Part 15 (1/2)
”Hurrmm, Miz Roser.” Grumm's voice sounded muf- fled as he talked around the ladle. ”They'm trapped oi daown yurr. Ooch! They stingen oi, not all at oncet, moind, just when they feels loik 'avin' some fun with oi. Ooch!”
Rose kept her voice low. ”I'm sorry you're being stung, Grumm, but sit still and we'll have you out of there soon.”
Martin spoke out of the side of his mouth. ”Rose, they've got us trapped now. There's as many behind us as there are in front, and they're blocking our way out. Ow! I've been stung on the footpaw and they're beginning to swarm on me. You can't fight bees with a sword.
Owch!”
Rose looked at Martin then down at herself. ”That's strange, not a single bee has landed on me. Look!” She held her paw forth. Not a single insect tried to land on it.
Martin blinked in surprise. ”How d'you do it... ? Owch!”
Realization dawned on Rose suddenly. ”Martin, Grumm, don't speak, don't say a single word. I've noticed that every time you speak you get stung. Now, the bees aren't stinging me, so it must be because they like the sound of my voice. I've got an idea. Listen, I'm going to start singing. If they like my voice when I speak, they're sure to like it if I sing gently. As soon as you feel that it's safe, then take my paws and we'll walk out of here, or at least give it a try. Well, here goes. Let me sing a bit first.”
Martin and Grumm remained still, like two statues covered by ma.s.ses of slowly moving bees. Rose began her song.
”You will find me at Noonvale on the side of a hill When the summer is peaceful and high, There where streamlets meander the valley is still, 'Neath the blue of a calm cloudless sky ...”
Right away Martin noticed a difference in the behavior 152.
of the bees. The buzzing diminished to a low background hum and the insects that were crawling over him ceased their activities.
”It's working,” he whispered urgently to Rose. ”Keep singing. I'm going to take your paw. Grumm, can you hear me? Reach out for Rose's paw when she sings.”
Rose continued, her voice like warm breeze on a soft night.
”Look for me at dawning when the earth is asleep. Till each dewdrop is kissed by the day, 'Neath the rowan and alder a vigil I'll keep, Every moment that you are away ...”
Rose stretched her paws forth. Feeling Martin and Grumm take them, she turned and began walking back down the path with a slow, measured pace. Martin and Grumm trod carefully alongside the mousemaid. She continued singing, and as they went the bees began dropping off and buzzing lazily back to their hives.
”The old earth gently turns as the seasons change slowly.
All the flowers and leaves born to wane. Hear my song o'er the lea, like the wind soft and lowly. Oh, please come back to Noonvale again.”
Pallum was waiting anxiously at the entrance to the path. At the sight of his friends returning he did a small dance of joy, coupled with anxiety at the lumps and b.u.mps raised by the bee stings.
”Haha! There you are, thank the seasons! Oh, look at you, Grumm, all covered in swellin's. What happened?”
The mole smiled at his worried friend. ”Bo urr, that be anuther story, Pallum. Move asoide so us'ns can set daown an' rest us'ns' weary bodies, hurr?”
The three travellers slumped against a spreading syca- 153.
more. Martin shook his head in amazement, burying his short sword point down in the loam. ”Thank you, Rose. That was marvellous. Who needs a sword to defend us? That's the second time you've won a victory with your voice-first as a sea eagle, then as a singer. You know, the strange thing is that I hardly noticed the bees. All I could hear was your song. I could have listened to it for ever!”
Pallum made poultices of dockleaves, nightshade and mud. ”Sit still now while I put these on your stings to cool them. Best thing in the world for stings. How's that?”
”Ooh, you don't know how good that feels,” Martin sighed gratefully as the fire died from the stings under Pallum's ministrations. ”All we need now is another song from Rose.”
Grumm spat away a bee sting that he had nipped out with his teeth. ”Ho yurss, Miz Roser be the noicest songer in all Noonvale. 'Er daddy an' oi watched many a time whoil she singen 'ee burds outen 'ee trees.”
Rose was all a-fl.u.s.ter. She jumped up and shouldered her pack. ”It was only an old Noonvale song. Every young creature there can sing it as well as me. Come on you two, or are you going to sit there all morning?”
The mousemaid set off down the path at a lively pace, with Martin and Grumm bringing up the rear as Pallum pulled stings from them.
”That's it, right there in the middle of my back. Ooh, that's better. Get that one on the side of Grumm's neck.”
”Oochooch! Go easy, zurr 'edgepig. You'm wurser than 'ee liddle peskers as put yon stingers thurr!”
They made good progress that day, though the woodland grew high and gloomy as they traversed it. It was noontide, yet the sun could hardly be glimpsed through the high interwoven foliage canopy. Dim green light filtering down gave the path an eerie quality of unreality. Halting by a little brook, the four friends made a late lunch of applescones washed down with the cold spark- 154.
ling water. When they had finished, Grumm and Pallum sat dabbling their footpaws in the brook, grunting and making small noises of happiness as the babbling water gurgled over their paws. Martin and Rose sat behind them, nudging each other and stifling silent giggles as they watched the pair enjoy their paddle.
”I see you. Beware!”
Quick as a flash, Martin leaped up, drawing his sword at the sound of a booming voice in the half-lit forest. He held up a paw, cautioning his friends to silence. They waited a moment, then the voice echoed out a second time.
”Go back, small ones. Leave my path!”
”Who are you?” Martin shouted then, surprised at how the forest echoed and magnified his voice.
”I am the Mirdop.” The spectral sound rumbled about the treetrunks. ”I see all. None can pa.s.s me. Go back!”
”We mean no harm,” Martin replied, keeping his voice friendly as possible. ”We are only travellers trying to reach Noonvale!” Leaning aside he whispered quickly to Rose. ”Keep him talking. I'll try and find out where he is!”
”Be still, all of you!” the voice rang out, hollow and angry. ”For I am Mirdop, born in a storm at the night of winter's moon! I see all! I slay all!”
Placing her paws firmly together, Rose did a magnificent harsh grating voice which rang and echoed wildly.
”And I am Martin the Warrior. I have slain more than the hairs on your hide! I have defeated Amballa and Badrang. Let us pa.s.s!”
There was more silence, then the voice called threateningly, ”One warrior is nought to a Mirdop. I will eat him up!”
Rose resorted to her own natural voice as she answered, ”There is more than one warrior here, there are four! I am Rose, the deadliest slayer in Noonvale. I 155.
eat Mirdops for breakfast. What say you, Pallum the Mighty?”
Pallum swelled until his stickles separated and shrieked out, ”Yahoooo! I am Pallum the Mighty. I carry a thousand swords! I too eat Mirdops, though generally as snacks! Stay clear of me and watch out for my friend Grumm the Growler!”
”What is a Grumm the Growler?” the mysterious Mirdop voice answered them. This time Rose thought she caught a note of hesitation in it.
The mole shuffled forward, brandis.h.i.+ng his ladle. ”Oi be Grumm the Growler, a gurt moighty beast! Oi makes zoop out o' Mirpods an' sangwiches from they tails, ho urr!”
”I care not who you be.” The Mirdop's voice sounded definitely unsure now. ”Go back or die. n.o.beast pa.s.ses the Mirdop!”
”Hurr, then they be allus a furst toime!”
”Stand aside or we'll go right over you!”
”Mirdop or no Mirdop, we're coming!”
”Stay back, keep away.” The Mirdop voice sounded strained and frantic now. ”I've fought foxes, battered badgers, whipped weasels, strangled stoats... Owooooaaahhheeeh!”