Eulalia! (20 page)

It was an unfortunate day for the Brownrats of Gruntan Kurdly. Hastened and bullied forward by their irate leader, they dashed along the squelching banks of the sidestream.

Rangval the Rogue, unseen to his enemies, skipped nimbly along in the middle terraces of the woodlands, chortling with delight as they blundered into his cunningly laid traps. He perched in a sycamore, watching the leading half dozen runners vanish amid screams of dismay. Down they went, straight into a deep, natural pit, which he had disguised with ferns and rotten branches. The hole was filled with water, overflowing from the stream.

The others veered sharply away from the bank, only to run into a grove of osier and purple willow, long, whippy branches and boughs. Rangval had tied back or intertwined a lot of the heavier limbs. He shook with laughter as the rats dashed into them.

Thwack! Splat! Whoosh! Thud!
Their bungling passage released the lashing boughs. Jaws were shattered, teeth broken, paws damaged and stomachs had the wind driven from them as rats were felled, or cannoned into each other.

Rangval cast a backward glance at the chaos, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Ah now, me bold buckoes, that's only a taste of wot ye've got to come. I'll teach ye to mend yore wicked ways. Hurry up, now, an' see the grand treat I've got in store for ye!” He halted long enough to hear Gruntan Kurdly roaring.

“Wot'n the name o' boiled eggs'n'bunions are ye doin' swimmin' round in that hole? Gerrout an' capture those boats! An' youse lot, who said ye could lay around in them bushes? Up on yore hunkers an' charge, afore I do a spot of ear slittin' an' tail choppin'!”

Rangval sped on his way, chuckling. “Shure that's the way, Kurdly me ould rat, keep 'em comin'. Boot a few bottoms, that'll move 'em!”

Rangval arrived ahead of the vermin, at his pride and joy, Owch Mansions. He had spent long seasons enticing wasps and hornets to the spot where two golden weeping willow trees formed a thick, low arch from bank to bank. He had specially placed lots of rotten fruit and dead vegetation, full of grubs and aphids, at the foot of each tree.

The wasps had built four nests there, large, globe-shaped structures, which perched between branches. For the hornets, he had a fallen tree, the long-dead and decaying trunk of a wych elm, that he had maneuvered to the waterside. There was a constant coming and going of wasps and hornets around the willow, and a steady, thin hum from the insects.

Rangval treated them with loving care, walking among them unafraid. He grasped the ends of two long, trailing ropes, which had been tied to the branches of both weeping willows. Rangval spoke soothingly as he paced carefully backward. “Ah, me little stripey darlin's, pay no attention t'me, 'tis only yore Uncle Rangval. But listen now, get those fierce ould stings of yores ready. There's a horde of fearful vermin comin' this way. I want ye to give 'em a good, hot, ould welcome, shure I know ye'll do me proud, bein' the fine, savage bunch y'are!”

Rangval retreated until the ropes were almost taut. Crouching in the undergrowth, the wily squirrel kept the wasp nests in view, listening for sounds of the Brownrats heading toward them.

 

Stringle's duty as an officer was to make the others carry out Gruntan Kurdly's wishes by hook or by crook. Having already blundered into a few of Rangval's minor traps, they were reluctant to pursue the logboats vigorously. Stringle knew that he would be the first to suffer, if the horde continued to advance in such a laggardly fashion. Gathering the two scouts, Noggo and Biklo, for support, he tried a strategy which he had seen Gruntan use successfully.

Pushing his way to the front, he halted the vanguard, waiting until the rest had caught up en masse. Gruntan was in his litter, somewhere near the middle of the mob. He listened to Stringle's speech, nodding approvingly, as his officer addressed everybeast jauntily.

“Scrag me tail an' plug me ears, wot's all this, mates? The terror o' Mossflower, the great Brownrat horde, an' ye can't catch a few wooden boats full o' scruffy liddle sh'ews! I'll wager they're laughin' at us right now. Them sh'ews is only just upstream, y'know, an' a stream can't go on forever. One good charge an' we'll lay 'em by the tails. All the boss wants is their boats. Once we've captured 'em the chase is over, we kin do wot we like. Go fishin', rob birds eggs or just lay round in the sun for a few days. So wot d'ye say, buckoes, shall we go an' get them logboats?”

Gruntan shouted from his litter. “Aye, go to it, mateys, I'll make a feast fer the first one who brings me back a sh'ews head!”

Stringle had to jump aside as the horde sped by him, roaring, bellowing and whirling their weapons.

Gruntan Kurdly was smiling, he winked at Stringle. “Haharr, well done, bucko, let's get after 'em!” He laid about at the litter bearers with a willow withe. “Cummon, yew bottle-nosed, slab-sided, doodly-tailed idlers, git those paws poundin' at the double!”

 

Rangval heard the horde long before he saw them. Standing out in full view, the roguish squirrel tugged gently on the ropes, which were tied to both willows at strategic limbs. “D'ye hear that, bhoyos, ye'll have company soon, shure an' I hope those stings are well sharpened!”

With Biklo and Noggo in the lead, the horde came thundering along both banks, splashing through the shallows and bulling through the reeds. Biklo was first to spot Rangval up ahead, he stabbed the air with his spear. “That looks like one o' the rascals, watch me take 'is 'ead!”

Rangval laughed. “Faith, an' aren't you the bold feller, take this, vermin, an' bad luck to ye!” He yanked hard on both ropes, then somersaulted up into the trees and vanished.

In a trice, the war cries and shouts of pursuit were transformed into piercing shrieks of agony, under the full onslaught of a wasp attack. The torture was heightened when several vermin tripped against the rotten wych elm trunk, releasing a veritable storm of maddened hornets. The air was filled with the zing and buzz of ill-tempered insects, as they stung and stung again at their helpless victims. Brownrats performed weird dances of pain upon the wrecked wasp nests and the pulpy wood of the hornet lair.

Gruntan leaned his weight sideways, upsetting the litter, as he launched himself into the streamwater. More than one rat died that day, overcome by hundreds of stings, each laden with wasp or hornet venom. Most of the horde fled into the woodlands, attempting to outrun their tormentors. Others, Gruntan among them, tried submerging themselves for long periods, and pressing on upstream.

 

Rangval the Rogue arrived at the cove as evening was on the wane. Maudie, the otters and the Guosim were standing ready for an attack, with weapons drawn. Rangval looked around, slightly disappointed. “Have ye not got an ould bite o' supper for a beast?”

Luglug sheathed his rapier. “We was expectin' Kurdly's crew, never cooked no vittles.”

The squirrel chuckled drily. “I don't think they could make it, they was unavoidably detained by some little buzzin' friends o' mine.”

Osbil shook a paw at Rangval. “The wasps an' hornets around those two willows, ye mean. Thanks for not tellin' us about 'em, mate!”

Rangval dismissed the indignant young shrew with a shrug. “Ah well, me ould tater, there wasn't much time for explanations, as I recall. I told ye t'watch out for Owch Mansions, tellin' meself ye weren't some thick'eaded horde rats, but intelligent shrews. I trust none of ye were stung by me liddle mates?”

Maudie wiggled her ears at Rangval. “Not to worry, old lad, our Guosim friends were jolly lucky to have one of the finest brains in the blinkin' land along with 'em, wot! 'Twas I who spotted Owch Mansions and brought us safely through to this fair haven!”

Barbowla murmured confidentially to the squirrel, “Miz Maudie's right, but it was she who wouldn't allow us t'cook, for fear we were attacked.”

Rangval shook his head in mock sadness. “Ah, 'tis always the way with maids, beauty an' brains, but totally lackin' in the supper department. Right, if'n ye'd all like to get in yore boats, I'll take ye someplace where we'll get an ould bite o' grub!”

With Rangval in the lead vessel, they pressed on. It was fully dark, and drizzling, when the squirrel halted them. He pointed to a medium-sized hill, not far from the bank. “There's my lovely ould home. Rogue's Retreat, I call it.”

It was a natural cave inside the hill, the entrance to which was a bushy screen. Portaging the logboats, they made their way inside. Setting steel to flint, Rangval soon had a torch lighted.

Maudie gazed around, it was a huge sandstone cavern. “I say, this is splendid, how'd you find it?”

Rangval touched light to several other torches. “Find it? D'ye mind, missy, I made it!”

Barbowla's wife, Kachooch, gave Rangval a playful shove, which almost sent him sprawling. “Ah, away with ye, great, treewallopin' fibber! I was brought up in a holt, just like this. It's a place where the river ran through, when the land was young.”

Luglug agreed with her. “Aye, I've heard o' places like this, it was carved out by the water, over countless seasons. Then for some reason the river changed course, an' prob'ly dwindled to yon stream outside, leavin' this place.”

Rangval did not seem at all put out by being caught lying, he grinned cheerfully at Maudie. “I'll allow ye the honour of cookin' supper for me, marm. On the way here these Guosim were after tellin' me wot a marvellous cook you are, so carry on, please!”

Maudie found herself smiling at the garrulous squirrel's impudence. “Right ho, you cheeky wretch, but only if you agree t'go a few rounds boxin' with me afterward. I'm the undefeated Champ of Salamandastron, y'know.”

Rangval made a show of rolling up his nonexistent sleeves. “Shure, 'tis not often that I have to knock the block off'n a pretty maid to get supper, but I'll do it!”

Assisted by the Guosim helpers, Maudie put on a tidy spread, considering their limited resources. She made a pastry from cornmeal and chestnuts, filling it with preserved fruit and nuts, and working it into a long roll. To complement it, she made a thick, sweet, white arrowroot sauce. With some cheese and apples for starters, and coltsfoot dandelion cordial to drink, it proved a successful supper. They lolled about a fire as the Guosim servers apportioned it out.

One of the shrewbabes found, to her delight, that the cave had a pretty little echo. She began to sing a song which her mama had taught her.

Rangval lay back, both paws folded across his stomach. “Ah, charmin', well sung, liddle missy, that was grand, grand!”

Luglug drained his beaker, wiping a paw across his mouth. “Don't get too comfortable there, rogue, you've got to box a few rounds with Miz Maudie yet.”

The roguish squirrel sighed. “Shure, I'm too stuffed t'move, an' I've never struck a pretty maid in all me life. Just suppose I slew her wid a single blow, which I'm quite capable of doin', havin' laid several o' me best friends low in that manner. Now I ask ye, who'd ever cook a fine ould meal like we've just had, widout the beautiful an' fascinatin' Maudie t'do the honours?”

Luglug lay back, closing his eyes. “I never thought of it that way, mate, yore excused boxin'.”

Maudie added, “But only if you sing us a song.”

Rangval leapt to his paws eagerly. “Faith, I thought ye'd never ask, I'll give ye a ballad that'd have a stone in tears. Silence now for the golden voice o' the woodlands.” Placing a paw on his heart he began warbling dramatically.