“You've never been out of the Burrow?” Scarlett asked.
“Actually, I can say with some pride that I haven't. Necessity needs however...necessity needs.”
It didn't take long for the pair to make their way back to the Thames, moving from shadow to shadow avoiding the Hantsa, most of whom stumbled about only semi-conscious, it being a weekend.
They leapt from the midnight shine of Chelsea Bridge onto a party barge full of Hantsa who let them pass in and out of their gyrations without comment. Most gave them a glance and returned to their festivities. Only a few gave a second look, by which time the pair were gone and the vision of them casually attributed to the intoxicating effects of the evening.
Scarlett dragged Acey along the craft, fighting his constant drifting curiosity, until they found a small space between two orange life-rafts. Thankfully, the rain had given up its pummelling and a cloudy moon hung over them, which Acey stared at, mouth agape.
“I've heard of the sky but never imagined I would see it, and especially not the moon. That is the moon,” he stated emphatically. “Or the Hantsa for that matter. Are they capable of conversation?”
“My whole life has been spent amongst the Hantsa of London and I can tell you they are all capable of speaking but very few are capable of saying very much.”
“They call this place London as well?”
“Yes. The London of the Hantsa is almost as old as the Great Burrow of London,” Scarlett replied.
“You seem to know a lot, young pup. How is that?”
“You shouldn't be surprised Acey. You've met my mother.”
“Indeed I have,” he replied, nodding in assent. Silence fell over them as the dizzying sounds, smells and scenery of the city hypnotized the unfamilier Acey.
Several hours later, after transferring boats and a short swim they found themselves, dirty once again, on the dark shores of Ursula's Island. The bulb of London glowed behind them in the distance.
Before Scarlett could direct them towards the island's centre she heard a familiar voice.
“You were supposed to bring the key not the key bearer,” Roe said.
“They are inseparable, it seems,” she replied, unstartled by his sudden appearance. “Acey, this is Roe. He is a...friend.”
Roe gave her a concerned look and she shook her head.
“He doesn't know a soul outside the palace,” she whispered. “So you need not worry about being recognized.”
“Are you a soldier of the Inari?” Acey asked from behind a tree.
“Um...no...not any more. I've retired,” Roe replied.
“That is good for you, Pup. My arrival means changes for the Inari, especially for its soldiers.”
“Does it?” Roe asked, eyeing Scarlett.
“Vintage decorum...” she said. “Acey, Sir. It's this way to my mother.”
“I'm at your disposal, young pup. Lead the way.”
Roe fell in beside Scarlett.
“Is that what it took?” he asked. “Offering him a job?”
“I suppose I could have gotten it off him with a kick and a shove, but the poor fox has helped my mother on several occasions over the years and I couldn't leave him damp and pressed amongst the laundry. Especially given what I've learned since we parted.”
“It had better be something major,” Roe said. “Daegal is going to be annoyed, to say the least, at our new recruit. So, what did you hear?”
She didn't answer him but looked at his cheek and touched it with her paw, momentarily lost in thought.
They reached the burrow under a barrage of welcoming feral foxes and, as Roe was the on the verge of dodging the tenth lick, Ursula gave a short bark from underground, scattering the brood. Acey looked horrified and jumped well away from the pups, a reflex he tried to hide from the others with a dignified shake of his coat.
“Is that the usual homecoming?” Roe joked.
“Oh, that was getting off easy,” Scarlett replied distractedly. “I must speak with my mother. You are welcome in Ursula's home, Acey,” she said, offering the door to the older fox.
“I thank you. However, I shall wait out here until you announce my arrival,” Acey replied.
“Good idea. Are you coming in, Roe?” she asked.
She was into the den before he had a chance to reply and Roe found himself nodding to the empty door.
The group had gathered in the sitting room and the release of tension from Scarlett's safe arrival was still palpable as Roe entered. Moth tea had been laid out with crispy sugared rat-tails.
Samson, perched by the fire, watched his daughter with a look Roe had rarely seen; a mixture of unguarded relief and respect. The Beast snuggled the ground behind him, so close to the flames, that hairs on the end of her tail had become slightly singed. She sniffed and crossed to Roe, hardly opening her eyes before settling herself down next to him.
Scarlett meanwhile pushed away the welcoming embraces of the others, including her slightly surprised mother.
“First off,” she began. “I have brought the key but not the key alone. Mother, may I present to you Acey of Sunniva's Womb.”
“Hummnn...what!?” Daegal grumbled, lifting his head from the table, suddenly awake from his moth brew induced slumber.
Mercia gave a laugh, but said nothing, trying not to disturb the peaceful Spencer curled at her paws keeping them warm.
Acey entered the room after Scarlett's call and, keeping his eyes fixed on Ursula, crossed to her and then bent his snout to the recycled tile floor.
“I thank you for your hospitality,” he said with a flourish of his head, presenting the silver fox key as a gift.
“Acey, you are very welcome and I am so happy to see you,” Ursuala replied giving him an affectionate nuzzle and taking the key.
Daegal's clandestine retreat from the room was brought to a sudden halt by a bark from Acey directed at his back.
“Daegal, there is no reason for you to skulk away. All has been explained to me, including the misunderstanding regarding my shift of duties within the palace guard. I would like to discuss my responsibilities at length with you, as well as formally meet everyone in this room, but first I would appreciate a bath, and with the lady of the burrow's permission, to be shown my room. It has been an interesting but exhausting evening.”
Acey spoke with a politie shift of focus between those in the room, giving each individual a moment of his complete attention.
“Of course, Acey. Spencer, wake up dear. Could you take Acey to the guest burrow up the hill.”
Spencer got up after a gentle prod from Mercia, crossed to the older fox, and indicated with a bow back towards the door. Acey responded hesitantly, clearly not used to Shadow Foxes being present within the home of foxes of the Light, before taking a resolute breath and following him outside.
“You are going to have to explain that to me, Scarlett!” Daegal yelled.
“Mother, he may need to stay with us for some time and yes, I will explain to you, Daegal. For now however, we have more important matters,” Scarlett shouted back with irritation.
“I grant that the discovery of the Progeny of Able is important but that doesn't mean you should go recruiting members of the Palace Guard into the Inari, especially one as useless as Acey. Besides, I always choose the members myself!” Daegal responded, his voice on the verge of breaking into a puppish whine.
“I'm not referring to our mission with Roe. Mother, what do you know about a cleansing? The cleansing of the burrow, I mean.”
Ursula dropped the tea pot from her jaws as she carried it from its place over the fire, nearly burning the Beast and Samson at the same time. She stared at her daughter before coughing and looking to Samson.
“Where did you hear that term?” Samson said, breaking his silence.
“I had a chance to overhear Alodia speaking of it. She said that there was to be a cleansing of the burrow. She said that since Samson's escape, Gremian has been meeting with his oldest advisers and spe
aking about a cleansing.”
“Impossible,” Ursula whispered. “I don't believe Gremian has the means or the knowledge to bring about a cleansing.”
“What is it?” Daegal asked, shifting from indignation to concern at the mention of Alodia.
“I don't know for certain. But most of the older foxes grew up with stories that it was the cleansing which stripped us of all knowledge of the Art and which began the fading of the Light of London,” she spoke, spreading her serious expression about the room. “If that is true, another cleansing would destroy the light forever and our way of life with it.”
“Not according to the palace,” Scarlett said, pulling out the crumpled damp flier from her pack and spreading it out on the table. “Look.”
Pressed from a roughly cut wood block on foraged Hantsa newspaper and in inky black letters was the image of an orb with a fox trapped inside. The orb rested in the jaws of the vixen rotunda fountain. In hefty block capitals circling the image were the words, 'WITH A TRAITOR'S BLOOD TO CLEANSE AND...TO RENEW! THE LIGHT OF LONDON REBORN!”
“Never,” Samson said with a growl. “Gremian would never heal the Light. It is this scattered dimming which gives the council its power. This printing is a lie, fabricated in order to draw the masses in close.”
“Most likely,” Ursula said, with a frown, then looking to Roe. “But, there may be some truth in it. The descendants of Able are meant to heal the light in some way, as we already know. Either way, if Gremian does have the means to initiate a cleansing, then discovering the secret of the progeny may be our only way to fight it. You must take this key, and the map, and find the defender of the foxes. Tonight.”
“Tonight?” Daegal moaned. “We've just got back, I just fell asleep and we just poured the tea!”
*
Preparations were short lived and within an hour Roe, Daegal, Scarlett and Mercia found themselves trotting along the outer wall of the Tower of London. Stretching heavily above them, they moved swiftly in single file along the grass at the wall's base. Lights flashed brightly from the Hantsa taking photos on the nearby Tower Bridge causing their shifty shadows to sparkle along the wall.
Spencer had objected weakly to being left behind but was fast asleep before the others had left the den, rolled into a pile with the Beast. The rain had returned, and what started out as a light misting was now a cruel and heavy pelting.
“What surprises me,” Daegal began, wiping his dripping nose with a drenched paw, “is that I found a use for Acey so quickly. Sending him back to the Inari for a reconnaissance mission is pushing his abilities to the extreme but at least no one will suspect him of being a member of the gang. I mean, who in their right mind would ask him to join a gang?”
The others ignored his mutterings, more concerned with the possibility of being seen by an exit guardian than with Acey's usefulness.
“According to the inscription on the map given to us by my father...by Samson...we will find the Defender opposite the Tower on the south bank 'WHERE THE TANKARD COMETH TO SPILLE ON THE HOLI',” Scarlett said, attempting to shelter the delicate parchment from the rain.
“Any idea what that means?” Mercia asked.
“I'm not sure. It sounds familiar but I can't place it. There is a place that might be able to help. Follow me.”
She turned away from the Tower and quickly passed below a cobbled passage rumbling from the continuous stream of heavy traffic above. A set of granite steps brought them up to a busy road with Tower Bridge arching grandly in front of them. They quickly followed Scarlett, avoiding the curious lazy gaze of the Hantsa and the sharp violent lunges of their canine companions, until she brought them to the window of a shop. An old map of London was cleverly and delicately etched in frosted relief onto the glass with the words 'London in the Fourteenth Century' carved and curving above. Hanging behind the map were colourful images of the Hantsa burrows with a variety of prices listed next to each.
“Okay. What are we looking at here?” Roe asked.
“It is difficult to make out, but this is a copy of a very old surface map of Hantsa London.”
“How old?” Mercia asked, with her back turned from the others, standing guard and toying with an ever-ready explosive charge.
“Well, it says the fourteenth century on the glass.” She responded carefully, knowing that, besides Daegal, the others could scarcely read. “Which means in terms of time it is the thirteen hundreds.” She paused looking at the confused look on the foxes surrounding her. Calenders and the keeping track of time was a tradition that no longer existed in the burrow. “See, every full lunar cycle is listed as a single unit by the Hantsa. They call it a year. So, this map is from some time after one thousand three hundred years.”
“Is that recent?” Mercia asked, curious and hazarding a look over her shoulder at the others. “It doesn't look like there are many paths on that glass map.”
“No! Actually, it was an incredibly long time ago. See, the Tower is here but no bridge and...” She paused, looking at a place called the Tabard's Tail slightly upriver close to where the old London Bridge landed south of the river. “Yes, this building is shaped like a mug tipped on its side, with a church wrapped on three sides. The tankard is this tavern, the Tabard. I'm sure of it. Whomever this defender is, that is the best place for us to start looking.”
“What is a church?” Daegal asked, as they followed Scarlett turning towards the bridge.
“It is a spiritual place for the Hantsa.” Roe replied before Scarlett had a chance. “You're not the only fox who has spent most of his life above ground,” he said giving her a wink.
“That's right.” Scarlett replied ignoring his last comment. “Often a rather odious musical melody emanates from them.”
“If the London of the Hantsa is anything like the Greater Burrow, then this map is going to have little relevance to the current layout of the city. As you said yourself, the bridge is not even on here and the map is incredibly old.”
“That's true, Mercia. That's why we need to get a higher perspective.”
“Higher?” Daegal asked warily. “Higher where?”
Scarlett turned and looked up at the bright lights of Tower Bridge, setting her eyes a-sparkle. The others followed her gaze.
“Are you sure that is a good idea?” Mercia said. “We'll be completely exposed to any foxes from below.”
“That's true, but the Tower seems pretty quiet at the moment. Besides, I don't really see any other option. We'll be quick.”
She was on the verge of leading the group across the road when a Hantsa pup, holding its mother's hand, who was facing away considering the traffic, added briefly to their conversation.
“You're going to climb up there?” the little girl with the curly hair said, trying to pull away from her parent. “Can I come too?”
Mercia and Daegal froze in disbelief, as the Hantsa pup was dragged, complaining, across the road away from them.
“They can speak our language,” Mercia stated, still staring.
“For some reason the Hantsa pups are much more aware of their surroundings than the adults. It fades as they grow older,” Scarlett said.
“Daegal, come on, you're not going to let a little girl scare you,” Roe said, looking at his friend who was wavering, weak at the knees.
“Girl? What do you mean? Oh. The Hantsa pup. No, I'm not. I'm looking at that...I mean really!?” Daegal responded, indicating towards Tower Bridge and its great exposed heights.
“Come on. It's safer than you think,” Scarlett said, giving him an uncharacteristic slap on the shoulder, before trotting towards the bridge through the crowd of journeying Londoners.
Two towered spires, connected to the land by graceful arching suspension chains, supported a flat corrugated walkway between them. Gothic and brightly imposing, Tower Bridge was an icon of the Hantsa skyline.
“We can cross the bridge over the supporting suspenders and once we reach the second tower I'll climb the spire and scan the
city below for anything that looks like that map.”
One by one they hopped onto the curved iron plating, which rose in great strips of blue up to the first tower. The wind and the rain made progress slippery and slow, but they were aided by the many fat, hammered rivet heads holding the plates of the chains together. Twice Daegal slid back to the bottom. On the third attempt, and with a chaotic roar of enthusiasm, he hit the slope at a gallop, misjudged his speed, and uncontrollably slid into the others waiting at the top. Mercia fell off the side from the force of his arrival but, rather than finding herself in the river, stood on a narrow granite ledge circling the first tower. She hopped back and entered a hole, which both supported the suspension chain and lead through the building to the walkway on the other side, but not before giving Daegal an unfriendly growl and a bite that was just a little too hard to be playful.
“Ow,” Daegal said.
“Sometimes I think you should just stay in your office issuing orders from your plush chair,” she said, leaving him in the rain.
“Well, that's exactly what I've been saying all along. I'm not really built for all this climbing and falling and running.”
They rested for a moment in the alcove, the muffled sound of the rain calming and helping them catch their breaths. Dripping from their coats, the water began to pool along the narrow stone corridor. Several pigeons squawked at their sudden appearance and dove out the opening on the other side. A loud regular thumping sound came through the wall from the room inside the heart of the tower, accompanied by the screams of male and female Hantsa.
“Sounds like they are being tortured,” Mercia said, feeling the rhythms in the wall with her paw.
“Who knows,” Scarlett responded, “could be torture, could be a wedding. It's hard to tell the difference with the Hantsa.”
The Progeny of Able (The Burrow of London Series Book 1) Page 24
