by Colin Dann
Whistler had held himself quite still during this entire episode. But now he hastened to fly off. He flapped his long wings and, with his stilt-like legs trailing beneath, he gained height and turned in the direction of his friends. A few seconds later he spied Adder sunbathing. He dropped down briefly to tell him what he had seen.
‘What do you think it was?’ he asked the snake.
‘Oh, the creature we’ve all been looking for,’ Adder answered nonchalantly, without even shifting his position. ‘No question about it.’
‘I wondered the same myself,’ Whistler replied. ‘I must go and spread the word.’ He gave a farewell ‘krornk’ and flew away.
Adder’s feigned lack of interest turned into action as soon as the heron was gone. He slid furtively from his couch in the bracken and made for the stream side. There would be footprints by the water and he wanted to compare them. He went along the bank and his eyes soon picked out the place where the animal had drunk. Yes, there were the marks! He examined them for a while to make quite sure.
‘Just as I thought,’ he lisped to himself. ‘Identical.’
Now his curiosity was aroused. He wanted to see the creature for himself. He debated whether it was safe to follow in its wake along the bank. There was very little cover at that spot and he wanted to remain undetected. Only in that way could he hope to have a chance of surprising the stranger. He slithered hastily into the nearest patch of vegetation. As he lay hidden his mind began to concentrate itself on a grand scheme.
Some seasons ago, Adder had been the chief victor in a battle that the Farthing Wood animals had fought against some foxes. These had resented the animals establishing a new home for themselves in the Reserve. The snake had a weapon more telling than any of his friends possessed – the weapon of poison. He had used it before to rid them of a dangerous enemy. Now he began to entertain thoughts of doing so again – and with much more purpose. For the stranger who had come to dominate their lives was more powerful and dangerous than any fox. And, as long as it lived amongst them, it was a potential enemy of every animal in the Park. Adder had no way of knowing if his poison was sufficiently potent to immobilize such a big hunter. So there was only one way of finding out.
The snake glided through the plant stems, intent on his secret pursuit. Surprise was everything. There was a patch of bare ground between the clumps of vegetation he needed to cross. But, once across it, the cover was thick and tangled again. He slid into the open. All was quiet. His head was about to enter the next mass of growth when the breath was driven from his body. A heavy weight came down in the centre of his back along his vertebrae. He was pressed against the hard ground so tightly that he was unable even to wriggle his tail. Adder was securely pinioned.
Whistler sped on, his great steel-grey wings beating rhythmically. He began to call as he neared Fox and Vixen’s earth.
‘News! News! Sensational news!’
He made such a noise, and the noise was so unexpected from the normally dignified heron, that animals and birds came out of their burrows and holes and boughs, or stopped what they were doing, to look up at him. He hastened to land.
Fox and Vixen were all agog and an indignant and sleepy Tawny Owl flew to a nearby perch to hear what all the unwarranted (in his opinion) commotion was about.
‘The Beast is seen!’ Whistler cried by way of a preliminary. ‘Drinking, as boldly and openly as you like, from the stream.’
More animals and birds were gathering to listen. There was a chorus of demands to know what it was like, in voices of many varied pitches and registers. The heron waited for the hubbub to die down. He was familiar with the ginger cat belonging to the Warden and so this was the obvious comparison to make.
‘It was like,’ he told them, and at once there was a hushed silence, ‘a much larger version of the cat our Badger got to know so well.’
Tawny Owl blinked his great eyes in disbelief.
‘The colouring was quite different,’ Whistler added. ‘But there was the same litheness of movement, the same suppleness, the same silent gait.’
The owl prepared himself to give a sharp retort if Badger should start saying ‘I told you so.’ He looked around, but Badger was not in the throng. Owl was glad – but felt he would have to defend his own argument sooner or later.
‘Where did the creature come from?’ Fox wanted to know.
‘I didn’t observe its approach,’ replied Whistler. ‘It was already on the bank when I first saw it. Then it drank and made off towards the nearest cover – thankfully in a direction away from this part of the Park.’
Friendly had been listening eagerly. He knew where Whistler preferred to fish and now at last he had the evidence that he needed. He did not wait to hear any more but ran off at once to round up his confederates.
‘So we’re dealing with a large, powerful cat,’ Fox summed up. ‘Well, it could be worse. But what kind of cat can it be? Certainly not a human’s pet. It’s something none of us have ever seen or heard about before.’
‘Excuse me,’ Tawny Owl interrupted in his pompous way. ‘Aren’t you jumping to conclusions, Fox? How do we know this is the animal that has been doing the killing?’
There was a pause while his words were considered. Tawny Owl felt he had produced an effect and he was much gratified.
‘We don’t know,’ admitted Fox. ‘But everything points to it.’
‘Adder was quite clear about it as soon as I told him,’ Whistler remarked.
‘Adder?’ Owl scoffed. ‘Adder? What would he know about it?’
‘Its very size, as Whistler describes it, must be a sufficient clue.’ Squirrel said. ‘And it’s an animal that’s quite new to us.’
‘Just how big was it, Whistler?’ Tawny Owl demanded, enjoying his position as the cautious dissenter.
The heron tried to give as vivid an impression as he could of the powerful body, the shape of the head – even the eyes. ‘They had a cold gleam in them,’ he said, ‘just as you would expect to see in the eyes of a calculating, ruthless killer.’
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ Tawny Owl returned. ‘There’s a lot of your imagination gone into that description, Whistler. They don’t sound a bit like the eyes I saw in my tree. It’s certainly not the same beast.’
Tawny Owl had caused quite a stir, which is what he had intended. Were there two powerful strange animals roaming the Park? The animals started chattering all at once in a nervous way so that it was quite impossible for Whistler to make himself heard. Fox tried to think constructively, but that was impossible too.
Vixen said to him quietly, ‘At least none of us is immediately threatened. We’ve got the time to think more about it, but now’s not the right moment.’
‘Just so,’ agreed Fox, and they indicated to the heron that they were returning to their den.
‘Someone should tell Badger your news,’ Weasel said to Whistler. ‘No one should be kept in the dark.’ He ran off towards Badger’s set.
Leveret mentioned that Toad was not present, but Whistler thought it likely that he might be found near the stream.
‘And that takes care of everyone,’ he summarized. He had no more to add and flew back to his usual haunt, though with the necessary circumspection.
Tawny Owl found himself surrounded by a miscellany of birds who bombarded him with questions about his experience with the Beast. He did not much relish this position, now that his close companions had gone on their way. It was daytime, he was sleepy, and he was never very comfortable in the company of a host of songbirds who sometimes chose to mock him during his periods of inaction in the daylight. Whilst he was trying in vain to disentangle himself, Weasel arrived at the entrance to Badger’s home.
The first thing he noticed as he went in was the sound of voices. Badger lived alone and Weasel wondered to whom he was talking.
A voice, very like poor Mole’s, was distinguishable. Weasel paused some way down the tunnel to listen to the conversation.
‘You don’t
know how happy you’ve made me,’ next came the gruff sound of Badger’s voice. ‘I really had given you up for lost.’
‘But, you see, Badger, you’re getting muddled,’ said the Mole-like voice.
‘Muddled?’ Badger repeated. ‘Oh yes, at my age – I suppose you’re right. I expect I do get muddled. But what does all that matter? What’s important to me is that my dear old friend has come back. I have been rather lonely, Mole. Now we can have our cosy little talks again just like we always did. And I –’
‘No, no,’ the shriller voice interrupted. ‘I’m not who you think. Oh dear. What can I say?’
Weasel detected a tone of helplessness in this voice and he began to put two and two together. He went on towards Badger’s sleeping chamber. It was very dark deep inside the set so he could not see either of the other animals. He hurriedly announced himself.
‘Oh! Weasel,’ said Badger. ‘What brings you here?’ He did not wait for an answer but went on immediately with unmistakable excitement: ‘This is a wonderful moment. Mole has returned! We’ve just been —’
A wail from the animal cut him short. It was a sound Mole had never been heard to make in his life. ‘I am a mole,’ said the unhappy creature. ‘But not the one you want. He was my father!’
Weasel was glad he could not see Badger’s reaction. He would have found it too distressing.
‘I – I blundered into your set through one of the passages. I know my father used to use these tunnels,’ the young mole explained. ‘I can be company for you, and willingly, if you wish it. But I can’t be the mole you want – only myself!’
Weasel thought he had never been witness to such a pathetic encounter before and he heartily wished he was elsewhere. He tried to divert the conversation.
‘I’ve come to tell you, Badger,’ he said awkwardly, ‘about a discovery. Whistler has seen a great cat, and we think it must be the Beast.’
There was a deep silence. Weasel wondered if he was understood. Then Badger said, ‘Cat? A great cat? Well, I wonder what we should do about it. What do you think, Mole?’
Weasel stared into the darkness in disbelief. Was Badger’s mind wandering? He seemed not to have grasped what the little animal had told him. And this time the young mole remained quiet. Perhaps he had decided it was futile to make a further denial. Or perhaps he was too stunned to speak.
‘You suggested, didn’t you, Badger, that the stranger seemed to have feline characteristics?’ Weasel prompted.
‘What? Oh, oh yes, Weasel,’ Badger murmured. ‘I did. I recall it. But I don’t think I can do anything for you, you know. I’m really getting very feeble now . . .’
‘No one expects you to do anything,’ Weasel assured him. ‘I merely brought you the news. It helps to know what we’re up against.’
Suddenly Badger’s mind seemed to have a moment of startling clarity. He said, much more briskly, ‘No doubt Tawny Owl has refuted the notion of a cat, straight away?’
Weasel was impressed. ‘Well, yes, he did, in a way. How did you guess?’
‘Oh, Weasel,’ Badger chuckled, ‘don’t you think I know our Owl after all this time?’
Badger’s shrewdness did not tally with his previous confusion. Weasel began to realize that the old creature had wanted to believe Mole had returned and was rejecting the truth. He had shut out the idea that Mole was gone and was going to use his youngster as a substitute.
‘Well, where’s the harm in it, if it gives him comfort?’ Weasel said to himself. He had an idea. He whispered to the young mole whose velvety fur his whiskers had located nearby, ‘Go along to the outer tunnel. I’ll join you there.’
When Weasel was sure they were alone he said to Badger, ‘I haven’t any more to tell you for the present. I’m sorry you’ve been lonely. We can’t expect you to go visiting so much now, so we must come to you. And I, for one, promise to do so.’
‘Thank you, Weasel. How very kind,’ said Badger joyfully. He seemed to be quite moved. ‘Do, please. I should enjoy it.’
They bade each other farewell and Weasel made haste to find the perplexed young animal who had, quite unintentionally, got himself into such a pickle.
‘Come to the set entrance,’ he said to him.
The youngster obliged.
Now Weasel was a last able to see him properly. When he had a good look he was astonished to note just how much the young mole resembled his father. ‘What do they call you?’ he asked him.
‘My father used to call me Mossy,’ was the answer. ‘I’m not quite sure why, unless it had something to do with the texture of my coat.’
‘Well, listen – er – Mossy,’ Weasel said. ‘From now on you can allow yourself to be called just plain Mole. It’s for the old badger’s sake, of course. He won’t know the difference, as you must already be well aware. It’ll mean such a lot to him, and what does it matter? Will you mind?’
‘Er – well, no, I suppose not. But won’t it be confusing?’
‘Not at all,’ Weasel answered. ‘I can soon explain the situation to the others. Thank you, my young friend. And, by the way, do drop in to Badger’s set now and then. I know you offered.’
‘I will. I meant what I said, Weasel. I feel sorry for him and he’s always been such a kindly creature.’
‘Good. Well, I’ll leave you. Oh, and remember, if he starts to talk about ‘The Old Days’ – which you know nothing about – just agree with him. That’s all he expects, really.’
Mossy watched Weasel’s pencil-slim body make its retreat and sighed. ‘Ah well,’ he murmured, ‘I suppose it’s not much to ask.’
Tawny Owl had managed to disengage himself from the attentions of the other birds and was now trying to doze, away from interference, in a hollow tree. But since all of his friends knew this favourite place, the exasperated owl was disturbed again by Weasel.
‘I just dropped in to tell you I’ve seen Badger,’ Weasel explained.
Much irritated, Tawny Owl snapped, ‘Is that all you’ve woken me up for? How kind of you!’
‘No, no, there’s something you should know. I’m passing the message to everyone.’ He went on to describe the scene in Badger’s set involving Mole’s offspring.
‘Humph! So his mind’s addled,’ was Owl’s comment on Badger. ‘I might have known – the way he kept on about the strange animal being like a cat!’
Weasel refrained from pointing out that it looked as if Badger was correct in that. He contented himself with saying, ‘I don’t think his mind’s addled at all. He’s playing a sort of game with this young mole and I think we all ought to play along with him.’
‘Pooh!’ scoffed Tawny Owl. ‘I‘m past playing games. Badger ought to see sense. At his age too!’
‘That’s just it, Owl, “at his age”. He’s very old. I really don’t think we’ll have him around much longer. So why can’t we humour him? I’m sure Fox and Vixen won’t mind.’
‘Oh, I can’t be bothered with all that nonsense,’ said Tawny Owl. ‘Haven’t we got more important things to think about?’ He ruffled his feathers, re-settled his wings and closed both his eyes in a very determined sort of way. Weasel knew that he was dismissed.
As he had expected, Fox and Vixen and, indeed, all of his other friends whom Weasel managed to find, were agreeable to keeping up the pretence for Badger’s sake. They were upset by the idea of Badger being in his dotage, and they tried to push to the backs of their minds the thought that it might not be long before they were without him.
Weasel’s message did not get to Adder or Toad that day. But Whistler found Toad in the early evening and quickly told him of his important news, as well as that of Badger.
‘And I have some news for you,’ Toad said, ‘while we’re on the subject of the Beast. One of the frogs told me and he had been told by another and that one by another and so on. You know how fast news can travel through the Reserve. The upshot is that, despite the Warden’s patrols, another deer has been killed.’
Adder could see
nothing of his attacker. He was unable to turn to look behind, and the pressure was so great on his body that he thought his bones might break. There were no animals in the Park who ate snake and so Adder was in no doubt that he was trapped either by a human foot, or, more likely, by the very creature he had intended himself to surprise. There was a momentary easing of the pressure and Adder at once tried to turn. As soon as he moved, a huge paw swung round and patted at his head. Luckily for him the claws were retracted.
For the first time in his life Adder was really scared. He was scared in a way that he would not have been if the beast who was attacking him had been one he understood – such as a fox or a hawk. Fear of the unknown coursed through his sluggish blood. He felt he had no hope of escape. Then, abruptly, the great weight bearing down on his back was removed.
For a moment Adder’s fear kept him frozen into immobility. He awaited the great blow that would crush the life out of him. But his paralysis lasted only a moment. Then he squirmed away painfully, in a desperate bid to reach the patch of vegetation. He was not permitted to. The paw descended again and knocked him back. The Beast was toying with him.
Adder kept moving – first this way, then that. Each time he was knocked back into place. Once a blow lifted him up into the air. He landed awkwardly. Pain racked his body but still he strove to get away. The Beast prodded him, tapped him and, finally, he felt its claws sear through his skin. He imagined he was going to be killed slowly in a form of torture, just as a cat will torment a bird or a mouse before the final kill. He wriggled in vain, like a creature in its death throes. Then a particularly heavy blow hooked him up high above the ground, over the vegetation, and suddenly Adder’s scaly coils landed with a plop in the shallow part of the stream.
