Vermin? You sure?
~~~
Chapter Ten
The nine weasels trudged through Mossflower, heading as far away from the Abbey as possible. They kept their footpaws moving automatically, trying not to brood on their situation. Scirf started to sing the old Mountain Hiker Song.
"Oh then there were nine, there were nine, there were nine, and no one was really to blame, but one by one they dropped to their deaths, oh ain't it a crying shame-"
Icham poked him heavily in the ribs.
"Shut up!" he hissed. "We don't need reminding that we're in danger. We're unlikely to fall off cliffs here, but there could be any number of things which could kill us. And do you want to attract attention from possible enemies?" Scirf wisely shut up.
Bryony suddenly stopped and twitched her whiskers, sniffing the air.
"Sylver, I can smell something. It's. . . cooking fires. Roasting meat." The vegetarian jill shuddered at the thought. Bryony was extremely sensitive and hated the idea of eating flesh. Since weasels are primarily carnivores this had at first given her a lot of health problems, but she managed to survive on vegetables. She spent most mealtimes sitting several yards away from her friends, quietly eating her vegetables and trying to avoid looking at their food.
The other weasels raised their snouts, trying to pinpoint the scent.
"It's coming from that direction," Luke said, pointing. "Should we follow it? It might be dangerous, but if we don't try and find other creatures we could be in just as much trouble."
"True," agreed Alysoun. "I've just realised how hungry I am - maybe they'll give us some food. I know we don't like to beg, but we don't know what's safe to hunt here. We could manage on plants for a while, but we don't know these woodlands, so we might not be able to find enough. We certainly don't want a repeat of the Nimbalo fiasco. Maybe voles or sparrows talk here too. I for one don't want to risk it."
"So you're saying the creatures responsible for the cooking fires may kill us, but if we don't take the risk we'll be dead soon anyway," pointed out the cynical Icham.
"Alysoun's right, Icham," Sylver said. "We should try to talk to these creatures. Most likely they're our own kind, they should help a fellow weasel in need. If they do turn out to be enemies, we've gotten out of worse scrapes. At the very least we'll find out where we are."
The band followed their noses towards the scent.
~~~
Back at Castle Rayn, Tagg and Nimbalo were also looking for food. The castle was in uproar, so nobeast had noticed them sneak into the kitchens. They heard various snippets of panicked gossip around them.
"We'll all be murdered!" shrieked a scrawny weasel jill.
"No, don't panic, stay calm," a jack told her. "Those no-good rodents are no match for our soldiers."
Another jack laughed and made a comment Tagg couldn't hear. Whatever he'd said, it triggered a huge argument. None of the weasels even looked towards the otter and mouse.
"Go easy on the food, Nim," Tagg warned him quietly. "It'll probably have to be rationed within a day or two."
Tagg tried not to look at the whole dead mice and voles, obviously for eating, hanging by their footpaws from the rafters. He hoped Nimbalo wouldn't see them, although since Nimbalo was currently investigating a pot of vegetable stew the chances of him noticing anything else were very slim.
Tagg picked up a lump of something dark brown and sticky from a plate and chewed it. Not bad. It tasted meaty - some sort of fish?
"What are these?" he asked a passing kitchen-weasel.
"Roast slugs, sir."
Tagg managed to spit it out without anyone seeing.
"Stick to the veggibles, Tagg old mate," Nimbalo advised him, helping himself to some stew. "Or at least ask wot summat is before stuffin' it in yer mouth!"
"You don't have to tell me," Tagg groaned, wiping his mouth on his forelimb.
At this point, Nimbalo had the misfortune to notice a fly next to his ear. He waved his paws at it, chasing it away, and it flew upwards. Naturally, his eyes followed it.
"Go on, gerrout o' it. . . what the. . .?"
Tagg groaned as Nimbalo stared at the dead mice and voles. The mouse started to tremble and produced a shrill whining noise. Several of the kitchen-weasels left off what they were doing and stared at him.
"Is your friend hurt, sir?" asked a timid-looking jill.
"I don't think so. . ." said Tagg worriedly.
Nimbalo felt dizzy and sick. He heard voices around him, but could not make out any words; it was as if he was listening underwater. He clutched his head and turned round slowly. The faces of the animals surrounding him were blurred, but he could still tell that they were. . . WEASELS! He was surrounded by weasels! PREDATORS!
He tried to scream, but all that came out was a squeak. He skittered around on all fours, looking desperately for an escape route.
"Nimbalo! Stop that, you're scaring me!" Tagg shouted, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. Nimbalo spun round - and saw the escape route he needed.
Ducking between Tagg's hind legs, the mouse fled.
~~~
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