The Fox Cub Bold (8 page)

‘How long would it take me to get there?’ Bold asked next.

The crow said: ‘I don’t know. I can only judge distances as a bird flies. It may be a whole night’s travelling time on four legs.’

‘Or, in my case, three,’ Bold reminded him sardonically. ‘Then I’d better start at nightfall.’ He finished the meat the crow had brought him. ‘What direction must I take?’

‘Watch me,’ said the crow and took to the air. Bold followed his flight until he became a mere dot in the sky. The bird did not return but Bold knew all he wanted to know. He got up and stretched his three sound limbs. He felt stiff, sore and chilled to the marrow. He needed to get some warmth back into his body, and the only way to do that was to keep on the move. The freezing mist set his weak eye watering, but its enveloping coils were also his friend. No prying observer could see the hobbling fox’s feeble attempts to run, and for that Bold was very glad.

A thin sun touched the shrouded countryside but failed to penetrate. Only the wind succeeded in tossing the swirling vapour about like patches of damp fleece. The young fox’s blood ran more quickly through his veins as he pattered here and there, whiling away the time to when the sun should finally surrender its fight.

Darkness came early and Bold set his course for his new objective, following the bearing of the crow’s flight. He travelled warily and at an easy pace. The wind had dropped and the air was very still. Scarcely a murmur reached Bold’s ears from the creatures of the night. After some time he became aware of a faint gleam which seemed to lie on the distant horizon. It grew steadily more bright as he drew nearer. Though he did not know it, it was the lights of the town.

Eventually Bold began to look for shelter. He did not know how far he had come but, as usual, his legs told him it was time to rest. He hid himself away in the nearest piece of woodland, content with his progress for that night. The next evening he was off again in the direction of that illumined piece of sky. The mist had disappeared and presently he heard quite plainly the muffled sounds of the town. They were, as yet, too distant to be alarming. He had no experience of the terrifying noises that humans can make in their daily lives. Motor traffic and the blare of machinery were beyond his knowledge. The crow had not warned him what to expect and, at the end of his second night’s travelling, he rested quite unprepared for the shock that was to come with the morning.

He had arrived on the edges of some playing fields where a litter basket had provided him with some miscellaneous pickings. It had been easy to overturn it to get at the contents and, after he had eaten, Bold laid himself down at the bottom of a privet hedge. When dawn broke, the first noises of a wakening town were carried to the sleeping fox, dispelling his slumbers. Wrapped in his thick, winter brush he lay without moving, but now wide awake. The early morning din was as nothing to what would happen when the town’s pulse really began to beat. Bold was uneasy. He moved from the hedge to find thicker cover. There wasn’t any. He began to panic. The noise was growing steadily louder. He couldn’t keep still. Every fresh roar made him turn in fright, but he was limping around in circles. Suddenly he saw what looked like a dark hole and made straight for it. It was a small hut, containing some tools belonging to the groundsman of the playing fields. The door had been left ajar and Bold blundered in, upsetting the stacked implements and sending them crashing to the wooden floor. Now quite terrified, he tottered out again, casting about wildly for anything that might shelter him. He saw some people walking nearby with their dogs and slunk back to the privet hedge. But the din seemed to fill the air, blotting out his ability to employ even his most basic instincts. At last he heard a muttered croak close at hand.

‘Come with me. I’ll show you where.’ The Carrion Crow was waiting for him, perched very conspicuously in a rowan tree. He took off and flew low, directly across the playing fields. Bold stumbled after him mindlessly. On the other side the bird waited for him to catch up and then flew straight to a patch of waste ground, which was choked with bramble, elm-scrub and thick banks of rusty-leaved weeds. Bold needed no bidding to dive into this mass of vegetation until he was quite invisible. The crow sat on the top of a sycamore sapling and spied out the land.

‘You’re quite safe now,’ he said.

Bold refrained from answering. The last half hour, particularly the crossing of the playing fields in full view, had quite unnerved him.

‘You took longer to get here than I was expecting,’ the crow went on.

Now Bold said: ‘I wish I hadn’t come. That dreadful noise! I’ve never heard anything like it before. I’d have been better off staying where I was.’

‘Nonsense!’ scoffed the crow. ‘No good being safe and secure elsewhere if you can’t find anything to eat.’

‘I was doing all right,’ Bold muttered from the undergrowth.

‘You’ll do better here,’ the crow told him, ‘when you’ve adjusted yourself.’

‘That I shall never do.’

‘You know, noise itself can’t harm you. It is town noise made by humans, and no danger whatsoever to you or any other creature. You simply have to get used to it. It’s the same every day. At night, when you’ll be around, it’s quieter. All you’ve got to watch out for are the
makers
of the noise.’

Bold had calmed down a little by now. The din had not increased and there was no sign of it approaching nearer to him. It
would
be worth waiting until nightfall to see if the crow’s words were correct.

‘You’ll soon change your mind about things once you start foraging,’ the bird reassured him. ‘There are rich pickings if you know where to look for them.’

‘Very well,’ said Bold. ‘I shall give it a try. And, by the way, I forgot to thank you for your rescue operation.’

‘I have to confess to some self-interest in this,’ said the bird honestly. ‘You’ll be able to tap sources of food I can’t reach. So I’m hoping that my diet might be enriched too . . .’

‘I understand you,’ said Bold. ‘And I certainly owe you a lot. You shall share anything I find – as long as there’s sufficient for me.’

‘Naturally. And I will do the same for you – for I shall be about in the daytime. So, between us, we can work this patch for all it’s worth. No better place in the winter than close to Man’s nesting sites.’

Bold was amused at the other’s tone. It seemed his own idea of exploiting the humans was now shared by this bird.

‘In fact,’ the crow declared, ‘it’s time I rustled up something now. You stay put,’ he added as he left, an unnecessary remark as far as Bold was concerned, who immediately fell asleep.

He was still asleep when his partner returned. The crow searched for a sign of him with his beady eyes but to no avail, so good was the fox’s camouflage. Presently he cawed irritably.

‘You’re back,’ Bold mumbled drowsily. Only a slight rustling of the undergrowth betrayed his whereabouts.

The crow waited patiently but Bold didn’t stir. ‘Aren’t you going to see what I’ve brought?’ he croaked. ‘It’s all yours. I’ve eaten my fill.’

Bold crept out from his screen and sniffed at the strange-looking object that awaited him – a packet of sandwiches. He sniffed all round it and gave it a tentative lick. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, looking puzzled.

‘Man food,’ answered the crow. ‘I found it on the ground. It’s quite palatable.’

‘It smells tasty enough but –’ Bold broke off to have another look at it. Then he clawed at the paper wrapping.
That
didn’t appear to be palatable.

‘You have to accept what comes,’ the crow explained. ‘Can’t afford to overlook
anything
. You’ll be surprised what you can eat when you get into the habit.’

Bold had never seen bread before, but there was meat inside it and he found himself eating the whole concoction and enjoying it.

‘Was this your meal too?’ he asked afterwards.

‘No,’ said the crow. ‘I found some food left out for a cat or dog and ate all that.’

‘Some poor creature will go hungry then,’ Bold opined. ‘I think I shall call you “Robber”.’

‘Don’t waste any sympathy on them,’ the crow retorted. ‘Those that Man feeds never go hungry. So you and I have every right to take what we can.’

‘Yes, Robber,’ said Bold drily.

‘Yes, Bold,’ replied Robber.

When night fell, it was Bold’s turn to make a foray. Robber had gone to roost in a secluded place at the top of a tall tree, leaving the young fox to gather his courage together. For a long time the noise from the town continued unabated. But as the nocturnal hours marched by, a comparative peace descended, only occasionally interrupted by a sudden, strident sound. Then Bold was ready to move.

He went limping across the fields, now bathed by a fitful moonlight, and made for the black shapes of the human’s dwellings. He paused often to test the air as he went. His powerful sense of smell detected a host of strange scents, none of which was familiar to him. But he pressed on, prepared to take cover only if the smell of dog or that of Man himself was recognizable. The first group of buildings he came to lay in complete darkness. Walls or fences bounded them and their plots of land, and Bold skulked along these barriers like a shadow, searching for an opening. For, unlike other animals of his kind, he could not jump. He soon realized he was indeed handicapped for he was thus effectively debarred from entering most of the gardens. Of course he was able to contort himself wonderfully to slink through the slightest gap; he could flatten himself to scramble underneath an obstacle; he could even dig; but any sort of leap was absolutely beyond his scope.

On that first exploratory roam around Bold succeeded in visiting a number of yards and gardens and this was when he discovered what was to be the mainstay of his food supply for weeks to come – the dustbin. Once he had got used to the clang that some of them made what a remarkable collection of unwanted scraps he found in these receptacles! There was always something, it seemed, of which use could be made. It was almost as if the improvident humans had attempted to encourage him to feast upon these puzzling little dumps of food. Bold accepted each and every thing gratefully as he came to realize that his survival appeared to be ensured. Winter would not claim him as a victim after all.

His inquisitiveness kept him so busy that he forgot how far he was from his new hideaway. Dawn was stealing across the sky as he hastily set off on the return journey. He did not remember his duty to Robber, for he went empty-jawed. Back along the human paths he hobbled until he reached the playing fields. The noise had started up again as he made haste across the wide open space. Only when he reached the waste plot did he realize he had not kept to his bargain.

Robber arrived at the spot, intending to leave Bold to snooze peacefully. He waddled along the ground, jerkily turning his head this way and that as he searched for the delicacy he was sure the fox would have brought him. Of course, there was none. Robber wondered if Bold had not returned. He flew up to a branch and spied out the land. No sign of any animal. Then he ‘cawed’ three or four times loudly and harshly with annoyance.

‘I’m here,’ Bold owned up.

‘Ah, now I see you,’ said the crow. ‘Were you unsuccessful?’

‘Er – no, not exactly,’ Bold replied awkwardly.

There was a pause. ‘Oh! So our bargain is to be a one-sided sort, is it?’ remarked the crow.

‘Not at all,’ Bold hastened to explain. ‘I – I was caught rather far from home when dawn broke.’

‘I see. Well, as you are still in my debt I shall not be expected to find
you
anything now?’

‘Of course not,’ said Bold in a small voice.

Robber flew away immediately, without another word. Bold did feel a little shamed and decided he would make up for his failure on his next trip.

The next evening came round wonderfully quickly. December arrived with a stinging squall of sleet that drove across the open fields in a spray of ice-needles. The fox’s eyes smarted as he battled against the blast, cursing the handicap of his limp. But there was shelter amongst Man’s buildings and Bold again began to enjoy his exploring. In one yard he found two bowls, one containing milk; the other fish. He greatly appreciated the thoughtfulness of the humans who had supplied them. There didn’t seem to be any other animals nearby to claim the bowls’ contents.

He went on cautiously, snapping up pieces of bread missed by birds in one garden, knocking over bins in another to raid the pungent-smelling collections that spilled from them. He had learnt to retire quickly behind a plant or other screen as the bin crashed down; then, if nothing happened after a few minutes, he slunk back to select his pickings. Sometimes the clattering he caused did bring a human into the open. On those occasions, Bold was out of the garden and well away from the scene before he could be noticed.

On this evening he was to find that there were competitors for his food. He was looking into a large fenced area of lawn and flower beds behind an imposing house. The sleet fell slantwise across the grass in a sort of mist. Out of the shadows around the building there trotted a brisk, confident-looking fox that seemed to know exactly what it was about. Bold’s muscles tautened as he watched. The animal stepped lightly across the grass with a fluid grace that was a perfect illustration of health and vitality. It made straight for a stone bird-table, the flat top of which was nearly two metres from the ground. With the most enviable agility the fox leapt in one flowing movement up to the top. There it stood, fearlessly surveying its surroundings, before snatching up the remnants of the birds’ leavings. Bold was entranced. He knew it to be a female, and he was as full of admiration for her strength as for her grace and elegance. He thought of his own poor frame; his hobbling walk; his inability to jump, and he shrank back timidly to avoid being detected.