The Siege of White Deer Park (5 page)

‘None at all,’ agreed Fox. ‘I’ve already accepted that.’

‘Oh, it won’t be any concern to you,’ the Stag went on. ‘I think it unlikely it will show any interest in foxes.’

‘We’re only worried about some of our young friends being foolhardy,’ Vixen told him. ‘I’m sure Friendly sees himself as a sort of successor to Fox. He has a lot of confidence and courage.’

‘Well, it must be in his blood, I suppose,’ commented the Stag. ‘But it would be a foolish enterprise, I fear, to attempt to tussle with this supreme hunter.’

‘Yes. I prefer to respect it from a distance,’ said Fox.

‘And hope that before we’re all much older it’ll choose to go away,’ Vixen added.

‘I wouldn’t hold out a lot of hope for that,’ the Stag returned. ‘The creature has had no opposition so far. I feel that, as long as there is a deer herd here, it will choose to stay. That is, unless it is persuaded otherwise.’

‘It’s a sobering thought,’ Fox said solemnly.

‘My hinds are in a proper turmoil about it. Their nerves are all strung up. And I can offer them no assistance.’

‘Not while the Beast remains hidden,’ Fox acknowledged. ‘But you stags are about the only animals in the Reserve who might successfully oppose it in a fight. Surely one day it’s going to make a slip and be seen?’

‘Don’t count on it,’ the Stag advised him.

The three talked more. Then, with the Warden once again coming into view, Fox and Vixen departed.

Adder had returned to his home area after quitting the pondside, using the secluded route that was habitual to him. He liked to enjoy as much of the spring sunshine as he could, and he lay amongst the bracken very often, sleepily absorbing the sun’s rays. The first new fern shoots were just pushing their heads above the surface and the pale green tightly-curled heads carried a promise of the fragrance that was to come in the summer. One day Adder was lying in this way, his red eyes glinting in the sunlight. He was thinking about his next meal but he was in no hurry to look for it. His reptilian stomach did not require to be filled with the mechanical regularity of a bird’s or a mammal’s. Because of his proximity to the stream that ran through the Park, he happened to be the first recipient of news brought by a very flustered Whistler.

It was early morning and the heron had been standing in the shallows in his usual sentry-like posture. As he watched for the rippling movement of a fish, out of the corner of his eye he saw an animal move slowly along the bank away from him. It was some twenty metres away and appeared to be looking for the best spot to descend for a drink. Whistler’s immobility had kept him unobserved. He noted the animal was large, with sleek brown and black fur in blotches of colour which merged into stripes on its back. Its body had a powerful but streamlined appearance, with a long, thin, furry tail. It got down to the water’s edge and, leaning on its front legs, lapped thirstily. As it drank, it maintained a watchful eye on its surroundings. It paused two or three times to look about. When it was satisfied it raised itself, shook one front paw in a kind of fastidiousness, and moved away with an unhurried, loose and undulating motion. Whistler was impressed by the creature’s graceful movement. It looked round once more and he
caught just a glimpse of a round whiskered face with two green eyes, and small ears and nose.

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.’