DESPITE SNOWBALL’S REBOUND, TO THE BEAVERS, Filmont’s Betrayal, as well as the disboweling attempt, had demonstrated the flimsy values of the Pig Fair—and an inherent vulnerability. To Diso, Snowball looked weak, and with his many pursuits, over-extended. And Diso, seeing an opportunity to capitalize on this disadvantage, made a tactical reassessment. It was, after all, merely a matter of necessity that Diso had made any treaty with the Pig Fair. It had always been a compromise of the Beaver Code to make concessions to the nincompoops. And now was the time to return to that higher ideal, as had been put forth by Moses.
It was in the cool comfort of the bunkers that the raven, slurping down one Limax maximus after another (evidently, this bird didn’t have to wait for the Lodestar to get his 1600 slugs), spoke eloquently on the subject of returning the village to Woodlands. Ponds everywhere. Of course, as favorable a circumstance as many of the Woodlands animals (especially the beavers) thought this would represent, it was equally well-established that this was a plan to which the pigs of the Pig Fair would not be disposed. And as there would be no cooperation on the part of the enemy (though the beavers couldn’t imagine that once the ponds were reinstated even the pigs wouldn’t be happier—as ponds really were the better way), a stratagem of intrigue was deployed.
In his bitterness, Mr. Frederick had supplied the beavers not only with the plans for the Twin Mills that he had acquired from his former Labrador, Filmont, but the plans to the Jones House, which had been passed on by a disgruntled cleaning duck. Making his last kerosene collection from the unsuspecting pigs, Diso plotted his rise to power—and the assault that would bring it about. He had, at his disposal, many loyal soldiers. Even a rabbit or a frog could become angry.
And they had.
Especially with the opening of the fences between Foxwood, Pinchfield, and the Pig Fair, many of the Woodlands animals, like the beavers, had reassessed. Droves of Woodlands creatures had crossed over to the new territories now under the auspices of the Pig Fair—and some, with even greater ambitions, had gone to the Pig Fair itself. And of those Woodlands animals who remained, there had grown an even greater determination—be it to leave, or stay behind.
Suffice it to say, whether they were steadfast dig-in-your-hoofers, or secret take-to-your-hooves-first-chance-you-getters, the Woodlands animals lived with the perpetual fear that they would die as a result of some bad policy the beavers had—in response to some bad policy the pigs had. The pigs, certainly now, possessed the resources to kill themselves a whole pile of frogs, toads, moles, rabbits, mice, rats, shrews, squirrels and deer—all of whom were more or less peaceful vegetarians who could usually be found sitting around. Easy targets. But even if the pigs did kill a bunch of vegetarians, that wouldn’t put an end to it, because they’d never get Diso, or any of the beavers. They were too well bunkered in—just as the pigs were too well protected by the dogs. (And besides, there were always more pigs and beavers.) Some of the Woodlands animals had the feeling the fair animals might also be living with the fear that the activities of their leaders would get them killed. Odd how it never got the leaders killed. It was always a rabbit or a duck (or for that matter, anything but a pig, goat, dog or beaver) who seemed to be taking the big chances. It was always, “more risk this,” “more risk that,” and “more bravery blah blah blah.” It seemed as if the only animals who weren’t militant, and didn’t want to kill anyone, were the animals who weren’t in power—as well as being, coincidentally, the animals who were likely to get killed.
That is, the only ones who didn’t want to commit murder might be murdered—funny, that.
From kerosene technology, the beavers had expanded their military capabilities. They had learned how to disable dynamite—whether by pulling out the wick, or dampening the gunpowder with water. Through these methods, they had collected numerous sticks of the explosive—as the farmers Frederick and Pilkington had become wholly obsessed, in their final hours, with the destruction of beaver dams. The beaver sabotage had rather riled them. And as bent as the farmers had been on the destruction of the dams—they’d eventually succeeded. But not before the beavers had amassed a sizeable pile of gunpowder—for which they were eager to find a use. And now, the old colonialists gone, the new one, the Pig Fair, was all that remained.
A pie shop had been opened in the heart of the Woodlands.
Indeed, all the village was dotted with pie shops.
But Diso, too, had infiltrated the village. Student beavers abounded. (And those professorial goat types were surprisingly unsuspicious.)
And on this point of counter-attack, Moses, though he would assign no specific undertaking, was unrestrained in his invoking of the Ancient Beaver Code. Killing nincompoops, as he explained it, was not actually murder (which of course was expressly prohibited by the Code), but, to the contrary, an act of heroism that would guarantee one’s place on the Sugarcandy Lodestar (even if one slipped up once or twice on the pie thing). This information, added to the knowledge that dying for the Beaver Code also guaranteed a place on the Lodestar, left the beavers dizzy-headed—and they swam in the maniacal whirlpool of their own minds working out heroic scenarios.
And … as the beavers ploughed through their cedar chips and grandiose schemes, there was, to impel them forward, that distant pulse—that Woodlands torment that must one day be ceased.
I went to the animal show, where all of the animals go. Said a flea to a fly in a flue, “Oh fly, what shall I do?” Said the fly, “Let us flee!” Said the flea, “Let us fly!” So they flew through a flaw in the flue.
Yes, the beavers assured their rabid-eyed followers (lost geese and porcupines who had found their way in beaver’s fervor), beyond the fleas in the blankets, beyond the mealy bugs in the flour, beyond the termites in the tool-shed, there are bigger things to come.