In the Path of the Storm Page 5

  The young fox Plucky, still barely more than a cub, had his grandfather Bold’s liking for roaming far afield. As soon as he was big enough he began to acquaint himself with every corner of the Nature Reserve. It happened one day he was drinking at the Pond when Trey arrived. Trey was suspicious. He knew there were no fox-holes anywhere near the Pond.

  ‘What quarter of the Park do you come from?’ Trey demanded.

  ‘None in particular,’ Plucky answered him coolly.

  ‘This Pond is the deer herd’s drinking place,’ Trey announced.

  ‘Yes, it’s very convenient, isn’t it?’ Plucky remarked. ‘I believe a lot of animals use it.’

  ‘Do they indeed? We’ll see about that,’ the stag responded. ‘The deer herd needs to have a constant supply of the freshest water. This Pond was always intended as our water-hole. So I’m reserving it for our exclusive use.’

  Plucky looked at him in amazement. ‘But, surely, it’s big enough for every creature to use who wants to?’ he questioned.

  ‘Maybe not if we should have a long dry spell,’ Trey replied. ‘Anyway, you smaller animals can make do with any odd puddle. You don’t need the quantity of water a fully-grown deer needs. And there are many of us.’

  Plucky knew about the Great Stag. ‘If what you say is true, why did your father drink at the stream?’

  ‘He was a creature of habit,’ Trey answered. ‘He preferred to drink from running water. And he wasn’t my father. Our relationship was very distant.’

  ‘Grandfather perhaps? You resemble him a good deal.’

  ‘No. I’m nothing like him – as you’ll find out.’ Trey sounded angry and threatening. ‘He was always too tolerant of lesser creatures,’ he added scornfully.

  Plucky was in no way abashed. He simply stared back at the beast, then finished quenching his thirst. As he ambled away the stag called after him: ‘Remember what I’ve said.’

  Plucky did. And he remembered to tell all his relatives, too. The seniors, Fox and Vixen, were already incensed by the incident with Leveret. This was the last straw.

  ‘We won’t take this lying down,’ Fox said grimly. ‘Who does this creature think he is, dictating to us?’

  ‘He’ll put himself in a false position,’ Vixen commented. ‘He doesn’t speak for the rest of the herd. The hinds are as friendly as ever.’

  ‘He’s talking poppycock,’ Fox declared. ‘He must have a small mind if he thinks he can push ideas like this on to us. We must all meet and work out our course of action. Plucky, I want you to take the word round. The Hollow. Dusk tomorrow.’

  The next night the Farthing Wood elders assembled in their traditional meeting place. Plucky had gathered them all. He knew just where to find each one. Badger, Weasel, Whistler, Adder and Toad had obeyed the summons. Leveret and Mossy were there, as were Fox and Vixen’s offspring Friendly and Charmer together with others of their relatives. Plucky was the youngest animal present. The fox clan was the most numerous. They were also the most daring and skilful of the animals. But of the original band of travellers, only Tawny Owl was absent.

  ‘We all know the situation,’ Fox began. ‘The question is, what are we going to do about it?’

  ‘Just as you said before, Fox,’ Weasel replied. ‘Call Trey’s bluff. What can he do? He can’t deal with all of us. We’re too many and too scattered.’

  ‘I’ve seen what he can do,’ Leveret spoke up. ‘He’ll wreak his will on the more vulnerable of us.’

  ‘We can’t allow that,’ said Friendly. ‘He’ll find he’s got too many enemies to handle.’

  ‘What could you do, Friendly?’ asked his mate Russet. ‘Attack him?’

  ‘No, he’s too powerful,’ Friendly admitted. ‘But we can outwit him. My father is the shrewdest, wiliest animal in the Park. He’s more than a match for the wits of Trey.’

  ‘Thank you, Friendly,’ said Fox. ‘One plan has occurred to me and it’s one that wouldn’t actually involve any of us. Not directly, anyhow.’ Every eye was on him expectantly. ‘We need a champion,’ he announced.

  ‘A – champion?’ Toad echoed. ‘A champion what?’

  ‘A champion fool, I should think,’ drawled Adder, ‘if he tries to meddle with that creature.’

  ‘You don’t understand, Adder,’ said Fox. ‘I’m not talking about one of us.’

  ‘Do I perceive, Fox, that your thoughts lie amongst the other stags in the herd?’ Whistler asked in his old-fashioned way.

  ‘Exactly that. You’ve guessed it, old friend. We need to find someone who’ll challenge him.’

  ‘How do we do that?’ Badger wanted to know. ‘Trey already seems to have cowed them all into submission.’

  ‘No, no, Badger, not really,’ Fox answered. ‘He only assumes he has. They’re content to leave him well alone at the moment. But it won’t be like that at the rut. Don’t you remember how the Great Stag himself had to fight to keep command at those times?’

  ‘Do you have anyone in mind as our ch-champion?’ Mossy stammered. He was a little overawed by all the bigger animals present.

  ‘Not yet,’ Fox replied. ‘But I mean to do a bit of scouting around.’

  ‘Sort of – look over the material?’ joked Toad.

  ‘Sort of.’ Fox grinned. ‘It may be I can drop a hint here and there.’ He put his head on one side. ‘Perhaps,’ he considered, ‘we can all help. Stir a few of them up. You know, set them on. We might have quite a few champions at the end of it all.’

  ‘I still think he could defeat all comers,’ Leveret said pessimistically. He laid his long ears flat against his back. ‘He’s a mighty figure.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ agreed Fox, ‘if it were to be one by one. But what if they should take him on together?’

  ‘Deer never fight like that,’ Vixen reasoned. ‘We can’t change their nature, my dearest.’

  There was a long silence. Then Fox said: ‘I obviously need to do some more thinking. But in the meantime a word in an ear here and there . . .’

  ‘They may listen to you foxes,’ said Adder, ‘but what message is so important that these stags are likely to give attention to a toad or a snake or a mole?’ He looked at Mossy so disdainfully that the little animal quailed, not because he was a coward – he was far from that – but because he felt so insignificant.

  ‘Well, that’s straightforward enough,’ Fox answered. ‘You simply tell them that Trey intends to drive all rivals from the Park.’

  7

  Farthinghurst

  TAWNY OWL WAS bewildered. There were just so many buildings! They were all big and frightening and their myriad lights dazzled him. It was a long time since he had come so close to a mass of human dwellings and now he began to ask himself why he had come here. His original reason for leaving White Deer Park was quite different to the one that had spurred him on to re-visit his old home and birthplace. He hadn’t found that suitable companion during his flight across country. And now, as he viewed from the wing this man-built sprawl, he knew there was certainly no likelihood of any owl being found in its alien landscape.

  ‘Can that really be where Farthing Wood once flourished?’ he murmured to himself. ‘Or have I, after all, taken the wrong direction?’

  No, the squirrels had been quite specific. Well, there was no use his expecting to recognize any feature in that conglomeration. Certainly not by night when the artificial lights blazed so confusingly.

  ‘I may take a close look in the daylight,’ Tawny Owl said. ‘It’s just possible there’s something down there that’ll trigger a reaction in my poor old brain. I can’t turn tail now without making sure.’

  He needed to find somewhere to roost. But where? He didn’t want to go back to the few trees where the squirrels had built their drey. He examined the nearest gardens below. There were trees in them – for ornamentation – but such puny, immature saplings could only provide cover and support for the smallest of birds. The buildings were mostly in tall blocks and these were flat-roofed so
there was no chance of Owl tucking himself away in a sheltered corner or in the lee of a chimney-stack. The smaller buildings had sloping roofs. There was nothing to perch on amongst those. But he did notice one of them had a gaping and invitingly dark entrance hole, like an open mouth, high up on one side of its roof. There were no lights there. All the lights in that house were much lower down and well away from the hole which left it in undisturbed darkness and privacy. Tawny Owl was sorely tempted to hide himself in there until dawn. But could he be sure it was quite safe?

  He flew down closer to the building. It certainly seemed quiet enough. Following the slope of the roof he fluttered awkwardly until he was able to perch at the opening itself. Although he didn’t know it his talons were resting on the window-ledge of an open attic window. He shuffled along it and peered inside. His feet made scuffling noises but they didn’t seem to have caused any disturbance. He waited awhile. The room was quiet and bare except for a long wall of shelving filled with books. Tawny Owl saw the racks as potential perching posts. After a few moments he entered the room and fluttered across to its far end. On the top shelf of the book racks there was a perfect gap between two rows of volumes which was just wide enough for Owl to wedge himself comfortably in. He settled himself but remained wakeful.

  For some time noises were detectable underneath this converted loft – human noises. But to Tawny Owl they seemed distant enough to be overlooked. Eventually they ceased. The night sky grew darker as he watched. All over the estate lights were being switched off as the human community retired to rest. The bird waited patiently for dawn.

  As the night wore on a breeze began to blow into the room. Half-awake, half-asleep, Tawny Owl shifted his feet and ruffled his feathers. The breeze stiffened. The open window began to swing gently to and fro. Tawny Owl couldn’t foresee the danger. The wind strengthened steadily and, now blowing directly against the window, pushed it gradually back, closing the gap and thus the owl’s escape route a fraction at a time. Tawny Owl recognized his danger all too late. As he hurled himself from the shelf in a frantic bid to squeeze through the narrowing outlet, a particularly strong gust finally slammed the window shut. Tawny Owl’s head and wings were battered against the glass and he dropped to the floor stunned.

  It was broad day when he recovered. He struggled to his feet and fluttered up to the inside sill. The window was fast closed. He looked out on a scene of alarming activity; alarming because it was human. Cars and other vehicles moved along the network of roads. People seemed to be everywhere – walking, standing, working in their gardens. Children and dogs were running about. Cats sunned themselves in patches of warmth, oblivious of everything including the watching owl, trapped in a garret.

  What was he to do? He began to inspect the room. The first thing he noticed which had not been apparent in the pitch dark was that the loft door stood ajar. Was there some other way out for him? Noises in the lower part of the building reminded him that this door was also the way in to the roost he had so foolishly chosen, for any creature, human or otherwise, who lived underneath. He gulped nervously and sought his night perch, feeling more secure between the tightly-stacked books as if in some way they might protect him.

  Time drifted past to the accompaniment of human sounds, inside and outside, which deterred the poor bird from making any rash movement. He was both hungry and thirsty. There was dust everywhere and Tawny Owl felt as if a quantity of it had lodged in his throat. Well, he couldn’t stay there indefinitely. The window wasn’t going to open of its own accord so he must try the other way. He needed to muster up some of that old Farthing Wood spirit: the spirit of adventure. Tawny Owl stretched himself and preened his feathers. He looked towards the door. He was trying to steel himself for action. The noise from beneath increased in volume. He sank back. After all, he told himself, there was no point in taking unnecessary risks. He would wait until the house grew quiet.

  But it didn’t grow quiet. In fact the bird soon became aware of something approaching his secret hidey-hole. There were footfalls – soft, cautious footfalls like those of a creature who might be exploring new territory. Tawny Owl kept his great eyes trained on the door. It was difficult for him to keep still as the regular pad – pad – pad of feet approached ever nearer. He tensed, ready for flight.

  A black cat came into the room and paused, just inside the door. It raised one paw uncertainly and sniffed the air. Its head turned slowly to Tawny Owl’s end of the room. It wasn’t a large cat and the bird tried to tell himself it could pose no threat to an owl. But his efforts were unavailing. He was well and truly alarmed for the consequences if he should be discovered. He remained as still as he could, hoping he blended in with his incongruous surroundings. It was an absurd hope. The cat had sensed something was in the room and was systematically searching for it.

  ‘Ah – there you are,’ she said as her eyes alighted on the forlorn owl. ‘I knew you were here somewhere.’

  ‘I – I’m just leaving,’ Tawny Owl hooted ineptly.

  ‘I don’t think you can,’ the cat, who had noticed the window was closed, replied. ‘How did you get in here?’

  ‘Flew in – how do you think?’ the bird blustered.

  The cat sat down and regarded him coolly. ‘You’re not making much sense,’ she said at length. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Since the night. I meant to leave at dawn but –’

  ‘You can’t fly through glass,’ the cat finished for him.

  Tawny Owl was silent. Was the cat playing with him?

  ‘You won’t be able to stay here, you know,’ the cat resumed. ‘This isn’t an aviary.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay here,’ Tawny Owl declared. ‘But how do I get out? Can you show me?’

  The cat considered. ‘I don’t know about that,’ she answered. ‘You see, I’m supposed to be responsible for vermin. There was a problem with mice here. Up until recently. It took me quite a time to round them all up. But they’re all gone now. I don’t know if you’d be classed as vermin?’

  Tawny Owl gaped at the implied insult and now he was angry. ‘How dare you!’ he screeched. ‘Vermin indeed! I am an owl. I hunt vermin. I eat vermin. I – I –’

  ‘All right,’ the cat said smoothly. ‘I get the message. You’re not vermin. But I may still have to come after you.’

  Tawny Owl’s anger saved him. His temper was up. ‘Try me!’ he cried. He flexed his talons. His huge eyes glared at the cat’s presumption. He was exasperated that he couldn’t open his wings to their full span. That would have shaken the animal.

  The black cat stared at the bird, in particular at his talons. She was weighing up her chances. She began to see that this was no ordinary bird.

  ‘Sooty! Sooty!’ a child’s voice called from below. The cat’s attention wavered. ‘Sooty! Are you there?’ The cat turned away. The child was mounting the stairs.

  Tawny Owl heard these new footsteps in great alarm. He wanted nothing to do with humans. They were unpredictable and beyond a wild creature’s understanding. He didn’t know whether to stay put or make a dash for the open doorway. The cat had temporarily forgotten his existence as she waited for the child to appear.

  ‘Soo – ty, Soo – ty,’ the shrill voice chanted, ever louder as its owner neared the top stair. The cat miaowed, raising her black tail as she saw her seeker.

  ‘There you are!’ cried the child triumphantly. A little red-haired boy of about six years came into the room, stooping to give his pet a cuddle. The cat pushed herself against his legs affectionately and nuzzled his eager hands.

  Tawny Owl guessed there was no threat to him here and decided it was his best opportunity for escape. He fluttered off the bookshelf, causing the startled boy to scream, and swooped over his head through the doorway, banking sharply to make the tight turn down the staircase. The bird had no idea where he was heading, but was intent on finding the first available opening to the outside world.

  The boy’s scream had already stirred the rest o
f the household. Now he was calling out in the utmost excitement from upstairs. ‘Daddy, a bird! A bird in the loft!’

  The father came running from below. Tawny Owl had skimmed down the first flight of stairs and reached the landing of the first storey. Bedroom doors were open here and Owl lunged for the first entrance he saw and flew straight for the window. A girl shrieked as his wings clipped her face as she sat at her dressing-table. Fooled by the gleamingly clean picture window which appeared to the bird to be open air, Tawny Owl almost crashed against the glass but managed to swerve at the last moment. The confined space of the bedroom was difficult to negotiate. The girl was adding her cries to the small boy’s. It was enough to terrify any wild animal and now the father arrived on the scene, believing his children were being attacked. He saw the great bird and, instinctively protective, tried to knock it to the floor. Tawny Owl veered from right to left and back again to avoid the man’s flailing arms. Surprisingly the girl came to his aid.

  ‘Don’t hit him, Dad, please,’ she begged. ‘He just wants to get out. Open the window!’

  The man ran to the window. Now Tawny Owl had more room. He flapped through the door and continued along the landing. He ignored the other open doorways, having learnt his lesson. He came to another staircase and followed it down. Now he was in the hall. The front door was closed. He fluttered to the floor and tried to gain breath. His head was in a whirl. But the man and his children, together with the cat, were in hot pursuit. Tawny Owl didn’t understand their intentions. He struggled on again into a room leading off to the right. It was full of furniture – fearsome obstacles for Owl. But what he saw ahead of him made his heart leap. An open window!

  It was a small window – a fanlight – left on the latch. But he was determined to squeeze through it even if it should mean leaving some of his feathers. He reached the latch and perched on it. He saw the opening was even tighter than he had feared. As the family came into the room, all talking at the tops of their voices and pointing at him, Tawny Owl pushed his head outside. The feel of the wind on his face, added to the din behind him, encouraged him onwards. His talons grappled the latch. He pushed and thrust his body through the gap. He felt the hard edges of the window gripping his sides, pinching him like a sort of vice. But he refused to give up. A little more discomfort and, with a final heave, he popped out of the window like a cork out of a bottle.