Braver, Page 3

  The rats shook their heads and murmured to one another. “Against the rules.” “No hunting allowed.”

  “Come to think of it…” The devil tapped the whip’s handle against her foot. “It has been a long time since my kind has eaten wombat. I have heard fireside stories that you are delicious roasted with red potatoes.”

  Stout Junior squealed and his mother put her paws over his ears. Lola’s legs suddenly felt weak, as if they could no longer hold her.

  The Tassie devil laughed again. “Do not be alarmed, young one. No one is going to eat you, not on my watch. You see, I will get paid a great deal of gold coin if I deliver you alive.”

  “Gold coin?” the mayor asked. “Why—”

  The whip cracked again and another spot of blood appeared on the mayor’s nose. “No more talking!” Then the Tassie devil climbed back onto the driver’s bench. She’d apparently forgotten that someone might be hiding in the bushes. “Get a move on!” she ordered. “Or you won’t feast on garbage tonight.” With a unified groan, the rats got to their feet and began pulling the cart down the road.

  Our stomachs rumble evermore

  To slurp some stinky slime …

  “Mum, Dad,” Lola whispered as she poked her head out of the shrub.

  As the cart’s wheels rolled, and as the swamp water rats sang, Alice clung to the back rails of the cage, her desperate gaze meeting Lola’s. For a long moment the two were locked in a stare, each wondering if they’d ever see the other again. Then the cart took a bend in the road and disappeared from view.

  Lola crept out of her hiding place. She took a few hesitant steps, then a few more. The swampy stench lingered in the air, a putrid reminder of what she’d just witnessed. Lola didn’t know how to help her parents and neighbors, but she knew one thing—she couldn’t let them go without her. So she started to follow, her paws slipping into the ruts left by the wagon’s wheels. She cautiously picked up speed, only slowing as she approached each turn and twist in the road, catching glimpses of the cart as it rolled down a hill or around another bend. She didn’t have to follow far because, after a short while, the cart turned off the road.

  Lola crept forward, ducking behind a tuft of tall grasses. She drew a deep breath. The cart had stopped at the edge of Fairwater River. The river flowed north, its current strong and steady. Along the riverbank, a flat-top barge waited, secured in place by a rope. A big wheel stuck out of the water along the boat’s side. The only boats Lola had seen before were the little skiffs the wombats carved for the forest mice.

  The Tassie devil scrambled off the cart and began shouting orders to the rats. One by one, the rats untied themselves. Then they pushed the cart across a set of planks until it was sitting on the boat. “Where are you taking us?” Alice demanded.

  “I said no talking!” She pounded her fist against the cage. The rats tossed the lengths of rope onto the boat, then gave it a shove. As the boat floated away, each rat gracefully dove into the water and effortlessly slipped onto the boat’s deck. A pair of rats took position on either side of the paddle wheel and began to pump their legs, pressing their narrow hind feet against the pedals. As the wheel rotated, the boat began moving upriver. The devil slid off the cart and entered the wheelhouse, closing the door behind her. Lola had always been told that swamp water rats were an important part of life on Tassie Island in that they helped keep things clean. But here they were, helping a night monster take her family away! They were horrid, Lola decided. As horrid as the monster herself!

  Lola pressed her paws to her mouth, holding back her sobs. Everyone she knew and loved was floating away. Desperation taking hold, she ran to the river’s edge. She didn’t care if the devil saw her. She wanted her parents.

  “Take me with you!” she cried. “Please take me with you!” With every heartbeat, the barge moved farther and farther away. Lola threw herself into the water, paddling her arms and legs as fast as she could. Despite her valiant attempt, the river’s current pushed her downstream and back onto shore. She tried again but found herself right back in the mud.

  Once again, Arthur and Alice clung to the cage, staring at their daughter as they floated farther and farther upriver. Then Alice opened her mouth. Lola flicked her ears forward, straining to pick up the sound of her mother’s voice. “Find your uncle!” Alice hollered. “He’ll know what to do!”

  Lola’s eyes overflowed with tears until the image of her parents became a blur. Until the paddle-wheel boat, with its cage of wombats and its slimy crew, disappeared into the horizon.

  Mud oozed between Lola’s claws as she sat at the river’s edge and sobbed.

  4

  A “T” AND A “B”

  Find your uncle. He’ll know what to do.

  Those words repeated in Lola’s mind. And then, through her sniffles, she asked out loud, “I have an uncle?”

  In the quietness of their lives, Lola’s parents had rarely mentioned their childhoods. There’d been rare stories about learning how to swim and how to carve, but no mention of siblings. Who was this uncle and how was Lola supposed to find him? Was he her mother’s brother or her father’s brother? Was he older or younger? Why didn’t he live in the Northern Forest with them?

  And why would he know what to do? One shy wombat against a Tassie devil and a bunch of stinky swamp water rats seemed an unlikely victory. He’d probably get tossed into the cart like the rest of them.

  Despite her broad shoulders and stout legs, Lola had never felt so small. Her parents were gone, her neighbors were gone, even the mayor was gone. What would become of her? How would she survive? How could she save the others when she was just a joey?

  Find your uncle.

  There was no time to waste. If she could find any clues about this uncle, they would be in the family burrow. She wiped her eyes, then scrambled up the riverbank. Once on the road, she broke into a gallop. Go faster, she told herself. But her heart ached as she ran, for she knew that each step took her in the opposite direction of her parents. She didn’t slow until she reached her burrow.

  The rats had made a mess. The table and chairs had been overturned, the tool rack broken, tools scattered. Bowls, platters, and spoons were discarded here and there. The beloved grandfather clock lay on its side, its pendulum hanging lifelessly. Lola’s ears flattened as her fear turned to anger. Those rats and that monster with the gold tooth had torn her family and her home apart! She clenched her paws in outrage. That’s when she remembered the little bottle.

  What if the message was important? What if it was some kind of warning? Maybe it would explain what had happened.

  She uncorked the bottle, turned it upside down, and shook until the rolled paper fell out. She set the bottle aside, and then, careful not to tear the delicate paper with her long claws, unrolled the message. A single sentence had been written on the tiny piece of paper:

  T.B. is ready.

  What did that mean? Who was T.B.? Lola groaned. The message was no help at all. What a waste of time. She crumpled the paper and let it fall to the floor. Then she marched into her parents’ room to begin her search for information.

  Find your uncle.

  Lola found nothing out of the ordinary under the bed or under the braided carpet. She continued her search in the storage room, behind baskets, inside crates, and back in the main chamber. She looked inside every bowl and drawer. Where would her parents keep something about their families? Her gaze settled on the grandfather clock.

  She’d looked inside the clock many times, curious about how it worked. Alice had shown Lola the gears, the springs, and the winding mechanism. She’d also shown her how to keep the workings oiled. It was a brilliant piece of machinery. Lola sat next to the overturned clock, and when she opened the door, the clock’s contents spilled out onto the floor.

  There was a jar of wax for polishing the wood. There was also a small box whose lid had fallen free. Some papers were tucked inside. Lola held her breath for a long moment. Then she pulled out the folded
papers, which turned out to be two letters.

  She unfolded one. According to the date at the top, it had been written a few years before Lola’s birth.

  Dear Sister,

  We are just over halfway to the royal city, but we ran into a messenger pelican along the way and decided to send word early, to let you know that we are both all right. As usual, our brother Teddy has been very quiet during the trip and keeps to himself, but what an adventure I’m having. I’ve met many critters. I have engaged in the most interesting conversations and have learned a great deal about making one’s fortune. Once we reach Dore, I intend to apply for a job at the palace, for that seems to be the perfect place for someone like me who wants to move up in the world.

  Wish you were with us but someone must stay home and take care of Mum.

  Good health to you.

  Your brother,

  Tobias Bottom

  Lola couldn’t believe her eyes, so she read it three more times. Then she sat against the burrow wall, her mouth open in disbelief. She had two uncles, named Tobias Bottom and Teddy Bottom, who left the Northern Forest to seek their fortune, leaving Alice to take care of their mother. Why had Lola never heard any of this?

  She grabbed the other letter, which had been written after Lola’s birth.

  Dear Sister,

  I have been incredibly busy, so this might be my last letter for some time. Queen Myra, in her wisdom, has promoted me to ambassador. She appreciates my gift of gab and believes I am an asset in the negotiations of trade. Aren’t you proud of me? I have become the most popular wombat in all of Tassie Island. And there are so many beautiful things that my salary can buy. I am becoming quite the collector.

  I am sad to report, however, that our brother continues to have lesser aspirations and works in the bowels of the castle as a lowly mop-pusher. He seems content, for there is peace and quiet down there. But what a shame that he does not apply himself more.

  Good health to you, your husband, and my new niece.

  Your brother,

  Sir Tobias Bottom, Ambassador to the Northern Forest and the Realms Beyond

  Now Lola understood. One of her uncles had chosen a quiet job, as most wombats would. But her other uncle loved conversation. He was just like her! And to make matters better, he was a famous ambassador who knew Queen Myra. Clearly, he was the uncle she was meant to find. He would be able to explain the situation to the queen and then she’d send help. Everything was going to work out. Queen Myra would never let anything terrible happen to critters as peaceful and loyal as the wombats.

  Hope renewed, Lola scrambled to her feet, and as she did, she noticed the crumpled message lying on the floor.

  T.B. is ready.

  “Crikey!” she exclaimed as she grabbed the crumpled paper. T.B. stood for Tobias Bottom, she was certain of it. So maybe Bale Blackwater was right and the message had been meant for Lola after all. But if her uncle was ready … what, exactly, was he ready for? And why would he send a message to the niece he’d never met?

  There was no time to figure out the entire puzzle. Lola knew the important piece—that she had an uncle and that she had to get word to him. If only the platypus had stuck around, she could have used his delivery service. But swimming would be too slow. She needed something faster. She needed a bird.

  Lola hurried from the burrow and stood outside, her eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight once again. The forest was eerily quiet. “Hellooo?” she called. “Hello? Is anyone here?” No birds or mice replied, having been scared away by the monster’s shrieking. Even knocking on the door of the mice who had greeted her earlier received no response. Lola stomped her foot in frustration, but then she realized that the forest songbirds were too small to fly all the way to the royal city. She’d need a professional messenger, a bird who was designed for long distances. She needed a pelican. And the nearest place to find one was the trading post in Fairwater.

  Lola began packing a small backpack for her trek. She’d need coin to pay the messenger pelican, so she searched for the coin jar. Empty! She’d have to sell something at the Fairwater Trading Post. She grabbed a bowl and two spoons her father had carved and set them into the pack. They should fetch a nice price. Then she tucked her uncle’s letters inside, along with the secret message and her copy of The Tales of Tassie Island, her favorite possession. Her parents had told her it took a day and a half to walk to the trading post. She took her traveling cloak out of the wardrobe. She’d need it for warmth, in case she didn’t have time to dig a sleeping burrow.

  Lola took a long look at her ransacked home. Then, with the backpack secure, she marched up and out of the tunnel and set off southward.

  She knew one thing for certain—she was the only hope for the bare-nosed wombats of the Northern Forest.

  5

  THE TRADING POST

  Lola ran as long as she could. When her muscles began to ache, she slowed to catch her breath, resuming a wobbling gait. There was no way her short, stocky legs could maintain the pace. But she’d made some progress, already passing the section of the river where she’d last seen her parents and neighbors. The narrow dirt road followed the river, matching its curves and bends. As time passed, the backpack grew heavier and pain spread from Lola’s legs to her sides. Soon, every part of her furry body urged her to stop and rest. But the image of the wombats crowded into that cage kept Lola moving forward. One step after the other. As fast as she could manage.

  It was a lonely trek. The wombat burrows lay downriver from the Fairwater Trading Post, with no villages between. While Lola had never visited, her mother went twice a year to sell their wood carvings. Alice had promised that this year Lola could accompany her for the first time. It was going to be a glorious outing, one that Lola had dreamed about. What kind of critters would she meet? What kind of exciting stories would she hear?

  But she had never imagined she’d make the journey alone, under such dire circumstances.

  With each new bend in the river, Lola hoped to catch sight of the paddle-wheel boat and the wombats, but no such luck.

  After a few hours, the road turned away from the river. The forest canopy began to disappear, trees growing thinner of trunk. At the same time, the underbrush grew thicker. Lola began to hear songbirds again, dusky robins and honeyeaters, but like many birds, they preferred to speak their own intricate languages rather than the common tongue of Tassie Island. So, to pass the time, she began to recite a story called “The Tale of the Long Waddle.”

  “Gather ye round and prick your ears, for a tale is about to be told, of bravery and endurance, not for the faint of heart.”

  Even though she had no audience, the sound of her own voice helped her to feel less lonely. It was a tale of a time, generations ago, when the invaders terrorized the southern region of the island. As a matter of survival, the wombats, with joeys in pouches, left everything behind and made the journey north to find a new home. They traveled through mud bogs, across quicksand deserts, and over mountain passes. They endured hailstorms, floods, and illness. And when they came to the Northern Forest, a place more peaceful than any they’d ever seen, they made it their home.

  Lola furrowed her wide brow and ground her teeth. The wombats had been taken from the paradise they’d worked so hard to find. Taken by the same menacing critter they’d long ago sought to escape.

  What had the gold-toothed monster said? That someone was going to pay gold coin for the wombats? Who would do such a thing? And why?

  Her stomach groaned. She took a moment to eat clumps of grass, enough to calm her hunger pangs. But as day began to turn to twilight, Lola realized that she couldn’t take another step. Exhaustion took hold. She set down the backpack and sank onto the ground. Instinct told her to dig a burrow. It would be cozier underground, and drier if the spring rains came. But it would also be safer. For Lola knew, as every wombat knew, that the reason her wombat ancestors dug burrows was to have a place to hide from predators. And the reason her wombat ancestors ha
d such hard, wide rumps was to block the entrance to their burrows. And even though the wombats of the Northern Forest had lived most of their lives without the threat of predators, the instinct remained. As did the hard rumps.

  Though now it seemed their predators had grown smarter.

  But Lola was too tired to dig. She wrapped her cloak around herself and leaned against a stump. Then she gazed up. A sprinkling of stars had appeared overhead. With no tall trees blocking her view, the sky seemed to stretch on forever.

  Being a nocturnal critter, sleeping at night wasn’t normal for Lola. Moonlight and starlight usually gave her energy. But after such a long waddle, her eyelids closed like heavy curtains and sleep washed over her with the rushing urgency of a river.

  * * *

  As the sun poked over the horizon, its rays gently warmed Lola’s cheeks. She rubbed her eyes and stretched. She brushed a leaf off her bare nose. After a long yawn, she sat up and looked around. Confusion took hold. This wasn’t her bed. This wasn’t her bedroom. A tree stump stood behind her; a dirt road lay in front of her. Lola’s heart skipped a beat.

  She remembered.

  She scrambled to her feet. “Mum, Dad,” she mumbled. Where had her parents and the other wombats spent the night? Had they all slept in that cramped cage? Were they still on the barge or had they landed somewhere? Tears tugged at the edges of her vision as the enormity of the task before her finally settled in her heart. Her mother’s parting words echoed through her mind.

  Find your uncle. He’ll know what to do.

  Her tears did not dry quickly, but her resolve soon reasserted itself, prompting her to waddle back toward the road. It would be another half day’s walk, she guessed, maybe less since she’d kept such a fast pace. She dug some water-ribbon roots and tucked them into the backpack for later snacking. Breakfast at the forefront of her mind, she continued her foraging, chewing on grasses and tender leaves. She ate only enough to quell the hunger pangs, not enough for a full-belly pat. She found a flat rock upon which to display her cubic droppings, but with no wombats around to admire them, the ritual seemed unnecessary.