhere who watched where they dug and stole where they could.
Hare’s first-born, Leveret, who was still called so by his Farthing Wood friends from old association (though he had for long now been an adult) saw more of his own kind running through the dead grass and bracken than he had ever done since his arrival in White Deer Park.
Finally the friends began to gather to compare their opinions. It was now March and a shimmer of green was slowly spreading through the Park. New grass, tentative leaves on hawthorn and hazel, and ripening sycamore and chestnut buds gave glad signs to the animals that Winter was over. But they were puzzled and a little worried by the recent influxes.
‘Where do they come from?’ asked Squirrel.
‘What’s bringing them here?’ asked Leveret.
Badger had no comment to make. He was only acquainted with the facts by hearsay. He had seen nothing himself.
‘It’s as if they’ve been driven here,’ Tawny Owl said.
Fox had been doing a lot of thinking. ‘You could be right, Owl,’ he remarked. ‘Birds and beasts are being driven here to the Reserve in the hope of shelter and then –’
‘Finding themselves cornered?’ Vixen broke in.
‘Exactly! Then they’d be ripe for rounding up. It’s like part of a deliberate plan by some clever creature.’
‘Or creatures,’ Weasel observed.
‘Yes,’ said Fox. ‘It couldn’t be just one. Unless . . .’
‘Unless of the human variety,’ finished Whistler the heron drily.
‘Wouldn’t make sense,’ Tawny Owl contradicted him. ‘What purpose could there be in this for Man?’
‘How should we know?’ asked Friendly, Fox’s son. ‘Who else is so clever?’
‘I don’t like this rounding up idea,’ Leveret said nervously. ‘It stands to reason – we’d be caught up in it too.’
They fell silent while they digested the implications of this.
‘From what you say, Fox,’ Badger wheezed, ‘it sounds as if some animal or other is planning to use the Park as a sort of larder.’
Fox looked at him. ‘You’ve gone straight to the point, Badger. But what sort of creature . . .’ he muttered inconclusively.
‘A sort of creature we know nothing about,’ said Owl.
‘The deer are very uneasy,’ put in Vixen. ‘You can tell they sense something.’
‘It’s horrible waiting around,’ said Charmer, her daughter, ‘for this . . . this . . . Something to make an appearance. There are young to be born and looked after.’
‘We mustn’t get too jittery,’ said Fox. ‘Perhaps there is no “Something”. There might be a more simple explanation. And a less alarming one.’ But he could not convince himself.
Tawny Owl said, ‘We mustn’t fool ourselves either, Fox. We should prepare for the worst.’
‘That’s very helpful,’ remarked Weasel sarcastically.
‘I meant it for the best,’ Owl defended himself. ‘We don’t want to be caught napping, do we?’
‘No, but there’s a reasonable chance in your case,’ Weasel murmured wickedly. It was well known that Tawny Owl spent most of the daylight hours dozing. Owl pretended not to hear.
‘Oh!’ exclamined Fox. ‘How I wish our brave Kestrel was still around to do some scouting for us!’
‘Yes,’ said Whistler the heron. ‘If anyone could have spotted the danger he could have done. But can I be of any service? I don’t have Kestrel’s piercing vision, but I do have wings, and there’s a deal to be seen from the air which you creatures would likely miss.’
‘Of course,’ said Fox. ‘Thank you. Any help is most welcome.’
‘You know long flights are awkward with your bad wing,’ Tawny Owl pointed out to the heron. He referred to the bird’s old wound from a badly aimed bullet, which had caused him more trouble as he grew older. ‘It had better be me.’
Whistler, whose name derived from the noise this wing made as it flapped through the air, knew perfectly well that Owl felt he had lost face by not offering his services first. But he was too polite to mention it. ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘I know you night birds have to catch up on your sleep while my sort are active.’
His intended tact misfired. Tawny Owl’s feelings were hurt. He was very conscious that his advancing age made him sleep longer than he used to. His feathers ruffled indignantly.
‘Nonsense!’ he said. ‘I’m quite capable of flying by day. And more accurately than you, I might add.’
‘As you say, old friend,’ Whistler said readily with his constant good humour. He was quite unaffected by Owl’s sharp retort.
‘We’ll share the search then.’
‘Very well,’ replied Owl huffily.
Weasel looked at Owl with distaste. ‘He gets worse as he gets older,’ he murmured to himself.
The two birds made long flights over the surrounding area; the heron by day, the owl by night. Neither was able to see anything that might explain the recent developments. But some of the creatures who had taken refuge within the Reserve talked to the animals they met there. Word spread of a large, fierce beast who made raids in the night. No animal had seen it and survived, so none of the refugees could give even the vaguest description of it. There were rumours of terrible slaughter. Tales of its unnerving hunting skills were rife. It could climb; it could swim; it could catch creatures underground. Some even suspected it could fly, since birds also suffered from its depredations. Soon the whole Park was in a state of suspense.
But it was Spring and, despite the suspense, the activities of Spring went on. Pairing and mating, nest-building and preparing dens for imminent births overrode any other consideration. For a while the threat of the unknown seemed to recede. Then, with startling suddenness, a change in the usual absorbing routine shocked the animals out of their preoccupation. In the midst of their mating season, the colony of Edible Frogs made a mass exodus from their pond. They were not content to hide themselves in the waterside vegetation. They hopped away in all directions as far as they could go, apparently desperate to get right away from the pond. Other aquatic creatures such as newts were seen in great numbers leaving the pond, and the ducks, coots and moorhens who had built their nests on or near the water deserted them entirely. It was obvious that something very alarming had happened to drive them away. The animals and birds did not need to ask each other what this could be. They knew. The Beast had arrived in the Park.
Toad, who had acted as guide to the Farthing Wood animals on their long journey to White Deer Park, was eager to talk to Fox. He had not been in the water himself when the eruption of the Edible Frogs from the pond had occurred. But he had witnessed their panic.
‘It was pandemonium,’ he told Fox. ‘They couldn’t scramble away fast enough from that water. There was something in the pond.’
‘Did you see what it was?’ Fox asked quickly.
‘No, no. It was too dark for that,’ replied Toad. ‘But I didn’t want to stay around myself to find out!’
‘Of course not. I can well see why.’
‘I don’t know what the Frogs will do now,’ Toad croaked. ‘The pond is their gathering point. How can they carry on their lives now – and in the middle of the most important time of the year?’
‘I wonder how any of us will cope,’ Fox returned. ‘You can’t deal with something unseen.’
‘I’d like to stay a
round here for a while if I may?’ Toad murmured. ‘There’s comfort in company and I haven’t seen Badger in a long while.’
Fox spoke quietly: ‘I’m afraid he’s failing, Toad, little by little. We’re all much older than we were, but Badger seems to live in his own little world. He only does what’s necessary – can’t be bothered with anything else.’
‘I think Mole’s sadly missed,’ Toad murmured. ‘And Kestrel too. What an acrobat he was in the sky! But our old life, back in the Wood, and the great trek here that seemed as if it would go on for ever – doesn’t it seem so long ago?’
‘An age,’ Fox agreed. ‘Vixen and I often talk about the past. A sign of our age, no doubt,’ he mocked himself.
‘Yes. We always overcame troubles together before, didn’t we?’ Toad went on. ‘But, you know, this new menace – I have a feeling it may be too much for us.’
After this, life in the Reserve went on as if on tiptoe. The whole community held its breath – and waited. One morning the remains of three adult rabbits were found close together under some blackthorn. It was obvious this was not the work of a fox. The other rabbits spoke of a hint of soft footfalls around their burrows. As usual they had seen nothing. But each of them seemed to have been aware of a Presence.
At intervals other carcasses were discovered. Their killer had great stealth and cunning. It was never seen during the day, and at night, although every animal and bird stayed alert for it, nothing positive was heard.
The inhabitants of White Deer Park, many of whom were chiefly nocturnal in their habits, began to feel as if they were under siege. Yet they had to eat. They went about in fear and trepidation, trying to stay as close to their homes as possible. But deaths still occurred. The mystery continued to hang balefully over the Reserve.
The creature’s amazing silence was a constant talking point. The hunters among the Park’s population began to feel a sort of grudging respect for its expertise. Some of the young foxes harboured ideas of emulating its methods.
‘That sort of skill would make any animal the most respected of predators,’ remarked one youngster, a nephew of Friendly’s called Husky.
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