Quest for the Faradawn

CHAPTER X

When Sam had left Nab at the foot of the stairs and gone back to the living room to lie down by the fire, his mind had been racing. His main thought had been that Nab must be set free somehow and as soon as possible; that very night if it could be done. But how? He would find it difficult, if not impossible, to do it on his own and besides, if he failed, those animals who were still not sure of him would have their doubts confirmed. No; he must get to Silver Wood and tell Brock and Warrigal so that they could all work out a plan together; that way, if it failed, at least he wouldn’t be solely to blame. He was amazed at the good fortune of the boy’s being captured by the Urkku from bis household, although the wood was on their land, albeit at the very edge, and as the two young masters had got older they had taken more and more to shooting, so perhaps it had been only a matter of time before they saw him. The fire felt warm on his face and stomach as he lay on the rug. He loved this time of early evening when he had the whole room to himself; when the Urkku came in he would be told to move back and lie in the cold behind the couch but until then he could bask in the full warmth of the fire and watch the flames flickering with a red glow on the walls. But tonight he would have to stir himself and go off to Silver Wood; blast the rain, he thought.

Reluctantly he got up from the hearth and went down the three stone steps to the front door, where he began to bark and scratch to be let out. The old master got up from his rocking chair in the kitchen where he’d been lighting up his pipe and, patting him on the head, opened the door, whereupon Sam dashed out into the rain.

He stopped for a second in the yard under the shelter of a wall and waited until he saw the chink of light coming from the house narrow and finally disappear as the door was shut. Then he raced off down the yard, turned left at the end to make his way along the track between the cowsheds and then, squeezing under the gate, he was out into the fields. Near Wood formed a barrier on his right and he ran along in the field, keeping to the edge of the wood so that it provided him with some shelter from the driving rain. Finally he was out of sight of the farm and when he reached the far corner of Near Wood he turned left to head across the fields to the pond. He was completely in the open now, fully exposed to the rain and to the wind which had just begun to increase in intensity and was blowing directly against him. He put his head down and willed his tired body to keep going; his coat was completely sodden with the rain and had begun to feel heavy and his paws squelched and slipped on the wet grass. Soon he found himself climbing the familiar rise and when he reached the top he saw below him the dark brackish waters of the pond looming out of the night and beyond it the tall trees of Silver Wood. He bounded down the little hill and, passing the pond on his right, headed out across the last two fields before the wood. The wind had now begun to blow the rain away and the night began to get lighter as the clouds broke up and allowed the moon to come through; looking up he could see the black clouds racing across the night sky, each one, as it passed in front of the moon, acquiring a silver border. He put his head down into the wind again and raced on under the fence that enclosed the field in front of the wood and finally through the old barbed wire fence that went around the wood itself. He stopped for a second, panting heavily, and then made for Brock’s sett under the Old Beech. When he came into sight of the earth he was surprised to see the badger outside talking to Warrigal, who was perched on one of the lowest branches of the tree. They were both looking at him as if he were expected.

‘I saw you coming across the fields and called Brock,’ said the owl gravely.

The dog flopped down panting beside Brock and looked at Warrigal. The rain had now stopped but he was too exhausted even to be bothered to shake the wet off and he was trying desperately to get his breath back. His mouth hung wide open and little drops of saliva dripped down from his tongue on to the ground; his body shook with the effort of breathing. Brock put his paw on the dog’s shoulder.

‘All right Sam, take it steady,’ he said. The dog was not getting any younger and whereas once he could have recovered from a run like this in a matter of seconds, now it took some time. ‘We know that Rufus and Nab are missing,’ Brock said. ‘I saw them go off together in the afternoon and the boy at least should have been back by now. And Warrigal tells me he heard a shot in this part of the wood and the most terrible shouting going on; I must have been in the sett. By the time he had flown over he could see nothing.’

‘A terrible commotion and I can almost be sure one of the voices I heard belonged to Nab,’ added the owl, looking down unblinkingly at Sam.

Between pants the dog told all that he knew. Neither Brock nor Warrigal interrupted him and when he had finished they remained silent, each looking down at the woodland floor.

Finally Warrigal spoke. ‘It’s worse than I thought. Rufus is dead and not only do the Urkku know about Nab, they’ve actually captured him. Well, there’s no doubt as to what to do; he must be rescued immediately — tonight. Brock. ’ he called to the badger. ‘Brock,’ he said again more loudly.

The badger was sunk in despondency. He had let everyone down; the wood, Bruin, Tara and, worst of all, Nab himself. He had been appointed as the boy’s guardian and he had failed in his task. And how would the Elflord react? What a terrible night; he wished desperately that it was all just a bad dream and he would wake up and find everything normal and Nab safely back in his rhododendron bush. Even if they managed to rescue him, the damage had been done; the Urkku knew about the boy. What would they do with him? And if he escaped, he wouldn’t be safe in Silver Wood; where could he live?

‘Brock,’ shouted Warrigal for the third time. The badger looked up slowly into the great round eyes of the owl. ‘You must not blame yourself,’ he said. ‘It was not your fault, you could do no more than you did to look after him. It was impossible for you to be with him the whole time.’ The owl leaned forward on the branch. ‘As he got older he had to have more freedom.’

Warrigal saw from the expression in the misty eyes of the badger that he was not to be consoled and that the only thing to do now was to begin to take steps at once to bring the boy back.

‘I’ll fly over and inform Wythen of what has happened and ask him to call an emergency Council Meeting so that the others know. You, Brock, go across the field and find Perryfoot; we shall need him with us. Sam, you stay here and get your breath back, you’ve earned a rest. We’ll all meet back here as soon as we can.’ He blinked slowly at them both and then, moving his brown wings gracefully, he glided quietly back into the wood.

Without looking at Sam the badger padded despondently across to the old fence and, lowering his back slightly to get under the bottom wire, walked out into the field. When he got to the middle he gave a little bark. Perryfoot never stayed in one form for more than a night and at about this time in the late evening he could well be out feeding somewhere. There was no reply. Brock moved on a bit towards the pond. This time the hare heard Brock’s call and came bounding across from a little hollow where he’d found some tasty grasses.

‘What’s up, old friend? I spotted Sam racing like a mad thing over to the wood earlier this evening and wondered. That’s why I hadn’t gone too far from the wood when you called.’

He sat squatting with his ears flat along his back and silently chewed while Brock related the events of the night to him. When he’d finished, the hare, subdued for once, made his way to the wood alongside the badger. They found Sam where he’d been left and Warrigal just flying down to land on a low branch.

‘What did Wythen say?’ asked the badger anxiously.

‘Well, he wasn’t as surprised or worried as I thought he might be. Still, he very rarely gets ruffled so it’s not always easy to tell what he’s really thinking. But the Elflord must be told, and Wythen is flying off tonight to Dark Wood as soon as he’s told the rest of the Council leaders. However, he asked me to put your mind at rest, Brock; no one else blames you and you mustn’t blame yourself. Now, enough time has been wasted already; we must get moving. You three should not walk together in case you’re seen so leave quite a bit of space between you. Perryfoot, you lead off in front and, if you spot any Urkku, just stop where you are. I’ll fly ahead and if there’s any danger, I’ll give the alarm call.’

So the animals set off with the hare in front, followed by Sam and with Brock some way behind. Ahead of them the owl flew slowly at hedge height. All four were lost in their own private thoughts; Brock felt slightly better after Warrigal’s report of what Wythen had said but now he was worried at the confirmation of the fact that the Elflord would have to be told. Sam was thinking about the part he had played that night and about what they would do when they got to the farm. The formation of a plan would be largely left to him as he was the only one with any knowledge of the layout of the house. Perryfoot’s mind was on that glorious day the previous spring when he, Brock and the boy had gone down to the stream; that had been a happy time, so different from the way they all felt now.

They were just passing the pond on their left and making their way through the gate into the next field when Brock became aware of some animal following them. As soon as he had got through the gate he suddenly turned to his right to hide behind the trunk of a large oak that stood at the side. After a few seconds he heard the sound of soft breathing and the gentle thudding of paw-steps on the ground. When he judged that they were level with the gate he suddenly sprang out and found himself, to his immense surprise, face to face with Bruin. The old badger stopped dead in his tracks and his hair bristled with shock.

‘Young’un,’ he said, ‘don’t do that again; you’ll kill me! When Wythen told me what had happened I thought you might need some help so I followed you and I’ve been trying to catch up. But you go too fast for me. Now come on, or the others will wonder where you’ve got to.’

‘You shouldn’t have come, it could be very dangerous,’ Brock said when he’d recovered from his surprise, but he couldn’t disguise the pleasure he felt at seeing his grandfather. His confidence had been severely shaken by the events of that night and he was grateful for the fact that this experienced old warrior would be with them. They set off together quickly up the slope from the gate and soon caught sight of Sam and, some way ahead, Perryfoot and Warrigal. Many of the clouds had now broken up and gone and the fields and Near Wood on their left were bathed in moonlight but there was an icy wind that blew across from the hills and seemed to get into their bones. They were now running along the side of the wood, back the way Sam had come earlier that night in the rain, and soon they caught sight of the farm buildings in the distance. Warrigal flew down and perched on the low branch of a large oak whose boughs hung over into the field and as the others came up to it they gathered round the branch and the owl addressed them.

‘We’re pleased to have you, Bruin,’ he said. 'We shall need your experience and courage.’ Technically Bruin the Brave, full member of the Council, should have assumed leadership of the expedition now that he was here but Warrigal was known for his wisdom and tactical expertise and the old badger was happy to be led by him.

‘Now, we must have a plan and we must all be clear about our part in it before we get to the farm. Sam; tell us where the boy is being kept and what you think is the best way of getting in:’

The animals huddled together with their backs to the wind while Sam explained the geography of the house to them, but he was unable to think of a way they could get into it, nor was he certain which room Nab was in. He himself was only able to go through the doors when they were opened for him by his masters; otherwise they were a solid barrier of wood. There was silence while the animals put their minds to this difficult problem; only the rustling of the few remaining leaves, brown and withered but still stubbornly hanging on, disturbed the peace of the night. Bruin suggested that they charge at the doors and break them down but Sam explained, with considerable deference, that the Urkku, although they slept at night, would be awoken by the noise that this would make, and the plan was discarded. Sam then recalled how, when he had been a puppy) he had scratched at things a lot and he remembered how when he scratched at doors his claws had made impressions on them and he had been severely scolded. Perhaps the badgers, whose claws were so much bigger and stronger than his, would be able to scratch a way through.

Warrigal looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Are there any other ideas?’ he said, leaning forward on the branch and looking quizzically at each one of them in turn. ‘Well,’ he said, when no further plans were forthcoming, ‘that is the scheme we shall adopt. But it will still create a lot of noise. We shall have to work very slowly. When we get to the farm I will fly up to Nab’s window and let him know what’s happening. Perryfoot; while the two badgers are at the door you stay at the bottom of the yard and keep a lookout. But stay out of sight; if anything goes wrong you must run back to the wood and tell Wythen. Now, is there anything anyone would like to know before we move on?’

There was silence. Now was the moment of truth. None of these animals except Sam had ever been as close to an Urkku dwelling as they were even now, let alone going still nearer and then, eventually, actually inside the building. Until now they had had no time to think of the danger; they had simply been driven by the need to rescue Nab and the entire escapade had been a vague concept in their minds. Now, suddenly, it was real. Warrigal could sense the growing fear.

‘All right then. Come on,’ he said and, moving his wings very slowly, he took off and began to fly just above the ground across the field and towards the gate. The others walked slowly in single file behind him. Warrigal waited for them at the gate and then, when they had all arrived, beckoned to Sam to take the lead and they all made their way along the rough gravel track with the cowsheds on either side of them. They walked on the middle of the track where the weeds had grown through so as not to crunch on the gravel and as they walked they heard the sounds of the cattle inside, the occasional rattling of a chain or shuffle of hooves. Suddenly a loud cough came from one of the sheds and they stopped dead in their tracks but Sam motioned that it was simply a cow and the party continued on its way. Brock’s fear was almost overcome by his fascination for all the things around him, the buildings and the farm vehicles; some bales of hay heaped in a comer and a ladder leaning against a wall up to a hay loft. Then at the end of the cowshed on their right they turned the comer into the yard and faced the front of the house. They stood in a little group looking across at the huge building; it looked like a fortress, high and impenetrable and the six windows, dark now that most of the lights in the house were out, stared out at them like great soulless eyes, daring them to enter. Once again fear gripped them and they stood rooted to the spot, huddled against the wall of the shed.

It was Sam who, understanding nothing of their fear of the house, urged them forward and took them across the yard to the great wooden front door, leaving Perryfoot behind where he could see the whole of the yard and also the track down which they had come.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Now this is the door, Brock, you start scratching here,’ and he indicated the bottom left-hand comer. ‘I hope the window of Nab’s room is up there, Warrigal,’ and as the owl silently flew up, Brock sank his sharp claws into the door and, drawing them down, left four great scratches in the wood.

Warrigal could hear the work going on below him as he hovered outside the window looking for a place to perch. He spotted the large sill and delicately dropped down on to it. He could see nothing through the window except little slivers of light that peeked out around the curtains. The icy wind blew particularly fiercely around this comer of the house; he had forgotten about it in the shelter of the yard. He turned his head round and saw Perryfoot crouching in the shelter of a doorway. Turning back to face the window he put his head on one side to listen for any sounds of danger from inside the house but all he could hear was the creaking of the floorboards in the room as Nab paced restlessly to and fro. He leant forward and gently tapped the glass with his beak twice; there was no response. He tapped again and this time the pacing stopped and he heard footsteps come towards him. He tapped again and this time there was a rustling inside as the owl saw the curtains start to move. He walked quickly along to the end of the sill from where he could see in but couldn’t be seen himself in case he had come to the wrong place; it had only been Sam’s guess that Nab would be in the spare room. Suddenly there was a flood of light as Nab succeeded in drawing the curtains apart. Warrigal saw the boy’s face with relief and walked back until he was once again in the middle of the sill. The boy was frantically looking out into the night, searching everywhere with his eyes except where the owl was perched. His face was pale and streaked where tears had traced their way down his cheeks and his eyes looked red and sore from crying. Warrigal tapped again and Nab looked suddenly down directly at him. As he saw the owl and realized who it was, his face lit up and relief shone out from it so intensely that Warrigal was afraid he might shout with joy, but all the woodland instincts that had been ingrained in him signalled extreme caution and silence and instead the boy simply put his smiling face to the glass and watched as Warrigal indicated to him that the others were down below and that they were now planning his escape. The boy was transformed; a minute ago he had been a pathetic trapped creature lost in the depths of self-pity, degraded and debased by capture. Now, with the prospect of freedom before him, he regained his dignity and self-respect and became alert and vibrant with energy.

When Warrigal was certain that Nab was fully aware of the situation he indicated to him to pull the curtains shut so as to prevent the light pouring out; if any of the Urkku saw it they would definitely come to investigate. Then he flew back down to the door, where Bruin and Brock were making good progress and Sam was waiting for him anxiously. He told them in hushed tones of what had happened and that everything had gone smoothly; Nab was now waiting for them. Brock was particularly thrilled at the thought that Warrigal had actually seen the boy and that he would soon be with them again and, while Sam went down to tell Perryfoot and Bruin carried on at the door, he plied the owl with questions as to his appearance and how he seemed in himself. Warrigal was pleased for his friend; he knew how hard the effect would be on the badger if things turned out badly.

Soon it was Brock’s turn at the door again; the pile of splinters and shavings had now grown quite large and there was a definite indentation into the wood. He leant forward to bite off some large splinters that were getting in the way and then, sinking his claw into the wood again, he felt it go through. Overjoyed he went to work with renewed energy and soon there was a small jagged hole through which he could see the little entrance hall and, leading from it at the back, the stairs up which Sam had said they must go to find Nab. He wanted to carry on but the muscles of his shoulders had begun to ache and the pads of his paws were very sore. He pointed out the hole to the others and then limped painfully to one side to allow Bruin to carry on. It shouldn’t be too much longer now, he thought; all they needed was a hole big enough to squeeze through. Sam stood by the hole watching carefully and listening for any sounds inside that might tell hint whether any of the household were awake. There was silence except for the rhythmic scraping of Bruin’s claws against the door as the hole grew wider. Soon Sam saw that the job was done and he put his paw on the old badger’s shoulder to tell him to stop. It was time to go on in.

Warrigal gathered them all together and whispered quietly. ‘Sam, you know the way so you lead us to the room. Brock, you go next and I will follow you. Bruin, I think you should stay just here, by the door, so that if the worst happens and the Urkku spot us you may be in a position to help. Now, is that all right with everyone? Good. Off we go then.’

As Bruin took up his position by the door Sam went through the jagged opening and found himself once again in the familiar surroundings of the house where he had lived for as long as he could remember. Their familiarity made the danger they were in seem unreal. There were no lights on. He walked gently across the few paces of tiled floor to the bottom of the stairs. Brock was squeezing himself gingerly through the hole, taking care not to get caught on one of the jagged splinters that were left around it. He could see Sam waiting for him. He realized with a shock of excitement that he was in an Urkku dwelling for the first, and probably the last time. His paws found it difficult to get a grip on the smooth floor and his claws made a slight rattling noise as he walked slowly across the tiles; he looked carefully all around him, into the kitchen on his right and the living room with chairs, tables, pictures and the red dying embers of a fire: the strange smells made his nose wrinkle and some of them threatened to catch in his throat and make him cough. When he joined Sam he turned round and watched Warrigal hop up and perch for a second in the hole before flying silently across to sit on the bottom stair. ‘Right, ’ he whispered softly, and Sam began to make his way up the stairs with Brock following and Warrigal waiting behind. Brock found climbing these strange angles difficult at first but he watched Sam and copied the way he moved and before they reached the top he had got the hang of it; putting his front paws on the next stair, gripping and then bringing his back legs up to join them with a little jump. Once or twice the stairs creaked and to the animals it sounded like a thunderclap but luckily none of the Urkku seemed to have been woken, and Sam, having listened attentively for a few seconds each time, beckoned them on. Brock’s paws now felt as if they were on something soft, like a very coarse moss, and he found it easier to move than on the tiles. He watched Sam arrive at the top of the stairs and walk along the landing a few paces, where he stopped and waited for Brock to catch up. Then Warrigal took off from the bottom and flew up the space over the stairs to join them. Sam thought how strange it was to see the owl flying around the house like a brown shadow and he had to blink his eyes to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. But no; when he opened them again there was Brock by his side and Warrigal perched on a banister rail, both animals looking to him for guidance as to the next move. He led them along the landing past the three doors on their left which led into the bedrooms where the Urkku were sleeping and finally turned the comer on to the small landing where Nab’s room was. They stopped outside the door and Sam indicated that this was it. So far, so good, he thought, but now the really difficult part of the operation would begin; if the noise of Brock’s scratching at the door didn’t wake his master or mistress it would be the work of the elves. Warrigal walked back along the little landing until he reached the corner where there was a banister post; he flew up and folded his talons around the top of it to perch there and keep a watch along the main landing. When the badger saw that he was in position he started once again the painful process of gouging away the door. As soon as he had started he heard footsteps inside the room and his heart lifted with joy at the realization that Nab was just on the other side. He worked very slowly; partly to make as little noise as possible and partly because of the pain in his paws which had started while he was working on the main door and which now had become almost unbearable. It was made worse by the fact that he was on his own now and couldn’t have a rest while Bruin took over. His pads had started to bleed and as he scratched he left smudges and streaks of red behind. Sam indicated to him that this door was less thick than the other and luckily the wood was nowhere near as solid. Nevertheless, as the work progressed painstakingly slowly, he wondered how he was going to finish. He had to though; he felt responsible for letting all this happen in the first place, despite what the others said, and it would be totally unthinkable for him to admit defeat with the boy just the other side of the door. This was Nab; whom he had found as a baby on that snowfilled night long ago; whom he had taken back to his earth and whom Tara had suckled and looked after as a cub. No; if anything happened to the boy, life for him would lose all its purpose.

As these thoughts filled Brock’s mind his paws grew mercifully numb; he lost all sensation of pain and the work was now mechanical, a matter of moving his claws to the correct place and using his shoulder muscles to pull them in the right direction. Sam stood half-way between Warrigal and the door; his head cocked on one side and his ears erect, listening for any sounds. After what seemed to all the animals to be an age, Brock finally saw that there was a small hole right through the door and he gestured to Sam to come over and look. While they were both examining the hole they became aware of a light thumping noise coming up the stairs. They turned round and saw Perryfoot turning the corner of the small landing and stopping to talk to Warrigal. He looked anxious and had obviously sprinted from his post outside in great haste. The dog and the badger walked quietly along the landing to meet him.

‘I heard an Urkku vehicle coming down the track. We’re trapped! He’s bound to see the hole in the door and come looking to see who has done it.’ Suddenly, as Perryfoot was talking, the darkness on the landing was split by a great shaft of light which shone through a window at the end, and outside they could hear the unfamiliar but unmistakable sound of a car. The beam of light seemed to move across the landing as the car turned in the yard and the engine stopped and then after a few seconds it went out. Sam spoke in a hushed whisper.

‘It’ll be one of the two young Urkku. They often go out at night and come back at this time but they rarely go together so with luck there will only be one. I’d forgotten about it. Brock, you’ve nearly finished the hole. I will try and keep him downstairs for as long as I can while you complete it and bring Nab out. I’ll try to keep him in the kitchen, so when you go out through the front door I’ll be on your left. Don’t wait for me.’ He paused, and they all heard footsteps coming across the yard. Sam turned away from them and ran along the main landing and down the stairs while Brock went back to Nab’s door and continued the familiar routine of scratching and biting while Perryfoot and Warrigal remained on the comer.

As Sam bounded down the stairs his head was in a turmoil trying to think of a plan to keep his master from going upstairs. He decided he would just have to take things as they came. As he reached the tiles at the bottom the door was just opening. It was the one they called Chris; of the two, this was the brother Sam preferred. He seemed to have less of a streak of cruelty in him than the other. Sam decided that he must appear overjoyed to see him; that way he would be noticed more and could play for time. He began to wag his tail furiously and jump up, panting in an attempt to try and lick his face.

‘Hello, Sam. What’s up with you tonight? You’re very pleased I’m back. You’re normally too lazy to stir yourself from the fire. I wonder what’s got into you. I don’t suppose it’s anything to do with this door is it? It’s mighty odd.’ He bent down to examine the hole more closely. At least this was giving them time, Sam thought, but he must get him into the kitchen otherwise they wouldn’t be able to escape from the house. As the Urkku got up Sam wagged his tail again.

‘What do you want? Perhaps it’s a drink you’re after. Come on; I’ll give you one in your bowl in the kitchen,’ and he patted Sam on the head as he led him through. This was easier than Sam had anticipated even though it hadn’t been planned. They went over to the sink and Chris filled Sam’s bowl from the tap and put it down in a comer.

‘Oh, well. I can’t leave that door like that all night; it’ll be freezing in the morning. I’ll just put some carpet over it and then I’m off. Goodnight, Sam,’ and he started towards the open kitchen door.

This is it, thought Sam, who was standing between his master and the door. He’s going to go upstairs.

‘Out of the way, Sam. Let me get past.’

The dog continued wagging his tail.

‘You can’t be hungry; I fed you myself earlier on this evening. I’ve given you water. Now come on, don’t be silly, I’m tired,’ and he tried to walk round the dog.

I’m going to have to keep him here by force, Sam thought, and he suddenly sprang back so that he was barring the doorway and began to growl with all the menace he could muster. He thought of Rufus and of all the times he’d seen this Urkku killing and maiming his friends from the woods and fields and his anger grew so that his hackles rose into a great spiked ridge along his back and his lips pulled up into furrows on either side of his mouth, showing his two great fangs and the rows of teeth behind them. He stood there with his feet set squarely apart and his body quivering, ready to pounce; little drops of saliva began to fall on to the floor. The Urkku was frightened; Sam could smell the fear and the smell stuck in his nose and made him more angry.

‘Sam!’ Chris said. ‘Get back. What’s got into you? Let me get past.’ But there was no authority behind the orders; the supreme confidence that all commands would be unhesitatingly obeyed had evaporated before this transformed creature.

Upstairs Brock was frantically tearing at the hole with his mouth and on the other side, he could see, to his great relief, Nab’s fingers also pulling at it. Suddenly the night was shattered by a loud cry from downstairs.

‘Jeff, come and get this dog off me; it’s gone mad.’

Nab would have to try and get through the hole now; there was no more time. Warrigal and Perryfoot looked desperately at Brock, who called to the boy.

‘Come on,’ he whispered hoarsely.

Nab put his head down and pushed it through but when he tried to follow up with his shoulders they stuck on the sharp jagged splinters at either side. He pushed harder, trying to contract so that his shoulders were hunched forward.

Inside the two bedrooms, the Urkku were waking from their restless sleep. The cry from downstairs had finally broken into the fitful state of half dreams which had kept them tossing and turning for the past two or three hours and, when it came again, the Urkku Jeff pushed the bedclothes back, cursing quietly to himself, and got out of bed. Pausing only to reach under it for his gun he put his slippers on and ran downstairs. When he got into the kitchen he saw his brother cowering in a corner with Sam snarling ferociously in front.

How much longer would they be, thought Sam. It was impossible to keep both of them in here and, besides, he had seen what that gun could do.

Upstairs the boy was still squeezing his shoulders and arms through the hole but as he pushed, the splinters cut into his arms and scraped away the flesh. At that moment, round the comer, the old Urkku came out of the bedroom to be confronted by an owl perched on the banister post in front of him and a huge hare crouching on the landing. Warrigal stared at him, blinked twice and took off silently to glide down the little landing while the hare followed.

‘Mother, come out here,’he said. ‘I don’t believe what I’m seeing.’

Nab was just pulling his feet through the hole when Warrigal and Perryfoot came up to them. The owl spoke.

‘Come quickly. There are two Urkku on the landing blocking our way. We shall have to charge past them. Brock, you go first; you’re big enough to knock them over if they are in our path. Then you, Nab, then Perryfoot and I’ll come last. Don’t stop for anyone and don’t look back. Now, run!’

Brock steeled himself to forget about the pain in his lacerated pads and with all the energy he could gather he bolted off down the small landing, turned the corner and hurtled straight into the legs of the old farmer, who fell back against his wife as she was coming out of the bedroom door.

‘Look, Mother!’ he shouted, and they both stared in amazement from where they had fallen on the floor as Brock dashed past followed by the boy and then a hare and an owl. ‘Stop them, Jeff!’ the old man shouted. ‘They’re coming down the stairs.’

In the kitchen Sam, to his relief, heard the sound of the animals pounding down the stairs and saw the Urkku known as Jeff look round towards the door and begin to walk towards it. If Sam didn’t move quickly the animals would be caught before they could get through. The dog sprang forward and seized his master’s ankle in his teeth, pulling and wrenching at it to try and topple him over. With a cry of pain Jeff swung the rifle butt down and it caught Sam on his head so hard that for an instant he was dazed and let go. At that moment he saw Brock in the doorway followed by the others as they all dived through the hole in the front door. He dashed out into the hall just as Perryfoot’s brown furry back disappeared outside.

‘Quick,’ said Warrigal, hovering just above him. Sam looked back into the kitchen to see Jeff limping towards them with his gun raised to his shoulder.

‘I’ll get you for this, you damn mongrel,’ he yelled, but he was prevented from shooting because the old Master and Mistress had just appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Out of the way, Dad,’ but Sam was through the hole and the owl had followed.

Outside the door Warrigal looked for Bruin. He was standing crouched in the shadows to the right. ‘Run, Bruin,’ he called. Suddenly the door opened and the yard was bathed in light; the Urkku Jeff dashed out and stood with his gun to his shoulder about to fire at the animals who were halfway towards the cowshed at the end. Bruin sprang forward, knocking him on to the ground and the gun clattered as it fell to the concrete. The old badger stood with his great weight on the man’s chest so that he was pinned down and unable to move.

‘Help me, Chris,’ he shouted and the brother ran over and put his hands on Bruin’s two front legs to try to pull him off. The badger quickly sank his fangs into the Urkku’s left forearm and with a squeal of pain he staggered back. Bruin looked up and saw Sam and Warrigal turning the corner at the end of the yard and disappearing out of sight. ‘They should be safe now,’ he thought to himself, and he jumped off the Urkku and began to run as fast as he could after the others but his old limbs no longer had the speed of youth and, though he knew he was moving, the corner of the yard seemed to get no nearer. By the time he was halfway down it his legs had begun to ache and feel heavy with tiredness. There was plenty of time for the Urkku Jeff to pick up his gun, take careful aim and empty both barrels into the old badger.