Lord Brocktree felt himself borne underwater by an adversary of tremendous strength, which seemed to increase on contact with the stream. The beast was built of muscle and steely sinew, wrapping itself about the badger’s head, neck and shoulders, blocking off air and light in a skillful deathlock. As soon as he felt his paws touch bottom, Brocktree used his formidable strength, thrusting upward to the surface with a powerful shove.
As both beasts broke the surface, the badger managed to gasp in a breath of air. Then he was aware of thudding blows raining on his opponent as Dotti yelled: “Gerroff! I’ll pound your blinkin’ head to a jelly if you don’t let him go an’ jolly well fight fair!”
The beast wrapped about Brocktree’s head roared aloud. “Fair? Y’call two to one fair? Yowch ouch! Watch that bag, ye doodlepawed fool, y’near put me eye out. Owww!”
The Badger Lord seized his chance. Clamping his paws around his assailant’s tail and jaws, he tore the creature from him and lifted it above his head. It was kicking and wriggling as he hurled it forcefully into the far shallows. Then, diving down, he grabbed his battle blade, which had fallen from his back in the struggle. Dotti gasped with fright as the massive Badger Lord surfaced in a cascade of streamwater, whirling his sword aloft.
“Brocktree of Brockhall! Bones’n’bloooood!”
The otter, for it was a fully grown male of that species, stood up dripping in the shallows. “Aye aye, steady on there, matey, there ain’t no need t’go swingin’ swords around. Wot’s yore trouble?”
Brocktree waded toward him, sword still upraised. “You were trying to drown me back there, murderer!”
The otter threw back his head and chortled. “Hohoho, murderer is it, cully? Shame on ye! Yore the one who sneaked up an’ started all this. Ambusher!”
Dotti thought about this for a moment, then, wading over, she placed herself between both creatures. “Stap me if he ain’t right, sah. It was you who attacked him first, y’know.”
Brocktree dropped his sword in bewilderment. “Hi there, miss, whose side are you on, mine or his?”
The otter sat down in the shallows, chuckling merrily. “Now now, youse two, stop all yore argifyin’. Tell ye wot, d’yer like watershrimp an’ ’otroot soup? I’ve got a pan of it on the go—should be plenty for three.”
At the mention of food, Dotti felt immediately friendly. “I’ve never tasted it, but I’m sure I’ll like it, sah!”
The otter waded over, paw outstretched. “Hah! Don’t sir me, young ’un, I goes by the name o’ Ruffgar Brookback. Y’can call me Ruff, though. Ruff by name, rough by nature, that’s wot my ole grandma used t’say when I wrestled ’er!”
Dotti looked at him in surprise. “You used to wrestle with your old grandma?”
Ruff grinned. “Aye, but she always beat the daylights out o’ me. C’mon, hearties, foller me.”
Further upstream they came upon Ruff’s camp, merely a blanket made into a lean-to. There was a slow-burning turf fire on the bank edge and a long, flat elm trunk floating in the water. Ruff attended to a cauldron of soup bubbling on the fire, dipping in a wooden ladle and sampling it gingerly.
“Haharr, all right’n’ready. This is the stuff t’put a shine on yore fur an’ a glint in yore eye, good ole ’otroot!”
He scrambled aboard the log, which was obviously his boat, and retrieved a battered traveling bag. From this he dug three enormous scallop shells, tossing one apiece to Dotti and Brocktree.
“Dig in now, I ain’t yore mother. Serve yerselves, mates!”
Dotti filled her shell and went at it like a gannet in a ten-season famine.
“Yah! Whoo! Mother help me, I’m on fire! Oh! Oohaaah!”
Ruff, who had been watching in amusement, took pity on her and scooped up some cold streamwater in his shell. “Cool yore gob on this, missie!”
She drained the water in a single gulp, blinked the tears from her eyes and sniffed. “Good stuff this, wot? A little warm an’ spicy, but first-class soup. I like it!” Ruff and Brocktree sat gaping as she refilled her shell and tucked in with a will.
The badger winked at the otter. “She’s a hare, you see.”
Ruff nodded sagely. “Aye, that explains it, mate!”
After the meal they lay about on the bank, and Dotti and Brocktree told Ruff their stories. Ruff explained to them how he came to be in those parts.
“I’m a bit like you, young Dotti, I left ’ome when I was young, just afore they decided to sling me out. Wild an’ mischievous? Haharr, I was more trouble than a bag o’ bumblebees. Me pore ole grandma was sorry t’see me go, but the rest of me family breathed a sigh of relief. Any’ow, I been a loner most o’ the time. It ain’t so bad. Nobeast to keep shoutin’, Ruff stop that! Or, Ruff don’t you dare! Nowadays I can do wot I likes, without anybeast hollerin’ at me.”
Brocktree nodded. “And what are you doing at present, Ruff?”
“Oh, a bit of this an’ a bit o’ that, nothin’ really. Why?”
The Badger Lord’s eyes twinkled. “Dotti and I need to get down to the shores of the great sea. Best way to do that is to follow waterways, as you well know. It would be nice if we could go by boat, instead of all that trekking by paw. Suppose you came with us?”
Ruff’s rudderlike tail thwacked down upon the bank, propelling him upright, grinning from ear to ear. “No sooner said than done, Brock me hearty. Can you two paddle?”
Dotti replied for them both. “Well, if we can’t I bet you’ll soon teach us, wot. I’m no Badger Lord, but I’m jolly well strong of paw!”
Ruff touched the swelling around his eye. “You already proved that by the way you swing yore bag!”
*
Floating down the broad sunlit stream was a very pleasurable experience. Dotti and Brocktree soon picked up the knack of wielding a paddle. Passing beneath overhanging trees, the young haremaid sighed with joy, watching the dappled patterns of sunshine and shade drifting by on the smooth dark green water.
“Oh, whoopsy doo an’ fiddley dee! This is the life, eh, sah? I say there, Ruff my old streambasher, d’you know any jolly songs that creatures sing when they’re out boating?”
The otter flicked water at her with his paddle. “Bless yer ’eart, Dotti, ’course I do, but they’re called shanties or water ballads. ’Ere’s one y’can both join in with. The chorus is very simple—’elps t’keep the rhythm o’ the paddles goin’, y’see. It goes like this.”
Ruff sang the chorus once, then launched into a deep-throated old boatsong.
“Hey ho ahoy we go.
Row, me hearties. Row row row!
Chucklin’ bubblin’ life’s a dream,
I’m the brook that finds the stream.
Hey ho ahoy we go.
Row, me hearties. Row row row!
Sun an’ shade an’ fish aquiver,
This ole stream flows to the river.
Hey ho ahoy we go.
Row, me hearties. Row row row!
Down mates down an’ foller me,
I’m the river bound to the sea.
Hey ho ahoy we go.
Row, me hearties. Row row row!”
Ruff’s elm tree fairly skimmed the water, with him singing the verses and his two friends roaring out the chorus like two seasoned old riverbeasts. The otter signaled them to stop rowing. “Ship yore paddles, mates, let ’er run with the current!”
Normally a staid creature, as befits a Badger Lord, Brocktree was exhilarated, grinning like a Dibbun. “My my, Ruff, I can see why you love the freedom of the waterways. It certainly is a pleasant experience.”
Guiding his elm log boat with the odd paddle stroke, Ruff watched the stream ahead knowingly. “Oh, it ain’t so bad most seasons, but don’t go gettin’ too taken up with it, Brock. You gets the ice in winter, snow, hail, rainstorms, dry creeks, rocks, driftwood an’ gales. Once y’ gets used to that lot then you got to face rapids, sandbanks, cross-currents an’ waterfalls. Aside from that there’s savage pike an’ eel shoals an’ all manner o’ bad-minded vermin watchin’ the water an’ huntin’ their prey both sides o’ the banks.”
Dotti waved a paw dismissively. “Oh, pish tush, sah. It doesn’t seem t’bother you!”
Ruff pulled a tangle of line from his pack. Checking the hook and weight on it, he baited up with a few watershrimp left over from the hotroot soup. “Fish for supper, shipmates. Look ’ere at this fat shoal o’ dace!”
Through the deep, fast-flowing stream they glimpsed the dace, cruising through the trailing moss and weed, their olive-green backs and silver flanks shining wherever rays of sunlight pierced the water. They were fine plump fish. Ruff trailed the line as they followed the log, keeping in its shadow.
“I’ll just snag two o’ the beauties, that should do us. Hearken t’me, Dotti. If’n yore bound to take the life of a livin’ thing for food, then take only wot you need. Life’s too precious a thing t’be wasted, ain’t that right, Brock?”
The badger nodded solemnly. “Aye, that’s so. A lesson every creature should learn.”
That evening they camped at the mouth of a small inlet and Ruff cooked the fish for them. After the long day on the stream it was a delicious meal.
Lord Brocktree sat back, cleaning his teeth with a twig. “I’ve tasted trout and grayling, but never anything like that dace before. You must tell me how you prepared it, Ruff.”
Looking furtively about, the otter managed a gruff whisper. “My grandma’s secret recipe ’tis, an’ if’n she was ’ere now she’d skelp me tail with a birch rod for tellin’ ye. You needs tender new dannylion shoots, wild onions an’ hedge parsley, oh, an’ two fat leeks. Chop ’em all up an’ set ’em o’er the fire in a liddle water, but don’t boil ’em. Then when you’ve topped’n’tailed yore two dace, you lays them fishes flat on a thin rock. Mix cornflour an’ oats with a drop o’ water from yore veggibles an’ spread it o’er the fishes, so they bakes with a good crunchy crust. Drain off the veggibles while they’re still firm, spread ’em in a bed an’ top the lot off with your dace. But don’t you two ever breathe a word to any otter that ’twas me wot told ye the recipe. Alive or dead, ole Grandma’d either hunt or haunt me!”
Dotti began reaching for her harecordion. “Time for a jolly old ditty, eh, chaps?”
Nobeast was more relieved than Brocktree when Ruff put the blocks on the haremaid’s warbling. “Best not, missymate. This ain’t too friendly a part o’ the woodlands—you’d prob’ly attract unwelcome visitors. Best sleep now. We’ve got an early start in the morn.”
Dotti yawned. “You’re right, of course. My beauty sleep.”
When the fire had burned to white embers, Ruff checked that Dotti was sound asleep. He shook the badger gently, cautioning him to silence. “Lissen, Brock, we could’ve sailed further today, but I chose to berth in this spot because I feel there’ll be trouble further downstream. No sense in upsettin’ young pretty features there. Look, I’ve got a plan. ’Ere’s wot we’ll do. I’ll wake ye at the crack o’ dawn an’ the pair of us will rise nice an’ quiet. Then . . .”
When Ruff had outlined his scheme Lord Brocktree nodded agreement. Then he lay down again and stared at the canopy of stars twinkling through the trees, his paw clasping the battle blade at the ready, noting every noise of flora or fauna in the forest night.