Contents of article "’Beyond the Hedge’ - Chapter 8 Part 2"
’Beyond the Hedge’
“You do look the business in that kilt,” Pongo said with conviction. “It’s a real humdinger. The sporran’s not bad either.”
“Come over here and say that to ma face, ye cheeky wee dug.”
Pongo shook his head in amused disbelief. “I still can’t get over the fact that you two can talk.”
“For what it’s worth, neither can I,” replied the kilt soberly. “We were just like any other kilt and sporran until MacGregor turned up. That was when I found my voice and, unfortunately, so did the purse.”
“Purse, indeed. See what ah’ve got tae put up with!”
“I wish you were a dress sporran. I can’t imagine one of them being so lippy.”
“Leather’s what I am, and proud of it. I can’t abide those stuck-up posh jobs.”
The skirt and purse had their audience enthralled and Pongo was desperately thinking of ways to fan the flames. He enjoyed nothing better than a good ding-dong and this one was shaping up very nicely.
Sandy was fraying round the edges. “I don’t know if I can cope with this latest development. I prefer my clothes to keep their own counsel. I can hardly think with them chattering on.” The kilt and sporran fell into a respectful silence. “I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that I’m having trouble keeping up. Please don’t take offence.”
“None taken, Sandy. We’re here to help you and to look after you,” said the kilt. “Those were MacGregor’s express wishes.”
Pongo was bursting with curiosity. “Who is this guy? I’d really like to meet him; he sounds intriguing.”
“Meeting him’s the easy part, ye hairy midden. As to who he is, we don’t have a clue. Isn’t that right, kilt?”
“Aye, sporran, that’s about the gist of it.” At last, something they were agreed upon. “I could introduce you to him now if you like.”
“Oh I don’t know,” Sandy said doubtfully. “I’m a bit overwhelmed, but he does sound lovely.”
The overall consensus was that they were keen to find out more about the mysterious cat and the kilt suggested they make their way to the nearest pond or stream. “Those were his instructions, you understand.”
Alfie ushered them out into the garden behind the cottage. “There’s the burn that separates the garden from the copse. Will that suffice?”
Pogo shrugged. “But what do we do when we get there?”
“Don’t ask me, ask them,” he said, laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
Sandy gently tugged the kilt. “I haven’t a clue,” it replied. “Let’s just wait and see what happens. After you, m’dear.”
“And after me, too,” said the sporran who liked to have the last word on most subjects.
The Siamese adopted his customary superior tone. “It seems to me Sandy has no choice in the matter; you lead and she follows.”
“Au contraire,” said the sporran triumphantly, “we can’t go anywhere without Sandy. We’re as good as useless on our own.”
“Surely not,” said the cat, moderating his tone and trying to salvage a morsel of dignity. He felt like kicking himself for being so silly.
Pongo was too preoccupied to notice Jamie’s predicament. “That sporran’s all talk and no action, just as I thought,” he said under his breath. Then with grudging admiration, “The French was unexpected though.”
Peg Leg and Lorimer were following on behind, something no one else had noticed. The gull hopped along beside the lobster who was dressed to thrill in yet another zingy bathing costume.
The crustacean had persuaded a splinter group of stars to form a shimmering cluster above his head which spelt his name. Not very diverting, he had to admit, but it gave them something to do. The poor wee souls were getting bored hanging around.
Peg had no trouble persuading the mischievous stars to rearrange themselves into a banner that proclaimed ‘Dish of the Day: Lobster Thermidor’.
Sandy led this unlikely lot along the narrow, winding path. She paused in front of a bed of aubergines and peppers, stepping back in amazement at the sight of four colossal marrows. Corkscrew-like tendrils spiralled out across the path, their sinuous fingers curling round unsuspecting tomatoes in the bed opposite.
She stopped to wait for the stragglers by the arched stone bridge over the stream which separated the garden from the copse behind. It brought to mind the bridge not far from her school in Ayr which inspired Burns’ poem,‘Tam o’ Shanter’. Prior to her unheralded departure, she had been working on a tricky essay entitled ‘Robert Burns: His Contribution to Scottish Culture’, in no more than five hundred words. An impossible task in less than twenty thousand, at the very least.
Sandy suddenly found herself gripped by an all-consuming desire to be back at ‘Woodburn’ in the secure daily routine of family life and not in this unfathomable world where she didn’t belong.
There was no doubt she’d handled herself well in her encounter with the scrogwit but she’d been plagued by horrible nightmares in which her family were under attack from hordes of demons who’d found their way to Irvine. She’d woken in a lather of perspiration with the strong conviction that she would never see any of them again. The continued separation from Leo had provoked a gloom-laden anxiety which was briefly alleviated by the arrival of the kilt and sporran.
For years Sandy had longed to visit Sylvania and she was ashamed of her emotional wobbliness when it actually became a reality. She tried to maintain an upbeat, cheerful exterior but, as ever, the pixie sensed her mood.
Pogo’s eyes were dark with concern. “You’re homesick, aren’t you?”
Sandy nodded but was too upset to say anything.
“Please don’t be sad, we’re here to take care of you and, by their own words, so are the kilt and sporran. Do you think those two have names?”
Sandy’s face brightened a little.
“You mean us two?” offered the kilt. She couldn’t fail to notice their reaction; she was wearing them after all. “I haven’t had time to think about anything like that. I’m still coming to terms with being able to speak.”
“Come on now, you big jessie, tighten your buckles and pull yourself together.” The sporran gave an impatient flutter. “Ah’ve got a name.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“The name’s Florin. Florin the Sporran.”
“But you only have a few coppers.”
“Which is more than you’ve got. And, before ye say it, I know you don’t carry money.”
“That’s not even a proper rhyme,” said the kilt indignantly.
Pongo nibbled at its hem eagerly. “What’s it to be? Surely you can come up with something better than that?”
“Hmm… something dignified but modest. Not too modest though.” The Henderson tartan kilt grew thoughtful. “Why, of course, ‘Invincible’, that’s the name for me. It has just the right amount of confident authority.”
Pongo sniggered. “Don’t undersell yourself, will you?”
“Vince, it is then,” Florin said gleefully.
And try as the kilt might to persuade him otherwise, Vince it was.
Redshanks’ instinct to follow Mabel Mince had paid off and he returned to The Mischief Maker at a discreet distance behind the buccaneer and his cabin boy.
Indigoletta’s secret agent entered the tavern on the brim of a particularly fancy hat worn by a young goblin. These extravagantly feathered affairs were currently the height of fashion and provided excellent camouflage.
Once inside he picked his way along the worn timber beams below the roof until he was directly above the alcove where the stuffed eagle crouched, forever flexing its wings in preparation for a flight it would never make. Ensuring he was unobserved, the chough darted down and stationed himself on a branch below the raptor. In one slick movement he had become part of the tableau. The cobwebs picked up along the way only served to complete the illusion.
It was a good vantage point and Redshanks was able to see most of the tavern. The mirror behind the counter ran the length of the bar which was to prove extremely useful as it also reflected images from the one above the fireplace.
When Pestilence realised the possible significance of Jedediah’s words, he sat forward and roared his approval. Malahyde pushed him back into his chair. “Wheesht, Cap’n. Easy now. You don’t want to draw undue attention to yourself today.”
The buccaneer was livid at being manhandled. Had it been anyone other than the First Mate who’d dared lay a finger on him, there would have been hell to pay. Grimshaw adjusted his jacket and brushed imaginary specks of dust from his wide velvet cuffs but he was not deaf to sound common sense when he heard it.
“That’s damned fine advice, Jedediah. It’ll be softly, softly from here on. We wouldn’t want anyone else to get in on the act.” The buccaneer felt skittish and fidgety, two adjectives rarely used to describe Pestilence Grimshaw.
“It may yet turn out to be nothing more than a trinket but there’s only one way to find out.”
Malahyde noticed that Smidge and Filch were having a lively conversation with someone who had just joined them. Might this be the long-awaited Jimlet?
“Wait here, Cap’n. I’ll do a quick recce.”
Sandy and Jamie stood on the bridge over the stream at the back of ‘Corbie Cottage’. The rest of the party were gathered on the bank nearest the house. The child’s sadness was almost tangible. Her concern for Leo and the feelings of loss associated with that only served to bolster her increasing anxiety. The kilt and sporran had stopped bickering, caught up as they were in her sombre mood.
Florin broke the silence. “This is awful. For pity’s sake, Vince, get a grip and help her out.”
The kilt was consumed with the desire to pull the tassels off the over-familiar, insolent purse but didn’t have the wherewithal to do so. At a time like this a pair of hands would have been very useful.
“My dear,” said the kilt solicitously, “it’s time you met MacGregor.”
Sandy’s face was ghostly pale. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” The question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular. “It’s just that I feel a bit faint, I don’t know why.”
“Take a deep breath and try to relax,” said Vince kindly. “Concentrate on the water. Look behind it if you can.”
The stream shimmered with dappled sunlight and flickering reflections from the willows on the opposite bank.
At first all she could see was a shift in the patterns on the surface of the water which gradually formed outward moving circles. Sandy felt apprehensive but never once had the desire to look away. She didn’t even blink.
Alfie was struck by the silence. The wind had dropped and there was neither birdsong nor insect noise. When the stillness was complete, at the very moment when everyone collectively held their breath, it happened.
The eyes appeared first and then a longish nose and serious mouth. The ears were tufted like those on a lynx, and the fur was rich shades of gold, brown and sable. A lump formed at the back of Sandy’s throat and she longed to touch the magical beast, to hug him to her. The silence was replaced by a deep, rhythmic rumbling which filled the wood.
Jamie realised what it was straight away and moved closer to the stream in the hope that he might catch a glimpse of the beast that was purring so loudly. The Siamese stared at the beautiful face in the water. The magnificent cat glanced at Jamie then his eyes came to rest on Sandy.
“It’s good to meet you, my dear. I’m MacGregor but I expect you’ve worked that out for yourself.” The cat’s mouth curled upwards in a smile. “Our paths were not meant to cross just yet. We won’t meet properly for at least another thirty years.”
“But I know you, don’t I? You’re so familiar.”
“That’s lovely to hear. What’s time between friends anyway?”
“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”
“I’m always with you and always will be. That’s all you need to know. You could say I’m the feline equivalent of a guardian angel.”
“Are you really? You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.” Sandy pulled a hanky out of her tunic pocket and swiped at her eyes. “That’s wonderful, isn’t it, Jamie?” Her hand flew to her mouth when she realised she might have given her own dear cat cause for offence.
“You’re not offended, are you, Jamie?”
“Not in the slightest, MacGregor. I’m pleased she has someone special looking after her.”
“Don’t underestimate your part in her life. You’re doing a grand job.”
MacGregor turned his attention back to the child. “How are you feeling now, any better? Homesickness is such a bleak emotion.”
“How did you know I was homesick?” she asked in astonishment.
“You can’t hide your inner feelings from me, there’s an unbreakable bond between us. It’s little wonder you’re in a state. Your life’s taken an extraordinary detour in the last few days and the situation here is far from good. An encounter with a scrogwit is enough to give anyone the creeps and, in view of last night’s events, I decided to pay you a visit. I also wanted to make sure the kilt and sporran were behaving themselves. Good choice of names, by the way, boys.”
There were disgruntled mutterings from the kilt about having no choice in the matter whatsoever.
The cat was already starting to fade and Sandy leant out over the bridge. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”
“I’m afraid not. I bent the rules to come here today. You’re happier now, I am pleased.”
“I feel much better thanks to you.”
“Well, bye for now. Be strong and remember what I said, Sandy. You’re never alone. See you in due course. Just one more thing, I’ll be a lot younger than I am now, so you may not recognise me at first.”
Jamie rubbed against her arm affectionately and she hugged him to her. “I wish I could touch his fur, it looked so beautiful.” But MacGregor had already vanished and the wood was once more filled with vibrant birdsong and the steady hum of insects.
Sandy opened her right hand and found she was clutching a chunk of soft, silky fur. She called after him, “I’ll keep it with me always.”
Cassandra’s knowledge of the tunnels through the cliffs above Corvine was second to none and she realised there was no option but to follow Balebreath and his army of scrablings. She left the main tunnel as soon as she could through a small passageway that wound down to the ancient wine cellars underneath the palace.
The hare made her way slowly along the narrow first section and was dismayed to discover the tunnel blocked at the point where it should have opened out. She set about clearing the stones away though her head ached and she felt feverish. Her need to find Queen Celestina kept her going even though she was on the verge of collapse.
In spite of her rapidly deteriorating condition Cassandra managed to dig her way through; she entered the wine cellars on her belly, too weak to walk and barely able to crawl. Squeezing her way through a gap between two vats, the hare collapsed on the damp flagstone floor. Her breathing was laboured and she was wracked with stomach cramps.
The beast knew there was something horribly wrong with her. It was as if she’d swallowed a draft of hemlock, and it was a welcome release when she finally lost consciousness
Indigoletta’s old retainer, Ravenscroft, was making his way through the cellar that housed, among other treasures, the best fingalberry claret. The butler held a blazing torch before him to light the way.
“Are you all right, Mr Ravenscroft? I can go on ahead if you’d rather.” The voice belonged to Perkin Rawclaw, Keeper of the Royal Wine Cellars. He was one of the youngest Rawclaws ever to hold such an important post in royal service and the elf was proud of his position.
The aged butler was more than happy to take Perkin up on his offer and stood back to let him pass.
The elf wore a leather jerkin over a red and black striped tunic and saffron breeches. He carried a storm lantern he’d been given by a seafaring cousin. The glass was engraved with spouting whales and exotic sea creatures set against a background of palm-fringed islands. Their distorted reflections flickered on the limewashed vaulting of the cellar roof.
Rawclaw stopped by the vintage claret and waited for Ravenscroft to make his selection.
Suddenly his eye was caught by a shadowy mass at the foot of an old sherry cask. At first he thought it was a hessian sack but something about the shape made him take a closer look.
The butler came up behind Perkin and peered over his shoulder.
The imp crouched down and placed a hand gently on the bundle. “What do you suppose a hare’s doing down here, and a very sick hare at that?”
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