Before he had reached seven the four foxes were rapidly vanishing into the distance down the dusky path.
Thrugg and Dumble camped at the edge of the path that night, beside two curiously shaped stones known to travelers as "the otter and his wife" because of their odd contours. Seated by a merry little fire they had a good supper of beechnut scones, cherry cake and cider.
Thrugg stirred the flames with a stick as he ruminated. "Hair, who knows what lies beyond the 'orizon tomorrer, matey."
Baby Dumble also picked up a stick and prodded the fire,
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nodding his head seriously as he imitated his big otter friend. "Oh harr, matey. Might be more foxes an' serpinks. But you stick wiv Dumble, Mista Thugg. I'll take care of ya."
Stifling his laughter, Thrugg tossed his warm jerkin at the infant. "You liddle villain, I'll take care of you if you're not asleep soon. Wrap y'self in that there jerkin."
The quarter-moon hung like a golden sickle in the summer night. Hardly a breeze stirred the mantle of the woodlands as the two adventurers settled down to rest by the fire's glowing embers.
19
The Guosssom shrew flotilla cut off down sidestreams and weaved its course along barely navigable waterways shrouded by hanging vegetation from tree, bush and foliage. Mara and Pikkle had lost all sense of direction, but the voyage was soothing and the quiet waters transmitted a sense of tranquillity. The young badger maid lay across the prow, half asleep as she watched sunlight dappling through a tunnel of willows onto the barely rippling waters. Dragonflies hummed and once a kingfisher flashed past like a brilliant jewel. Her sense of urgency over returning to Salamandastron waned as, lulled by the steady dip and fall of shrew paddles, she was overcome by lassitude and slipped into the realm of sleep.
The treetrunk boats drifted to rest with a slight bump against a bank overhung by lavender, willow and rowan. Nordo cupped his paws and gave a short call.
"Logalogalog, Guosssom home!"
Only half awake, Mara and Pikkle were escorted through a tunnel in the bankside which opened out into a well-lit and spacious cave. All around them shrews were bustling hither and thither, carrying food from earth ovens to long shelves around the side of the cave which served as tables.
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"I say, this is more like it, wot?" Pikkle rubbed his paws together in anticipation. "Shrew tucker and loads of it, by the look of things. Lead on, old Log-a-thing!"
Log-a-log and Nordo seated them at a semicircular ledge. Immediately as they had sat down, a large fat shrew, accompanied by two small thin ones, approached them with a scowl on his face. He prodded Mara and Pikkle roughly.
"You've taken our places. Those seats are for Guosssom shrews, not for ragtag stripedogs an' rabbits!"
Before either of them could say anything, Log-a-log gave the fat shrew a sharp shove. "Mind your manners, Tubgutt. These are my friends. Go and sit at the other end with your pals, do you hear me?"
Log-a-log's paw strayed to the rapier at his side. Nordo stood beside his father, grim-jawed and ready for trouble. Tubgutt gave them a surly glance and retreated to the seats at the other side of the table, muttering something to the two thin shrews, who nodded and sniggered rudely.
The shrew fare was excellent, starting with shrimp and watercress soup, then on to an admirable salad served with soft white bankcheese, and after that there was a magnificent pas-tie of chestnuts, mushrooms and leeks, followed by hot spiced apple pudding. The two friends did the food full justice, washing it down with beakers of sweet shrewbeer.
Log-a-log watched Pikkle eating and shook his head in amazement. "Witherin' waterweeds! Where do you put it all, Pikkle?"
The young hare demolished his second portion of apple pudding and licked the spoon clean. "No bother, old Log-a-thing. Scoffin' is me fav'rite sport, wot!"
"Rabbits can't scoff, it takes a shrew to do real scoffin'." The loud remark came from Tubgutt, who was sneering openly at them across the table.
Pikkle chuckled as he waved his spoon. "Maybe rabbits can't scoff, m' fat friend, but I'm Pikkle Ffolger, a hare from Salamandastron, and I'll scoff you under the table any day in the season!"
Tubgutt stood up, his face dark with temper. "Nobeast can
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outscoff Tubgutt of the Guosssom!"
Pikkle turned to Log-a-log. "May I?"
Log-a-log nodded. "Certainly, Pikkle. But watch out for Tubgutthe's sly. I've noticed that he was waiting to challenge you, so he has hardly touched any food,"
Pikkle shrugged. "Well, I only did a quick practice scoff m'self."
A table that was formed from an old oak stump in the center of the cave was cleared. Seated at it, Pikkle and Tubgutt faced each other as Log-a-log stated the rules.
' 'Do both contestants agree to hot spiced apple pudding?' *
Both the protagonists nodded and picked up their spoons.
Log-a-log waved a paw to the servers as he continued, "It is a contest to a pawstill, then. Bowley the cook will count the dishes emptied by each creature. Shrewbeer may be drunk while eating. No half-finished dishes will count, and no throwing food on the floor or hiding it in clothing. First one unable to raise his spoon from the bowl must admit defeat. Make it a good clean scoff and best of luck to you both. Spoons ready ... then begin!"
Servers fought their way to the table through the throng of Guerrilla Shrews packing round the two contestants. Steaming hot spiced apple puddings were stacked at its center as hare ate against shrew. Tubgutt went to it in a rush, spooning out three bowls of pudding in record time, his fat jaws working madly as the spoon plowed up and down in a blur. Pikkle paced himself, eating slow but big mouthfuls, chewing each morsel with relish. A large contingent of the shrews began cheering for Tubgutt. Mara stood between Log-a-log and Nordo, viewing the proceedings from a ledge some distance away.
Tubgutt had downed five bowls to Pikkle's two. Nordo was beginning to look worried.
"That Tubguttlook at the speed of him! He's picking up his sixth bowl. What's the matter with Pikkle? He's awfully slow, Mara."
The badger maid merely smiled. "Don't fret yourself. Pik-
kle can hold his own with creatures twice his size. He's eating slowly because he's enjoying it. Tubgutt may be fast, but he's no Pikkle Ffolger. You watch!"
Back at the table, Pikkle licked his spoon clean, quaffed down a beaker of shrewbeer and began on his third pudding. "Absolutely delicious pud, wot? You must tell cook to give me the recipe. Old Tubbyguts is enjoyin' it, too, aren't you old lad? My my, you are a messy eater, Tubbyguts!"
With pudding festooning his chin and apple smeared across his face, the fat shrew lifted his head and glared at Pikkle. "The name's Tubgutt, hare, and I'll make you sorry you ever went into a contest against me!"
"Sorry, old chap? One could never be sorry with all this beautiful scoff about. May I pour you some more shrew-beer?"
At the end of his eighth bowl Tubgutt began to slow down. He put the bowl aside and reached for another. Bowley the cook rapped his paw with a ladle.
"Bowl not finished there. Still puddin' in it, see."
"Never mind, chum." Pikkle grabbed the bowl from Tubgutt. "You carry onI'll finish it. Waste not want not, that's what we always say back at the mountain!"