THE BLACKBERRY WITCH: chapter 8

All chapters of The Blackberry Witch

VIII. Thieves and Tricks and Traps

“Thomas!”

The voice was faint and soft and Thomas was mostly sure he’d imagined it. No one could be calling him, for he was alone, soaring in the clouds, winged and feathered—no, perhaps not; perhaps he was swimming in the deep dark ocean, his hair scraggly with ocean fronds and moss, but still alone.

“Thomas!”

The voice was louder now, more insistent. The ocean-water drained away from him and Thomas’s limbs slowed. He was lying down, he realized, lying down on his bed in his home in his village, but something smelled like animals. It wasn’t a bad smell, Thomas thought, but curious: a combination of living fur and cooked flesh, with a hint of melted butter and thyme and the sweet aroma of simmered fruit.

Strange, thought Thomas, that my bedroom should smell like this.

“Thomas, gallant friend, awake! The time for adventuring has come anew!”

Suddenly Thomas recognized the voice and the smells. He blinked open his eyes. He was lying on his side in a makeshift bed of clothes and straw and assorted small cushions, staring at the curved earthen wall of what the Mouse King had called his “most elaborate and inviting guest-chambers.” The room was indeed cozy, if a bit small, and Thomas stretched out his curled-up legs, expecting stiffness.

To his surprise and relief, he felt none. In fact, as he sat up and scrubbed away the grogginess from his eyes, he realized that he felt remarkably well rested, especially for sleeping in a mouse-den. Thomas looked around. Light from the torches outside spilled through the circular doorway, and he could see Mouse Knights and stewards and couriers milling about or standing watch in the hall.

Thomas looked down. Cathán Caolán, First Captain and Mouse Knight of the Thistledown Kingdom, stood on all four paws on Thomas’s left knee. He wore his acorn-shield on his back and his sharp stick at his side, and in his paws he held the mask he’d worn when he and Thomas had first met.

Cathán noticed Thomas looking at the mask. “We’ve stealth-work ahead of us,” the mouse explained, gesturing with the mask. “Best to be covered and inconspicuous so we’re not recognized. I don’t think we have any masks that will fit you, unfortunately, but you’ll probably be okay. You’re not from these parts of the woods, after all.”

Thomas nodded. “What time is it?”

Cathán wrinkled his nose a little, sniffing. “Three o’clock in the morning, I believe. High time for another adventure! My scouts have returned with wonderful reports, Thomas. The boar we heard earlier, the one who was snuffling and stamping and causing such a ruckus? He’s now sleeping again, holed up and snoring the night away. This is the best time to steal a bit of his tusk, except for when he’s dead, of course. But let’s try sleeping first.”

The Mouse Knight leapt to the floor and scampered to the door, then looked back at Thomas. “Bring your belongings and your intrepid spirit, Thomas, and I’ll bring the foodstuffs and provisions and the keen nose to sniff out slumbering boars. On to another adventure!”

Cathán’s excitement was contagious, even at three o’clock in the morning, and Thomas found himself smiling as he stood and shook the hay from his clothes and followed the First Captain out into the hall.

The mouse-city of Luchamhá was quieter now, the revelers and rioters and feasters and warriors all tucked away in sleeping-holes or drowsing together in piles like little puppies. Thomas smiled anew at the sight. A few were awake, besides the Mouse Knights on watch and the various attendants at their duties, but whether these were still awake or had already risen, Thomas could not say.

They reached the main hall. Thomas was impressed to find that the debris of the great feast had been cleared away; the tables and stools sat clear and clean except for where mice slept on cushions or where stacks of scrubbed plates awaited carting off. The Mouse King and the Mouse Queen keep an orderly court, he thought, glancing toward the Royal Seat. The throne was empty; Thomas scrubbed his eyes again, wondering if he had been expecting to see them dozing in their finery.

“They’ve gone to bed, of course,” Cathán said from the ground ahead. He grabbed a bow and a quiver of darts and slung them across his back. “But they instructed me to pass on their utmost thanks and respect for your assistance in the battle with the Nathaia Iór, and to reiterate their offer of help whensoever you need. Oh, and Brother Mouse—Baylock the Bold, that is—told me to tell you that he’d love to challenge you in single combat whenever you’re next in Luchamhá. A friendly bout, naturally.” Cathán glanced back at Thomas, appraised him a moment, and squeaked. “You could use some training, but you could probably best him.”

The First Captain of the Mouse Knights led Thomas back up the stairs and through the passage toward the Great Door. Thomas was no less unnerved by the unraveling of the roots of the Tree of Opening than before, but his exit was a little more agile than his entrance had been, and for that he felt pleased.

Despite the urgency of his quest, and his longing for his own bed, Thomas realized he would miss the wondrous mouse-city of Luchamhá. He said as much to Cathán.

“Aye,” said the Mouse Knight, scampering now up Thomas’s trouser-leg and leaping thence to his left sleeve. “Always a bittersweet farewell to leave the Royal Seat behind, no matter the lure of fresh adventure.” He jumped up to Thomas’s shoulder and settled in. “Still, surely you will return many times over to feast and carouse and sing with us, friend Thomas. The mice of the Thistledown Kingdom never forget our cherished friends, and I believe we have many more years of travel and sport and victorious battle ahead of us, you and I.”

Thomas was comforted by the mouse’s certainty that he would return to Luchamhá, and he focused now on the task before him. “Where do we go now?”

“Over that way, back toward the brambles.” Cathán pointed. “The scouts say the boar is fast asleep, but we should try to tread lightly nonetheless.”

Thomas walked as quietly as he could, though it was difficult to avoid the crunch and snap of fallen leaves in the dark. Moonlight twinkled through the trees here and there, pale and white, giving him just enough light to follow Cathán’s whispered instructions. Occasionally the Mouse Knight pointed objects of interest: a site of a great battle of mouse lore, an owl’s nest now lively in the night, a forest fox twitching in his sleep, and a good number of trees with oddly twisted branches or little knots that looked like faces or particularly tasty acorns.

Thomas listened and walked. He tugged his knit cap down over his ears when the breeze came sideways through the trees. Otherwise, his jacket was plenty warm against the cool night, and he appreciated the extra warmth from Cathán’s tiny body on his shoulder.

For his part, the Mouse Knight seemed to delight in the telling of stories. He hardly paused for breath, gesturing with one or two paws and frequently his tail as well, adding a few squeaks to punctuate important moments or to convey the gravity of a rare defeat in battle the Thistledown Kingdom had suffered ages before.

It was therefore a great surprise when Cathán fell suddenly silent. Thomas stopped short and looked around, and then he heard the snoring. It was yet some distance off, but deep and rumbling and heavy.

“The boar?” he asked quietly.

“Aye,” replied Cathán, a smile in his voice.

Thomas’s heart began to beat in time with the snores, and nearly as loud in his own ears. He swallowed. “What should we do?”

Cathán patted him on the ear. “Follow the sound and find the boar, of course! Here, I’ll lead the way. You stick close behind me.”

He dropped to the forest floor and crept on ahead. Thomas followed, watching his friend dart through patches of moonlight to pools of shadow. Thomas tried to do the same, delaying in the shade of tree-trunks and hurrying through open places as Cathán led him around the side of a hill and into a tall stand of firs.

Cathán and Thomas halted a short way into the trees before a large tangle of brambles. “Wait a moment,” Cathán said, climbing up one of the vines. He disappeared into the briars, only a little rustling marking his movements through the thicket. The boar’s snoring was much louder here.

He must be enormous, thought Thomas.

Cathán returned before Thomas could worry himself much further. “There’s an entrance for you around this way,” the Mouse Knight said, his little head peeking out from the brambles. “Come here to the left; you can pass through the wall and into the outskirts of the boar’s domain.”

Thomas gulped and walked closer to the bramble-tangle, then followed Cathán’s rustling to the left. After a dozen paces, he reached a small opening half his height and, stooping with arms tucked in to avoid the thorns, passed through the wall of briars and into the boar’s domain.

Beyond the briars and beneath a large oak tree, Thomas saw a mound of earth partially illuminated by pale moonlight and covered in tussocks and tufts of thick grass. The boar’s snoring was loudest now; the strands of long grass quivered and the earth-mound vibrated with each cycle of the beast’s noisy breathing. Thomas held back while Cathán darted forward to scurry over the mound and around its perimeter.

The Mouse Knight completed his sweep and climbed back onto Thomas’s shoulder. “Well, we’ve definitely found the boar’s den,” Cathán whispered into Thomas’s ear. His whiskers tickled a little. “He’s snoring away underground, below that mound of earth. There’s a hole on the other side. It’s about as high as your waist and twice as wide as you are, to give you some idea of the size of the boar. You could certainly fit through the hole, but I think the boar’s sleeping right near the entrance. His great yellow tusk caught a bit of the moonlight when I peered in.”

“I’d like to avoid going into a boar’s den if I can,” Thomas replied quietly. “Luchamhá was lovely, but I don’t suppose the boar keeps his quarters quite as nice.”

Cathán shook his head emphatically.

“Well,” said Thomas, looking about, “how do we get a fragment of his tusk? The witch said it has to be about the size of my thumbnail.” He held up his hands to show Cathán. “That’s not much. Perhaps the boar has some old pieces of tusk lying about?”

“Could be,” said the Mouse Knight, sliding down Thomas’s arm to peer more closely at his thumbs. “We should just ask him for some of his tusk.”

“What?” Thomas let his hands drop; Cathán squeaked a little and climbed back up to his shoulder-perch. “We can’t just ask a boar for some of his tusk.”

“Seems a gentle enough fellow, near as I can tell,” replied Cathán, leaning against Thomas’s neck and slouching down with a comfortable sigh. “And this is his house, after all. We can give a few strong raps at the door, wait for him to wake up, chat with him for a minute about this and that, and then politely ask for a bit of his tusk.”

Thomas furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure that will work.”

“No? It’d work if someone wanted some of my fur. What if someone asked you very nicely for a sliver of fingernail? Surely that wouldn’t put you out much.”

“Well, no,” said Thomas, “but I’m not a boar, and neither are you. Maybe the boar is like us, friendly and compassionate—or maybe he’s like the Nathaia Iór, all dangerous and angry. He sounded ferocious earlier. Besides, it’s after three o’clock in the morning. I might be a little irritable if someone woke me up and wanted to take something from me, and I’m just a boy, not a great loud boar.”

Cathán chittered in contemplation. “I see what you mean, Thomas,” he answered after a minute. “You’ve thought this out very clearly, and you’re quite right. No need for tempting a boar’s temper, especially not at this hour. Very well; we cannot ask the boar for a bit of his tusk. And I assume you won’t want to resort to violence to get it from him?”

“No,” said Thomas with a shake of his head. “I don’t like being a thief, but I won’t attack him unprovoked.”

“Good. There is no bravery or honor in such a thing, whereas thievery does have a certain underhanded charm to it.” Thomas could hear the Mouse Knight’s smile. “Every hero must now and then be a rogue to accomplish his noble pursuits! And we can always recompense the boar later on, once we’ve saved your sister and defeated the witch.”

“I like that idea,” said Thomas. “So how do we snatch a bit of his tusk without waking him?”

“Well,” said Cathán, standing up, “I believe that if we just—”

“Cathán,” Thomas interrupted urgently, “listen.”

The Mouse Knight fell silent, and as he did, a deeper and more ominous silence settled over the mound of earth. Neither whisper of wind nor rustle of bramble-branch nor booming rolling snore of sleeping boar disturbed the quiet of the enclosed domain. All was still in moonlight and shadow.

“Cathán,” Thomas repeated, “what happened to—”

“THIEVES!”

The voice was a terrible roar made all the louder by the quiet of the forest. It rumbled from the far entrance of the boar’s den, a deep and menacing snarl and filled with ire. Thomas froze where he stood.

“Thieves and tricks and traps!” continued the voice, louder with each word. “Come to steal a tusk! Foul boys and scraggly mice! Thieves!”

“Thomas,” said Cathán, too calmly, “I think we should run and hide now. Quickly, if you please.”

Thomas obeyed, spinning on shaky legs and darting back beneath the brambles. He lurched a few steps forward, tripped a little on protruding roots, and slid on his knees to a stop behind a wide oak-trunk. There he crouched, knees to chest, satchel clutched tight, Cathán warm and trembling against his neck.

The voice had ceased. They waited and listened for movement, neither daring to move or hardly to breathe. After a minute or two, to their great surprise, a familiar sound reached them from the earthen mound beyond the brambles: a loud, long snore, followed by another and another in regular rhythm.

Thomas craned his neck and turned to share a bewildered look with Cathán. The Mouse Knight appeared equally bemused.

“Perhaps he spoke in his sleep?” Cathán suggested, replacing his needle-sword in the frayed belt at his waist. His tail twitched. “We should go back to check.”

Thomas didn’t like that idea at all, but he couldn’t think of another way to get a fragment of boar’s tusk, so he stood and brushed off his trousers and quietly crept back to the bramble-wall. This time he stayed well away from the mound, pressing as close as he could to the tangle of briars and vines, stepping only when the loud snoring filled the woods.

He had just laid eyes upon the dark hole that served as entrance to the boar’s den when the snoring cut off suddenly and was replaced by a wordless bellow even deeper and more menacing than before.

“Thieves and scoundrels and blighted pickpockets! Come for treasure and treachery! Thieves in the night!”

Thomas needed no prompting this time. He bolted for the gap in the briars, rolled through, and ran twice the length as before until he found a large yellow gorse. He ducked behind it and pressed himself into the spiny leaves, breath shallow and fast, Cathán clutching the collar of his jacket after the madcap flight from the boar’s den.

Neither moved for long minutes until at last their hearts had settled back to normal thump-thump rhythms and the boar’s snores had—of course—begun to fill the woods again. Thomas slumped into a sitting position, tipped his head back, and rubbed his eyes wearily. Cathán released his tight grip and slid down Thomas’s jacket-sleeve to pace the patch of earth before them.

“You’re not going to like this, Thomas,” Cathán said at length. “Frankly, I don’t like it much either. Not one bit. But there’s nothing for it.”

“What is it?” Thomas asked.

The Mouse Knight stopped pacing. “We’ve got to go back to the boar’s den. Thrice braved is thrice lucky, or so the mouse-mages of the Whiskered Wood say, and anyway we’re so close to snatching a bit of tusk that we’d rue it forever if we didn’t give it one last go.”

Thomas sighed. “Aye,” he said, straightening his knit cap, “you’re right. One last time. Let’s go.”

Cathán returned to his perch and Thomas walked back toward the boar’s domain. His footfalls were soft on the grass and earth; the woods were rather peaceful and pretty in these predawn hours, Friday still slumbering in preparation for spreading streaks of rose and gold and gray across the sky. Only the boar’s rumble, increasing in volume and vibration the nearer they drew, spoiled the silence and serenity.

Resigned though he was to their third attempt, Thomas still trembled as he ducked under the bramble-arch and crept toward the entrance to the den. Thrice lucky but for whom? he thought, wishing he’d brought more than his spyglass and empty pouch and travelling book and lucky charm in his satchel. Even a hefty rock or stout branch would have given him some comfort; but there were none about.

The snoring ceased. “Thieves!” came the voice again. “Treacherous thieves!”

“Hold fast, Thomas,” whispered Cathán, though his tail stood straight up. The Mouse Knight drew his sword and shield. “Hold.”

“Thieves! Thieves!” shouted the rumble-voice. Loose dirt on the mound of earth sprinkled down with each booming word. “Begone from my domain, ye slippery sneaks! Mine is mine! Thieves!”

Thomas gritted his teeth against the awful sound. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms had risen and refused to lie flat. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then removed them and let them hand. His palms were clammy and cold.

“Thieves! Begone!”

“Thomas,” said Cathán, in a rare lull, “let’s go peek inside.”

“Are you sure?” asked Thomas fretfully.

“No,” admitted the Mouse Knight, “but we’ve lasted this long, haven’t we?”

“Thieves!” cried the voice again. “Despicable intruders!”

Thomas took a few hesitant steps forward. He peered through the entrance-hole into the darkness of the den. He saw a glint of moonlight on something yellow and solid. It looked like bone: a long, curved tusk. Thomas swallowed hard and took another step.

“I’ll go take a look,” Cathán offered, though Thomas knew the mouse felt no braver than he. “Be ready to run or fight, my valiant friend.”

The Mouse Knight jumped softly to the ground and darted forward through the grass to stand upon the threshold of the den. His little nose sniffed at the air. He held his sword point-out into the darkness.

The voice, which had fallen silent for a moment, returned with an ear-splitting roar that shook the leaves from the trees and resounded through Thomas’s chest and ribs and chattered his clenched teeth. He clapped his hands to his ears, afraid even to move.

When he removed them a second later, however, the roar had faded and was replaced by—strangest of noises—laughter. Laughter high and shrill filled the enclosed domain of the boar, lilting on the wind, rising and falling with chirps and interspersed with quick wheezes of breath. Thomas let his hands drop and looked up to the source of the new sound.

In the trees overhead, perched on an overhanging oak-branch, a large raven with midnight feathers was shrieking and howling with laughter. The bird seemed in the very throes of humor and just a twitch away from plummeting from its roost; it hopped from one foot to the other, from twig to branch to twig again, cawing and chuckling and clutching its broad chest with feathery wings like hands.

Thomas glanced back at Cathán. The First Captain of the Mouse Knights stood at the entrance to the den, his sword discarded, his fur bushy and his tail straight up, glaring at the raven above. Cathán noticed Thomas’s look and hastily smoothed down his fur, never taking his glowering brown eyes from the laughing bird.

Thomas tilted his head back and squinted in the dark at the black raven. As he concentrated, he could hear a few words and phrases amid the laughter, though they were nearly drowned out and incomprehensible as the raven continued to howl: “Scared as crickets—! Should have seen—! Throw my voice—! Bushy fur like a porcupine—! A sleeping boar—! Dreadfully amusing—!”

Thomas heard an angry squeak and looked back at his mouse friend. Cathán had given up on smoothing down his bristling fur and instead had nocked a tiny dart to his bow. Before Thomas could say otherwise, Cathán loosed the needle-dart into the trees with characteristic precision.

Quick as wind, the raven flapped out of the arrow’s path. It sank into the branch with the tiniest of thumps. The laughing raven glided in a wide circle over the bramble-patch, floating gradually lower to alight atop the mound of earth. He—for by now Thomas had realized that the raven was male—turned his beak toward the boy from Mídhel and the still-bushy, still-enraged Mouse Knight, gave them a hearty chuckle and a wink, and sketched an exaggerated bow, sweeping one wing heavenward and dropping the other to brush the grass.

When the raven straightened, he extended his wing to Thomas. Thomas took the wing uncertainly, shook it, let his fingers drop from the glossy black feathers. The raven offered his greeting to Cathán, who refused. The Mouse Knight still had bow and arrow in paw, though for now he refrained from drawing again.

The raven shrugged and tucked his wings back against his body. The moonlight gave his sleek feathers a silver tint. He chirped another last laugh and then spoke.

“No need to fear the boar for now, strangers,” the raven said, voice deep and accent birdlike, with sibilant consonants ending in whistles and tight closed vowels and a high flutter for the nasal sounds. “It was only a farce, a joke: amusing, no, now that it’s done? In any case, introductions are in order, to keep things polite and friendly. Avery I am to my friends, but I am formally called Alberich Sharpbeak of the Blackhill Clan.”

The raven cocked his head at Thomas. “You can call me Avery.”