Contents of article "’Beyond the Hedge’ - Chapter 5 Part 2"
’Beyond the Hedge’
Having been put to bed by Leo after his drunken escapade, Gilbert woke the following morning long before he was able to cope with the situation unfolding in front of his bleary, bloodshot eyes. He was emerging from one of those disorientating nightmares that are terrifyingly lucid but diminish in their potency as the dream gives way to reassuring but all-too-familiar grey reality.
The Giant Rat attempted to raise his pounding head but was immediately overcome by the searing pain which held his brain in an ever-tightening, vice-like grip. Gilbert fell back limply on the shavings. The scoreboard read: Nasty alcohol-related headache - ‘1’. Well-intentioned rat with hangover - ‘Nil’.
“Ooh-er,” he groaned. “It appears I’ve let Leo down again. If I’m not mistaken, that’s him being bundled unceremoniously into a sack while I’m lying here hoping the alebane fairy will put in an unscheduled appearance.”
Leo couldn’t believe what was happening to him but managed one snatched sentence before he was consumed by the coarse, itchy sack. The cat’s voice became increasingly muffled, but his exasperation was manifest. “There’s alebane right beside you, you great lummock.”
The Abyssinian cat knew it was pointless to struggle, but he put up a fight nonetheless. He could hear Gilbert’s indistinct ranting as they were manhandled out of the mineshaft.
The gossipy toads exchanged too many words on the terrible state of affairs the Giant Rat had brought upon himself.
“Dear oh dear, Natterjack. I knew Gilbert was sailing close to the wind, but I didn’t think it would come to this.”
“How were we to know he was such a waste of space? On the subject of sailing close to the wind, I reckon the big poultice might just be heading for a life on the ocean waves.”
Puddock chuckled gleefully. “The voice of reason, as ever, NJ. It’s a crying shame I’m the only one privy to your pearls of wisdom. Sadly, us toads are not regarded as having anything worthwhile to contribute to society.”
A harrumph came from the smaller of the two sacks which was being winched up the shaft. “I don’t think I can bear to listen to another word from those two smart-alecs. I’ve no idea where we’re being carted off to, but please tell me Puddock and Natterjack won’t be joining us.”
Gilbert belly-laughed inside his potato sack. “And so say I, Leo. You’re taking this terribly well. I can scarcely believe you’re the same timid little cat I met so recently.”
“That’s because I’m no longer that ‘timid little cat’, as you so tactfully put it. How could I be in view of all the ridiculous things that have happened to me since I arrived here? Let’s face it, one of us had to take control of the situation.”
Gilbert tittered. “So that’s what you’ve been doing, Leo, and here was me thinking we’d just been kidnapped.”
They were brought up short by a voice from above. “One more word out of either sack and we’ll keelhaul the pair of you.”
The two toads were right again.
The Giant Rat and the Hendersons’ cat were slung across the saddle of a stocky skewbald pony that was tethered near, but not too near, the dastardly holly. The pony received a sharp slap on the rump and lurched forward.
The final indignity was the sound of Puddock and Natterjack singing sea shanties at the bottom of the mineshaft.
A wearying amount of time later the two sacks were emptied onto the gun deck of ‘The Cheeky Monkey’ where a reception committee was waiting to welcome the contents.
Gilbert and Leo sprawled in front of a pair of elegant boots sporting a broad cuff of contrasting leather below the knee.
“How nice to see you again, Gilbert, and so much sooner than I’d expected.”
For a fleeting moment the rat thought things might be looking up for them both. He raised his hopeful pink eyes towards the owner of the boots. “Pestilence, my dear chum. Thank goodness…”
“Now don’t get your hopes up. I’m not your port in a storm nor your treasure chest stuffed with doubloons.”
The rat blinked at Grimshaw in a state of increasing confusion but the pirate continued to smile infuriatingly. “I’ve been less than honest with you, dear chap, in fact I’ve been a downright scoundrel. I knew you were up to something and I had you followed when you left the tavern last night.”
Gilbert gulped in dismay. “I thought you were my friend, Pestilence.”
“’fraid not, Gilb, and from now on you’ll address me as Captain Grimshaw.”
The Giant Rat was well and truly flummoxed when, out of the blue, Leo piped up. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, you great pudding?”
Before the rat could begin to form a response, the Bosun drew his cutlass, rushed forward and flung his arm round the cat’s neck, lifting him clean off the deck. “Apologise to the Cap’n at once or I’ll slit your scrawny throat, you mangy little twerp.”
“For crying out loud, man. He meant the rat not me. Unhand him at once.” Grimshaw rolled his eyes heavenwards. “Preserve me from fools and idiots.”
The Bosun leapt forward again. “Just point me at the fools and idiots, Cap’n, and I’ll toss ’em overboard.”
The buccaneer could hear sailors in the ranks sniggering and his extremely limited patience snapped. He grabbed the man by the lapels of his serge jacket and pulled him roughly towards him. Grimshaw spoke slowly, giving due emphasis to every syllable. “You’re going to have a very busy afternoon, Mr Leitzoff, and I’m going to be left with virtually no crew.”
All the Bosun could muster was a silly, gap-toothed grin. The pungent smell of cheap rum on his breath fuelled Grimshaw’s rage. “…AND NO BOSUN EITHER, BEING AS YOU’RE DAFTER THAN ANYONE ELSE ON THIS SHIP!”
Grimshaw dropped Leitzoff in bored disgust. The Bosun cowered at Grimshaw’s feet, his heavily tattooed arms wrapped protectively round his bristly pate, waiting for the punch that never materialised.
The captain of the pirates decided restraint was the order of the day. His two guests needed a gentle introduction to life on ‘The Cheeky Monkey’.
Leitzoff could hardly believe his luck.
“Trust you to get him in a good mood, you jammy devil,” mumbled a matelot behind him.
Pigsblanket was watching the scene unfold from what he deemed to be a safe distance. The Captain clocked some of the crew peering over his left shoulder and whipped round just in time to see the cabin boy making his escape below deck.
“Oh no you don’t, Pigsblanket. Come over here and greet our guests.”
Gilbert and Leo exchanged nervous looks. The boy was in a terrible state.
“Move it, my little sea-slug. We haven’t got all day.”
The boy limped towards the buccaneer, his eyes cast down in shameful self-loathing.
“Gentlemen,” exclaimed Grimshaw rakishly, toying with the jewelled hilt of his impressive sword, “it’s Pigsblanket who arranged for you to be here today. It could not have happened without his freely given co-operation and undying loyalty to me.”
The Giant Rat’s small, sharp eyes flicked over the boy, missing nothing. He spoke directly to him, bypassing Grimshaw, which only added to the tension that was sending tendrils of fear to the farthest corners of the ship.
“Freely given, is that a fact? So why does he resemble a reluctantly tenderised steak?”
A nervous titter ran through the ranks.
Gilbert scuttled towards the miserable, dishevelled boy. “You were in better shape when we met last night. Please don’t insult me by saying you came by those injuries in pursuit of a ridiculous, tipsy old rodent.”
Pigsblanket remained silent throughout Gilbert’s short speech but he was watching the rat closely, his breathing shallow with concern for the beast. He shot Grimshaw a covert look to find that the captain had Gilbert directly in his sights.
The buccaneer was privately amazed by the Giant Rat’s bravery and disregard for his own safety. Gilbert wasn’t just a bumbling misfit after all. When Grimshaw finally responded there was a hint of grudging admiration in his rebuke. “By jove, ratty, you’re pushing your luck!”
Pogo Pixie sat in the kitchen at ‘Corbie Cottage’ with Jamie curled up next to Sandy on Alfie’s rocking chair. The child was almost asleep but was fighting to stay awake so that she could greet the elf when he returned. She had no idea where he was but it was pretty clear from the mood in the cottage he was on serious business. Her eyes grew heavy and she drifted into a light, fitful sleep.
The day had been hot and humid but that had changed abruptly at sunset. There was a chill in the air which no amount of fuel in the stove was able to shift.
Pogo fetched a blanket from the cupboard in the hall which she wrapped around Sandy and the cat.
Jamie murmured his thanks. Cats are never fully asleep, something you’ll know if you share your life with one or more of these remarkable beasts.
Pongo reacted to an unfamiliar noise in the front garden and reluctantly got to his feet. He was desperate to cut through the mounting tension with a barrage of confidence-building barks but he knew that was not on.
The pixie beckoned him to her and ruffled the top of his head. “I think we ought to investigate, don’t you?”
The dog nodded but his eyes told a different story. Pogo recognised fear when she saw it and realised her own feelings of unease were more than justified.
In spite of his boisterous approach to life, Pongo has an indefinable sixth sense which told him evil was on the prowl in Old Rook Wood. He steeled himself to look braver than he felt. “There’s no need for us both to…”
“That’s OK, I could do with some fresh air.” The dog appeared doubtful and grateful at the same time. “It might even be Alfie,” she added unconvincingly.
They both knew that was rubbish.
Pogo walked out of the kitchen into the hall. “Right then, let’s have a shufti.”
She turned the wrought-iron handle as quietly as she could, something she would never have worried about under normal circumstances. The door to ‘Corbie Cottage’ is rarely closed at this time of year and never locked. It was only shut now because of the unseasonably cool weather.
Pongo nudged it open with his nose and sniffed the night air. At first he couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary as he crept onto the verandah and down the steps.
In the moonlight huddled clumps of shrubs and spires of hollyhocks stood out against the dark swathe of trees facing the cottage.
As Pogo stepped onto the path she felt something brush against her ankle. She was frozen to the spot until a familiar voice brought her back from the edge of fear.
Jamie slunk past in one long, fluid movement. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, taking his place beside Pongo.
When she moved away from the cottage Pogo was overwhelmed by a brooding presence in the garden. The air was thick as lentil broth and she could scarcely breathe.
A feral growl made her break out in goose-pimples. The guttural sound was coming from Pongo who was crouched on the path snarling, his teeth bared, his ears flat. The once sleek Siamese resembled a short-haired bottle-brush.
A shadow passed in front of the moon and, in those few seconds of inky blackness, Pogo saw pairs of malevolent eyes all around them. The sickly smell of sulphur told her they were in the presence of pure evil. She called out but her voice was thin and reedy. Each syllable was stretched until it was unrecognisable. She tried to attract the animals’ attention but her movements were slow and heavy. There was a dreamlike quality to everything.
The pixie felt herself being sucked down under ‘Corbie Cottage’ to a dark, suffocating world from which there was no escape.
Pogo uttered a high-pitched, near silent scream which the dog responded to at once. He moved towards her protectively and, as he did so, spotted Sandy coming towards them. Before he could do anything to stop her she ran down the steps into the garden.
“So that’s where you all are,” she exclaimed happily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Are you waiting for Alfie?”
The dark spell was shattered. The fearsome eyes receded into the trees and the silent wood was once more alive with chirruping crickets and scurrying woodland creatures going about their nightly business. The smell of sulphur melted away and was replaced with the perfume of night-scented stock.
“Those vile eyes were spying on us,” Sandy said calmly.
“Indeed they were,” was all Pogo could muster before she bundled the child back up the steps.
When they were all safely inside the cottage again Pogo slammed the door and stood with her back against it, arms outstretched. “Quickly now, fetch the key!”
The dog rushed across the hall to where the key hung idly on its hook. He had to execute a series of jumps and half-turns before he managed to reach it. He grabbed it between his teeth and belted back to Pogo who snatched it from him. She secured the front door and engaged the stiff bolts top and bottom then ran through to the kitchen and bolted the backdoor as well.
“I’ll check upstairs,” said Sandy and, before Pogo could say “absolutely not”, she was off at the double, taking the stairs two at a time. Jamie kept pace with her as she dashed from room to room closing windows where necessary.
One of the casements in the turret was ajar. The room was in semi-darkness, the furniture hunched and forbidding. She sang a made-up, nonsensical song at the top of her voice to keep her anxiety at bay and reached for the handle on the window.
A winged creature with gangling limbs and hideous yellow eyes let out a terrifying screech and lunged towards her, grabbing her wrist in its twisted, clammy fingers. In one desperate move it sank two razor-sharp incisors into her outstretched hand before she recovered herself enough to hurl it out into the night from whence it came.
“You have no business in this house. Get away from here at once,” she bellowed, banging the window shut. She was stunned by the commanding tone of her own voice. Jamie and Pongo watched in silent admiration.
Pogo lit the oil lamp on the mantlepiece with trembling hands. The furniture shrank back to its usual unthreatening proportions and the painted unicorns and flying horses on the wallpaper once more glittered as they danced forever in their enchanted wood.
Pongo followed the pixie round the room, no more than a fairy inch from her left boot. He had no intention of letting her out of his sight again.
“Let me see your hand,” she said in an uncharacteristically grim voice. Sandy obediently stretched out her right arm. There were two small puncture marks above her index finger which were already beginning to fade. Jamie’s intelligent blue eyes were full of concern.
Pongo was so dismayed by the evening’s turn of events that for once he had nothing to contribute.This was not how things were supposed to be at all.
The pixie’s voice echoed eerily. “You’re very lucky, Sandy. If you were Sylvanian you’d be in a critical state right now. A bite from a scrogwit is usually fatal. Don’t be so headstrong again, even if you’re only trying to be helpful. There’s a vast amount you don’t know about our world.”
Back in the kitchen Sandy started to tremble. The stupidity of what she’d done hit home. “I’m sorry, I got carried away. I didn’t think anything could actually harm me here in Sylvania.”
Pogo laughed unexpectedly, cutting through the tension. “No one’s invincible, not even you. The way things are these days it’s best not to take risks, especially with scrogwits.” Three pairs of solemn eyes were trained on her. “What say we have some tea to steady our nerves?”
Pongo liked the sound of that; business as usual. Perhaps not a cup of tea, but that bowl of leftover chops he’d seen in the larder earlier would be most acceptable.
“You surprise me, Pongo, I can’t imagine you preferring chops when there’s tea on offer. What a strange dog you are.”
“Very funny, PP.”
“What about you, Jamie?”
The cat inclined his head towards her. “I’ll join Pongo on the chop front, if that’s all right with you.”
This exchange raised Sandy’s spirits but the dog couldn’t fail to notice she was still shivering. He picked up the discarded blanket and tugged it across the floor. “There you go,” he said gently, draping it over her knees.
Jamie jumped onto her lap and embarked on a rich sequence of mellow, comforting purrs.
“Would you look at that,” said Pongo, “she’s got her very own living hot-water bottle. How about a nice cosy footwarmer as well?” He snuggled up under Sandy’s dangling feet. “You can use my fur to keep your tootsies warm until I feel brave enough to nip upstairs for your slippers.”
“I’ve heard that chops are good for the nerves.”
“Is that so, PP? I’d better get stuck into them at once to see if you’re right.”
Jamie winked at Pogo. “Chops are most restorative. I’m sure I’ve heard Captain H. say as much on more than one occasion.”
“Well then, that settles it. Ralph’s no dim-wit.”
Jamie stretched lazily. “How very nice of you to say so, Pongo. I’ll be sure to tell him what you’ve just said when I arrive back in Irvine.”
Pongo looked uncomfortable. “Those very words?”
“Absolutely,” simpered the Siamese, “he’ll be flattered to know you hold him in such high regard.”
The meeting of the Clandestine Council finally came to an end some five hours after it began.
Prince Hamish had a quick word in the Royal Raven’s ear which resulted in Indigoletta tactfully suggesting that Crawford might like to fly her home. She wasn’t one for effusive apologies but she knew it was the right thing to do. She was mortified that she’d flipped him upside down on their shared perch without even realising she’d done so. These were trying times and her nerves were shot to pieces but that was still no excuse. It was time to pull herself together. A long-overdue visit to the Cave of Sublime Spirit was what she needed to smooth out her emotional wrinkles and she told Crawford as much on the way to her quarters.
“That would be most efficacious, ma’am. Perhaps I ought to do the same myself?”
“Indeed you should, Crawf,” she said good-naturedly. “You could do worse than follow that up with a visit to Cressmere spa. The Prince of Cobalt-Sibilance is likely to find himself very busy in the next day or two in view of the state we were all in tonight. I’ve arranged for Will to spend some time with him in the morning. A bit of meditation with the snake will do wonders for him.”
On a whim they decided to fly out over the mighty crags that shelter the royal palace from the full might of the Whiteraven Sea. The massive cliffs rose up before them in all their glory and the wind beneath their wings was invigorating.
“I know I have an enormous sense of my own importance, Crawford,” called the raven above the roar of the waves, “but we really must endeavour to maintain standards and dignity must prevail.”
They landed on the balcony outside Indigoletta’s aerial conservatory.
“Dignity must prevail, ma’am? I can’t say I felt particularly dignified hanging from that perch.”
Indigoletta made no response and Crawford thought he’d gone too far. He needn’t have worried, the Royal Raven might be proud and pernickety but she’s far from humourless.
“Fair comment, Crawf. Do join me for a swift glass of mulberry wine. I’m forever telling anyone who will listen about its wonderful properties. You might feel fortified enough to spin me round m’favourite branch before you leave.”
Crawford was too shocked to reply which amused Indigoletta no end.
“On reflection that would take at least half a bottle and time’s not exactly on our side.”
Kismet moved through Old Rook Wood with his mixed bag of passengers in the howdah. They had just parted company with Grimpen and were beginning to pick up speed again.
The lilac and blue fairy mouse was in her usual position up front on a tasselled cushion. She tugged the huge cat’s left ear to attract his attention.
“Is there a problem, Wainscot?”
“The lobster’s just fallen out of the howdah.”
The Sylvanian Forest Cat came to a halt.
Alfie called from his seat at the back. “What’s up, Kismet?”
“Lobster overboard,” affirmed the cat calmly.
“For pity’s sake,” cried the vexed crow, “this is the absolute limit!
Honestly, Peg, why did you let him come here with you?”
The seagull shrugged. “It’s hard to explain, but my instincts told me it was the right thing to do; so here we both are, like it or lump it.”
The Prince of Cobalt-Sibilance had woven himself into a splendid crown and was sitting beside Wainscot on Kismet’s head. It was a case of the crown with the crown on top. “S-sort it out would you, Will?”
The imp jumped over the side and slid down the Forest Cat’s furry flanks. He landed on the ground to discover Lorimer clambering up the cat’s copiously hairy tail. The lobster was making remarkably good progress. “When we swung round that last corner I was tossed out of the bucket of spa water Her Majesty insisted I should have. Thank you for coming to my aid but I seem to be getting on rather well.”
“Aye aye, sir,” said Will clutching at chunks of fur as he scrambled after the ungainly creature. There was more to the lobster than designer clothes and state-of-the-art eye gear.
With Lorimer reinstated in his silver bucket they continued through the wood towards ‘Corbie Cottage’.
Sammy had been so taken up with affairs of the Clandestine Council that he’d ceased to pay proper attention to fleeting images from his third eye which swept in and out of his consciousness.
The snake centred his thoughts and slipped easily into a trance-like state. What he saw made him reel with shock. No wonder the council members were finding it hard to concentrate. The dark side was gaining in confidence to such an extent that it now threatened boundaries which had been in place for more years than there were hairs on Grimpen’s head.
Sammy gently hissed in Kismet’s ear. “I don’t want to alarm anyone, but could you step on it without decanting the lobster? I’ve received some very disturbing pictures and I need to assure myself that Pogo and the others are all right.”
The sleek, midnight-blue hare stood at the foot of a wind-blasted Sylvanian pine, one of a group of three high above Corvine harbour. The tree in the middle is a landmark used by sailors to navigate safely through the hazardous reef into the calm waters of the harbour within.
The beautiful creature was staring intently at a garishly painted vessel anchored below.
‘The Cheeky Monkey’, resplendent in bubblegum pink, turquoise and canary yellow, swung ostentatiously on her moorings as the tide swept in over the sandbar.
Sullen storm clouds were forming above Fractal Reef and a north-easterly intensified as the sky grew dark and threatening. That in itself was strange enough at this time of year but Cassandra was not concerned with matters meteorological. She was watching her arch-enemy Pestilence Grimshaw prancing around like the cat who’d stolen a scrumptious roast chicken and scoffed the lot before anyone noticed it was missing from the table. Had it not been beneath his dignity, the buccaneer would have been dancing a sailor’s hornpipe. Instead he was laughing his head off and repeatedly slapping his thigh in a ‘who’s a clever boy then’ kind of fashion.
The hare had been paying particular attention to his movements since he arrived in Corvine, something she never failed to do when he was in port, for Grimshaw had committed the worst sin against any mother. He had killed her children and eaten them in a game pie.
The hare had lain awake night after night until the months turned into years while she schemed and plotted her revenge and his downfall. The hatred she felt for Grimshaw consumed her, something she was ashamed to acknowledge, but then she had nothing else to live for.
Tonight was different and Cassandra was struck by the intensity of her conviction. For the first time since the cruel murder of her babies, she felt relief from the burden of her own despair.
The buccaneer was distinctly pleased with himself. It was as if Grimshaw had been given a treasure chest full of rubies, only to discover that his benefactor wanted him to have a chest crammed with emeralds as well.
He strode towards his cabin calling Pigsblanket’s name at the top of his powerful voice. The boy ran on deck, clutching his bandaged ribs which ached from the beating.
“Mr Malahyde will be joining me and my guests for dinner tonight. I don’t want Gilbert and Leo thinking we’re barbarians, so dust off the best china and glasses, my little sea ’cumber. And fetch the cutlery inlaid with pearls and diamonds that puts me in mind of mermaids’ tears.”
The hare could clearly hear Grimshaw’s words above the wind and she felt light-headed and reckless at the mention of Gilbert and Leo. The word hare-brained came to mind.
Cassandra knew she had stumbled upon something major. The whole of Crawdonia was looking for the little cat and, thanks to her obsession with Grimshaw, she’d found him without even trying.
She turned away from the harbour wondering what to do next, but there was only one course of action. It was imperative to get word to Queen Celestina.
She followed the crumbling cliff path, nimble as a mountain goat, then jinked under some scrubby gorse bushes that conceal the entrance to a disused tunnel which winds down through the hillside in the direction of the royal palace.
Cahoots flew low over Fractal Reef.
The dragon had managed the first part of his journey without incident; his next task was to find Pestilence Grimshaw and deliver his mother’s message.
Maligna had furnished him with a good description of ‘The Cheeky Monkey’, including its gaudy colour scheme, something she had assured him Pestilence never altered. The pirate wanted everyone to know exactly whose ship she was and what better way was there than to make her eye-catchingly memorable.
Had the dragon been able to read he would have seen the ship’s name painted boldly across her bows and stern but, as he couldn’t, Cahoots wanted to be absolutely sure it was the right vessel. Maybe the tall man on the gun deck, who was consumed with mirth, might be able to help. The dragon felt sure the laughing buccaneer had to be one of the good guys, but then Cahoots was young and inexperienced with a huge amount to learn about life.
He banked sharply over the palace and, having scared himself silly in a near collision with a flagpole flying the royal standard, managed to recover himself in time to persuade his trembling wings to carry him down to the harbour.
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