ate his fill amongst the drifting specks of down, then climbed wearily up the rope to the bell-tower to sleep the remainder of the day away. Those squirrels would not catch him out with that trick again, he vowed to himself.
Ivy did not like the regime that Crag had imposed or the feeble way in which Hickory and Sitka accepted it. They might have instructions to learn the strange customs of the natives, but this metal collecting was a bore. Hickory and Sitka seemed ready enough to carry out the instructions of the Temple Master, but whenever she had the chance, she would slip away from the work party and go off on her own. Sometimes she would go across to the Blue Pool and watch the Reds there, unobserved, from a distance, just to confirm that the one who called herself Marguerite was treated as an equal by the red males. It was clear that Crag had nothing but contempt for Rusty, his mate. Whenever she watched here, she could see that Marguerite was not merely treated as an equal but was held in very high regard.
Ivy had found a thin flat piece of grey stone near the haywain which, when she scratched it with another stone, bore a mark. One day, after deserting the working party, she went to where she had hidden this slate and drew the only marks that she could remember on it -for one,for two,for three and for four. This was how the Greys had counted before the Grey Death came, and she realised with a start that she was now probably the only Grey who remembered these marks and this way of counting. The idea troubled her. If she died, all the knowledge of numbering would have died with her. She knew so much more about so many other things as well. There ought to be a way to record everything she knew, but how?
She wiped the slate clean and did a random line –
(ASCII code for A.)
She was looking at the shapes, her head tilted to one side, sensing some hidden meaning in these, when she heard a sound behind her and turned to face Marguerite.
Ivy was surprised to see how small this Red appeared against herself now that they were together on the ground. She did not feel in any way threatened.
‘Hello,’ she said ‘I’m Ivy.’
‘I’m Marguerite the Tagger. I came to observe your party and found you on your own. What are you doing?’
Ivy’s tail rose. She was flattered to find a senior squirrel interested in her scratching.
‘We count thiss way,’ she said, drawing and on the piece of slate again. ‘But I have jusst drawn and it seemss to be telling me something.’
Marguerite looked hard at the figures. They were similar to the patterns made with twigs and fircones that the first Greys she had met used to make their numbers. Here was a special Grey that she might learn from. Numbers of any kind had always fascinated her.
‘Marguerite!’
She looked up, startled at the savagery in Juniper’s voice. He was crouched on a branch above her, quivering with rage.
‘Come up here at once. Now!’
Marguerite bristled with anger, yet dared not show disrespect to her life-mate in front of this stranger. She could appreciate Juniper’s concern – his first life-mate, Bluebell, had been killed by Greys near that very spot only a year or so earlier.
She leapt for the tree-trunk as the Grey turned away.
Ivy left quickly, abandoning the piece of slate. So much for equality, she was thinking.
Hickory and Sitka were discussing Crag in a hollow on the ground near the Temple Tree.
‘Do you think that Crag’s got all his conkers?’ Hickory asked.
‘It’s hard to tell,’ Sitka replied. ‘Apart from the Reds we saw over by the pool, and his mate and son, they’re the only ones we’ve met. We were told that the natives have funny habits.’
‘I think I preferred the old ways – our parents would just have zapped the lot of them. Start clean, then. None of this Sunless Pit business and sleeping on your own.’
‘I don’t like
Ivy did not like the regime that Crag had imposed or the feeble way in which Hickory and Sitka accepted it. They might have instructions to learn the strange customs of the natives, but this metal collecting was a bore. Hickory and Sitka seemed ready enough to carry out the instructions of the Temple Master, but whenever she had the chance, she would slip away from the work party and go off on her own. Sometimes she would go across to the Blue Pool and watch the Reds there, unobserved, from a distance, just to confirm that the one who called herself Marguerite was treated as an equal by the red males. It was clear that Crag had nothing but contempt for Rusty, his mate. Whenever she watched here, she could see that Marguerite was not merely treated as an equal but was held in very high regard.
Ivy had found a thin flat piece of grey stone near the haywain which, when she scratched it with another stone, bore a mark. One day, after deserting the working party, she went to where she had hidden this slate and drew the only marks that she could remember on it -for one,for two,for three and for four. This was how the Greys had counted before the Grey Death came, and she realised with a start that she was now probably the only Grey who remembered these marks and this way of counting. The idea troubled her. If she died, all the knowledge of numbering would have died with her. She knew so much more about so many other things as well. There ought to be a way to record everything she knew, but how?
She wiped the slate clean and did a random line –
(ASCII code for A.)
She was looking at the shapes, her head tilted to one side, sensing some hidden meaning in these, when she heard a sound behind her and turned to face Marguerite.
Ivy was surprised to see how small this Red appeared against herself now that they were together on the ground. She did not feel in any way threatened.
‘Hello,’ she said ‘I’m Ivy.’
‘I’m Marguerite the Tagger. I came to observe your party and found you on your own. What are you doing?’
Ivy’s tail rose. She was flattered to find a senior squirrel interested in her scratching.
‘We count thiss way,’ she said, drawing and on the piece of slate again. ‘But I have jusst drawn and it seemss to be telling me something.’
Marguerite looked hard at the figures. They were similar to the patterns made with twigs and fircones that the first Greys she had met used to make their numbers. Here was a special Grey that she might learn from. Numbers of any kind had always fascinated her.
‘Marguerite!’
She looked up, startled at the savagery in Juniper’s voice. He was crouched on a branch above her, quivering with rage.
‘Come up here at once. Now!’
Marguerite bristled with anger, yet dared not show disrespect to her life-mate in front of this stranger. She could appreciate Juniper’s concern – his first life-mate, Bluebell, had been killed by Greys near that very spot only a year or so earlier.
She leapt for the tree-trunk as the Grey turned away.
Ivy left quickly, abandoning the piece of slate. So much for equality, she was thinking.
Hickory and Sitka were discussing Crag in a hollow on the ground near the Temple Tree.
‘Do you think that Crag’s got all his conkers?’ Hickory asked.
‘It’s hard to tell,’ Sitka replied. ‘Apart from the Reds we saw over by the pool, and his mate and son, they’re the only ones we’ve met. We were told that the natives have funny habits.’
‘I think I preferred the old ways – our parents would just have zapped the lot of them. Start clean, then. None of this Sunless Pit business and sleeping on your own.’
‘I don’t like
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