Toad Triumphant (17 page)

The stoats winked at each other, and another general silence fell to see if the visitors would yield to this extortion or argue the point.

“And if we’re going on upstream?” said the Rat.

“If yer were, which yer’d be advised not to, then by rights yer get as much of the Blasphemy as yer can drink at one go free, and a ‘elpin’ more of the tatties to take with yer.”

“Free?” said the Mole.

“Yeh, but yer not.”

“But we are,” said the Mole very firmly. “We
are
journeying up-river. That’s what you call ‘going’, isn’t it?”

For the first time in their conversation the landlord appeared lost for words, and the room fell into a deeper silence, but one now more curious and astonished than hostile.

“Well, I wouldn’t.”

“But we shall,” said the Rat, “so charge us a fair price for the food and drink and we’ll be on our way.”

“Well, yer mad. The food and drinks are free, but I’ll charge yer two groat for the conversation.”

This the Rat duly paid and honour seemed satisfied all round. The potatoes were good, but the beer was lethal, so they only sipped at it.

“Yer not really goin’ upstream, are yer?” said one of the stoats with a good deal more respect in his voice than before.

“We are,” said the Mole firmly. “Is there a reason why not?”

The stoats laughed, and soon the whole room joined in. But when they saw that the Mole and the Rat did not laugh and were quite serious in their intent, one of the stoats said, “Don’t yer know, mate?”

“Know what?”

“The reason yer shouldn’t be goin’ upstream is the Pike, the Lathbury Pike.”

“What of it?” said the Mole boldly. In such circumstances the Rat could not but admire his normally timid friend for his bold front.

“Don’t tell us yer not heard of it?”

“We have heard but little of it down our way” said the Rat carefully. “Perhaps you could tell us more?”

The stoat needed no second invitation and, egged on by his friends who crowded round, and a few of the weasels who came over and joined them, he gave a detailed and bloody account of the Pike’s ferocity (it thought nothing of sinking boats) and diet (it especially liked babies, young lambs and piglets if it could get them) .

“Once upon a time the farmers of the pastures up top — that was afore the ‘igh Judge acquired the land and turned ‘em off for good — walked their cattle across the River upstream to get to Lathbury market quicker, but that were no good, no good at all. Too many taken, you see?”

“Whole cows eaten by the Pike?” exclaimed the Mole. “Two at a time when she were nurturing a brood,” said one of the weasels almost cheerfully. “That’s why they built the bridge, ‘cos farmers wouldn’t risk it by river no more. No farmers now, any road.”

“Has anyone ever
seen
the Pike?” asked the Rat, dubious about these claims.

“She’s too cunning and too quick to be seen, but for the vast shadow of ‘er across the pool, but they’ve ‘eard ‘er many a time and seen sign of ‘er.”

“Heard her?” said the Mole, his eyes wide. “Seen signs?”

“Aye, ‘eard ‘er wooshing in the water at dusk, when they say she exercises ‘er tail so’s she can swim faster, and that sets up the waves they seen.”

“So what do river travellers do if they want to go past where the Lathbury Pike lives?” asked the Rat, reasonably enough.

“Not many wants to go on up there,” said their informant darkly. “No roads up there now worth the name, and no one in their right minds living there neither. They’m lost souls live up there now, driven daft by the Pike, don’t you see? If you’ve a mind to go on then the only thing to do is to ‘ave your craft taken out of the River downstream and transported by road, especially in the months o’ June and July.”

“You mean
now?”
said the Mole.

The stoat nodded slowly eyes narrowing, seeming almost to revel in his tale.

“Bred by now; be raising a brood by now”

“Hasn’t anyone ever tried to kill the Lathbury Pike?” said the Rat stoutly. “Anyway she must be very old by now”

“O, don’t make that mistake, sir,” (they were beginning to treat the Mole and the Rat with considerable respect by now) “really you mun’t. Many’s said the same and after a few years of quiet they’ve taken their boats up the creek where she lives and all that’s ever seen of them again is their boats, and their ‘ats and boots. She don’t eat ‘ats and she don’t eat boots.”

“Aye,” said the landlord, putting in his pennyworth, “why do you think it’s called the Hat and Boot Tavern?”

“Surely not — ?” began the Mole, now seriously concerned.

“It’s surely so,” said another. “Off they go out of this door, their bellies full of free drink —”

“Why do you serve it free?” said the Rat, interrupting.

“Ancient statute,” said the landlord. “In the old days it gave young bloods the courage to go and kill the Pike, but we live in modern times now, eh lads?”

“That’s right!”

“But we keeps up the tradition.”

“And the hat and boot that’s hanging up outside now,” asked the Mole; “that’s just for show, isn’t it?”

“That’s no show,” said the landlord. “Old Tom’ll tell you ‘cos ‘e was ‘ere when the last damn fool — beggin’ yer pardon, gents — went up-river.”

“Aye,” said Tom, who came over and joined them, “it was a cold and chilly night when ‘e come, and I remember it like it was —”

“Make it snappy Tom, don’t give ‘em the whole works; they’ll be dead in their seats afore you finish.”

“It was a badger,” said the landlord, “a very big badger, weren’t it, Tom?”

“Aye, so it was, fine and young he was. That was afore you came, afore many of the lads ‘ere was even born. Came here and sat right where you’re sittin’ now, sir,” he said, pointing at the Rat’s seat.

The Water Rat felt very uncomfortable at this and shifted slightly in his seat.

“‘E was warned, but he weren’t listening, like badgers often don’t. He upped and went and three days later down they came — ‘is hat and boot. That was all was left, yer see. So we ‘ung ‘em up out of respect, and as a warning.”

“So now you know,” said the landlord; “and that’s why I say yer won’t be going —”

“O, but we are,” said the Mole, standing up with sudden resolution, “and right now! Come on, Ratty, we’ll not listen to any more of this talk or we’ll never get going!”

The landlord and his clients followed them out, tankards in hand, blinking in the bright sunshine and chattering like women at a public execution. There were last-minute directions and advice, and a few final warnings and appeals against their journey before the Rat told the Mole to cast off the painter.

The Tavern, and its clients, slowly disappeared downstream behind them.

· VIII ·

In Pursuit of Love

Toad’s journey up-river towards the Town had a very different flavour from when the Rat and the Mole had taken the same route some weeks before, as different as chalk and cheese.

They had gone slowly and gently in harmony with nature generally and the River in particular, their spirits and their days attuned to the rising of the dawn and the setting of the sun. For them it was the simple pleasures that mattered — listening to the lapping of the water along the banks, enjoying the rustle of the summer breeze through rush and sedge, and the shimmering of birch leaves in the wind across the fields. If a mallard led a squeaking busy brood across their path, the Rat and the Mole paused to let them safely by; if a pair of swans glided upstream of them and silently turned and drifted sideways to the current, they stopped awhile to admire the grand spectacle.

But then came Toad, and not for him such sentimental nonsense!

The rustling breeze?

Toad could not hear it at all because of the noise his loud and shuddering engine made.

The shimmering birch leaves?

Toad could not see any trees and leaves because of the spray the bows of his racing launch threw up.

Dabbling ducks?

“Out of my way!” cried Toad.

Elegant swans?

“Horrid things, stop hogging the River!” yelled Toad. The roar of his craft, the thwack! thwack! of its prow as it hit the water, and not least the sight of Toad himself, steering with one hand and gesticulating with the other that all other users of the River, be they flesh, fish or fowl, get out of his way caused a general evacuation of all living things along his route.

Cows and sheep turned and fled across fields at his loud approach; horses bolted in alarm, leaping gates to get away; rooks flocked up from trees and headed to all points of the compass in their eagerness to escape. As for those fish unfortunate enough to be harmlessly grubbing about amongst the weed and mud beneath the water, such as roach and perch, silver dace and stickleback, the shock of Toad’s passage caused general panic and disarray.

While those skulking creatures, the treacherous and cowardly weasels and stoats, hid from him as he sped by and for half an hour afterwards.

Naturally Toad was oblivious of all this and the effect he was having on those about him, just as he always had been. In any case, he had more important things to think about, for his motor-launch offered challenges he had not met and conquered before.

At first he could not quite master the art of steering around bends, and would weave desperately from one side of the River to the other, scattering mud and broken vegetation in his efforts to avoid its banks. Twice he failed in this endeavour and the craft was brought to a grinding halt prow-first in the gravel and mud of the bank. It would have been better for all concerned if matters had ended there and then. But so powerful were the engines of the launch, so easy and effective its reverse controls, and so determined was the lovelorn swain to catch up with his lady love once more, that he did not let these mishaps delay him long. Toad was an enthusiastic if impatient learner.

Before long he had worked out how to speed up, accelerating as he approached each new bend in the meandering River and shouting “Wheee!” as he went round it, and “Whooo!” as he drew out of it and took up a straighter course once more.

This soon bored him and he began to explore the higher speeds of his excellent craft, with utter disregard for frantic wildfowl, and the effect of the wash and the waves upon the banks. But this too became tedious and repetitive and he tried slowing down and then surging suddenly forward in a most wilful way. But even that was not much fun after a while.

Toad became ever more adventurous as he successively tried steering with one hand and his eyes shut, then standing on one leg and merely caressing the wheel with a finger or two; then, ever more balletic, Toad tried letting go and describing the odd pirouette about the deck before taking up the wheel once more —”Vroom! Vroom!” he cried.

Then, standing upon the higher deck and hooking one foot upon the wheel, both to steer and hold him in at the same time, the foolish Toad leaned out across the water, which raced past beneath him — “Vroom! Wheee! Whoosh!”

It would be good and just to be able to report that Toad came a cropper; very satisfactory to report that Toad crashed the offending craft irrecoverably; just and equitable to be able to say that Toad fell in and got very wet and muddy and was forced to limp the long way home, a wiser and more reasonable animal.

But Fate is fickle and unjust, and sometimes smiles upon those whom ordinary sober, hard-working mortals rightly condemn. Indeed, Fate sometimes goes out of its way to help the Toads of this world and heap upon them the fortune and riches that its favours bring.

So it was that afternoon with Toad. Whatever he did in that lunatic voyage in pursuit of the Madame, whether it was controlling the boat with only one foot on the wheel, or doing a quick hand-stand or two, or putting the craft into full throttle while he just popped below decks to see what victuals and beverages the excellent Prendergast had laid in store, inflicted no setback at all: the odd bump, the odd brief grounding, but nothing, absolutely nothing, seriously delayed his progress.

Finally as the afternoon light began to wane, Toad, by now going more slowly and calmly and with a Havana in his left hand and a brimming glass of champagne adjacent to the other, saw ahead of him His Lordship’s House. He did not immediately recognize it since the last time he had come that way was from the air, drifting down in a parachute. But once he drew closer he saw that same hothouse roof with which he had once had an uncomfortable acquaintance.

“Ha, ha!” said he, chortling to himself, “I have arrived unnoticed and will now proceed with caution. The Madame’s hand will not be won by foolhardy bravado but by a cunning strategy that combines stealth and resolution, with a clear plan and rapid execution. I shall rescue her from the unwelcome attentions of the High Judge, we shall escape in my waiting craft, and then —”

But Toad, as is the way with lovers, was not much concerned with what happened afterwards. Jealousy was his motivation, re—possession his present goal.

He perused the chart and saw that the small tributary he had espied just before he reached His Lordship’s estate was clearly marked, with some useful tips for mariners: