sound from within the tree for at least a minute, one of the guards cautiously pushed his head into the hole, even darker inside than the night around him. He withdrew it rapidly, his eyes full of dust. The other guard, who had gone round the tree to see if he could find out what had made that odd whooshing noise, rubbed his eyes as he saw what appeared to be a line of glowing squirrel-shapes materialise from nowhere in the darkness below him, then scurry towards the pine trees. He watched them fade away between the trunks before returning to his companion.
‘Did you see anything?’ he was asked.
‘No,’ he replied, his voice high and a little shaky. ‘Nothing at all.’
An owl hooted derisively and the squirrel shivered.
CHAPTER TEN
‘Do any of you have anything to say before we consider a tag change?’
Clover the Tagger looked at the three youngsters on the branch before her, then at the assembled squirrels of the Council. There were many gaps. Apologies had been sent by squirrels busy on various projects. Larch had sent a message saying he was at a critical stage on his carving. The ex-princesses, Voxglove and Cowzlip the Carers, had responded by saying that they were building a special drey where sick squirrels could be treated and that ex-prince Fir was helping them that day by testing different plants for healing properties.
Heather Treetops had just sent word to say that she and Chestnut were ‘unavailable’. But there was a sprinkling of ex-zervantz, though again no Caterpillar. Marguerite was there with Chip, as were Just Poplar and Alder, but very few of that year’s new generation were present, although they were entitled and even encouraged to attend.
The three youngsters had been found, ruddled and helpless, at the leaf pile and when sober, had been summoned to appear before the Council.
One of the offenders, Sycamore, sat up, tail high.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have. There’s nothing for us to do on this Sun-damned island. We just get bored. It was all right for you lot, you could go on climbabout when you lived on the Mainland. We can’t. It must have been exciting when the pine marten was here. Nothing like that happens here now. It’s all so dull. That’s all.’
Clover looked at Marguerite then back at the youngsters.
‘Does anyone else have anything to say?’
The other young squirrels shook their heads, so she sent the three out of ear-twitch and looked around at those who had attended, most clearly taken aback by the lack of respect shown.
‘Do we have any choice but to tag them ‘Ruddled’?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps Sycamore should be ‘the Ruddled and Disrespectful’,’ Marguerite suggested.
‘Where have you been?’ Clover replied sharply. ‘Most of them are like that, I really don’t know what to do. It’ll just have to be ‘the Ruddled’ and we must hope they will grow out of it.
The three were called back and told that each would have to bear the low-tag ‘the Ruddled’. They turned to leave, led by Sycamore, their tails high.
‘Wait,’ said Clover the Tagger. ‘You have been down-tagged, lower your tails. You are in disgrace.’
‘What about him then?’ asked Sycamore, pointing to Chip. ‘He’s supposed to be Chip the Ruddled, but he goes around with Miss Hoity-Toity, his tail as high as ever.’
Without waiting for an answer, Sycamore dropped to the ground and sauntered off.
Marguerite looked around to see who Miss Hoity-Toity was, then realised with horror that Sycamore had been referring to her. Was that what they called her behind her back? She looked at Just Poplar but he was engrossed in conversation with Alder, and Clover was on her way to join them. Chip had slipped away unnoticed. Feeling angry and left out, she went quickly down the tree trunk alone.
Another group of dreylings where playing at The Wall as she passed, and she realised with a shock that Sycamore the Ruddled had been among those she had watched
‘Did you see anything?’ he was asked.
‘No,’ he replied, his voice high and a little shaky. ‘Nothing at all.’
An owl hooted derisively and the squirrel shivered.
CHAPTER TEN
‘Do any of you have anything to say before we consider a tag change?’
Clover the Tagger looked at the three youngsters on the branch before her, then at the assembled squirrels of the Council. There were many gaps. Apologies had been sent by squirrels busy on various projects. Larch had sent a message saying he was at a critical stage on his carving. The ex-princesses, Voxglove and Cowzlip the Carers, had responded by saying that they were building a special drey where sick squirrels could be treated and that ex-prince Fir was helping them that day by testing different plants for healing properties.
Heather Treetops had just sent word to say that she and Chestnut were ‘unavailable’. But there was a sprinkling of ex-zervantz, though again no Caterpillar. Marguerite was there with Chip, as were Just Poplar and Alder, but very few of that year’s new generation were present, although they were entitled and even encouraged to attend.
The three youngsters had been found, ruddled and helpless, at the leaf pile and when sober, had been summoned to appear before the Council.
One of the offenders, Sycamore, sat up, tail high.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have. There’s nothing for us to do on this Sun-damned island. We just get bored. It was all right for you lot, you could go on climbabout when you lived on the Mainland. We can’t. It must have been exciting when the pine marten was here. Nothing like that happens here now. It’s all so dull. That’s all.’
Clover looked at Marguerite then back at the youngsters.
‘Does anyone else have anything to say?’
The other young squirrels shook their heads, so she sent the three out of ear-twitch and looked around at those who had attended, most clearly taken aback by the lack of respect shown.
‘Do we have any choice but to tag them ‘Ruddled’?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps Sycamore should be ‘the Ruddled and Disrespectful’,’ Marguerite suggested.
‘Where have you been?’ Clover replied sharply. ‘Most of them are like that, I really don’t know what to do. It’ll just have to be ‘the Ruddled’ and we must hope they will grow out of it.
The three were called back and told that each would have to bear the low-tag ‘the Ruddled’. They turned to leave, led by Sycamore, their tails high.
‘Wait,’ said Clover the Tagger. ‘You have been down-tagged, lower your tails. You are in disgrace.’
‘What about him then?’ asked Sycamore, pointing to Chip. ‘He’s supposed to be Chip the Ruddled, but he goes around with Miss Hoity-Toity, his tail as high as ever.’
Without waiting for an answer, Sycamore dropped to the ground and sauntered off.
Marguerite looked around to see who Miss Hoity-Toity was, then realised with horror that Sycamore had been referring to her. Was that what they called her behind her back? She looked at Just Poplar but he was engrossed in conversation with Alder, and Clover was on her way to join them. Chip had slipped away unnoticed. Feeling angry and left out, she went quickly down the tree trunk alone.
Another group of dreylings where playing at The Wall as she passed, and she realised with a shock that Sycamore the Ruddled had been among those she had watched
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