Braver, Page 4

  She shook dirt from her cloak and folded it into her backpack. Then she set out, continuing to follow the road along the river. About an hour into her walk, Lola’s whiskers quivered and her nose scrunched. She stopped dead in her tracks as a new terror made itself known.

  Smoke!

  It was the scent all critters of the Northern Forest dreaded. Fire had been forbidden in these parts since the Great Burn many generations ago. Luckily, the wombats and forest mice had no need of cooking fires. And because none of their arts or crafts required fire, they were perfectly happy without it. Lola had never seen the flicker of flame, but she instinctually recognized its scent. The memory of the Great Burn had been passed down from generation to generation, seared into every critter’s memory, never to be forgotten. A line in the story “The Great Burn” came to mind—“a time of flame and fury.”

  Lola’s heart thudded like the marching footfalls of the swamp water rats. She stood on tiptoe, pointing her nose as high as she could. She sniffed. The scent was light, as if carried on the breeze from far away. The sky was clear and blue. Where was the fire?

  Her parents had taught her that if she ever encountered a forest fire, she was to seek shelter in the deepest burrow she could dig. And if for some reason there was no time to dig, she was to go straight to the river.

  Though terrified that fire would find her, Lola had to move on. But at the first sign of flame, she would dig for her life.

  A short time later, just as her legs started to complain again, the road ended at the river’s edge. A wooden dock jutted into the water, matched by an identical dock on the other side. A sign hung on one of the dock’s posts:

  FERRY BOAT TO FAIRWATER TRADING POST

  SHOUT FOR SERVICE

  Lola shaded her eyes to get a better view. Sure enough, a little boat was tied to the opposite dock, but there was no sign of its captain. She wrapped her paws around her mouth and shouted, “Hellooo!” No one answered. She stepped to the end of the dock and tried again. “HELLOOO! IS ANYONE THERE?”

  A door opened in the opposite riverbank and a brown head popped out. It was a platypus. “OI! PUT A SOCK IN IT! I’M TRYIN’ TO NAP!” He popped back inside and the door slammed shut.

  Lola frowned. She didn’t want to disturb anyone’s sleep but she needed to get across the river. “HELLO! HELLO! MISTER PLATYPUS, SIR?”

  The door opened again. “WHADDAYA WANT?” he shouted back.

  “I WANT TO GO TO FAIRWATER!”

  “I’M ON ME BREAK! COME BACK LATER!”

  Lola frowned again. How long did a break last? Though the current at this section of river appeared to be gentle, if would be difficult to swim with her backpack and its contents weighing her down. “EXCUSE ME, BUT I REALLY NEED TO GET TO FAIRWATER!”

  “AND I REALLY NEED TO NAP!” The door slammed shut again. Why were platypuses so cranky?

  Lola had never hollered this much in her entire life. Hollering was considered rude by most critters, but by wombat standards it was downright vulgar. “BUT IT’S AN EMERGENCY! MY FAMILY AND ALL MY NEIGHBORS WERE TAKEN BY A TASSIE DEVIL!”

  The door flew open. “A TASSIE DEVIL?”

  “YES! WITH A GOLD TOOTH!”

  “WHY DIDN’T YA SAY SO IN THE FIRST PLACE?” The platypus reached into his home, grabbed a captain’s hat, and plopped it on his head. Then he waddled down the dock and climbed into the boat. A rope was strung across the river between the docks. The platypus leaned over the boat’s bow, grabbed the rope, and began pulling. Paw over paw, he guided the boat on a linear path. With such small webbed paws, he made progress slowly. When the ferry finally reached Lola’s dock, she was wiggling with impatience.

  The platypus was old, evidenced by the gray streaks around his bill and the wrinkles around his black eyes. He squinted at her. “It’s the middle of the day. Shouldn’t ya be sleepin’ in a hole in the ground?” Before Lola could answer, the platypus pointed at her. “Yer a bare-nosed wombat. I thought all of ya got put into that cage.”

  She took a quick breath. “You … you saw them? You saw my parents and my neighbors?”

  “Passed through here last night on the paddle-wheel barge. Stopped in town where a devil and a bunch of rats made a real ruckus. They ate all the food. Then the devil set the storage shed on fire.”

  “On fire?” Lola desperately looked around. It had taken generations for the forest to recover from the Great Burn. How could someone purposely set something on fire? “Is it coming this way?” She glanced down at the river, wondering how deep she’d have to wade to be safe from the flames.

  “No worries. Didn’t spread. Took most of the night to put it out. That’s why I’m tryin’ to catch up on me sleep.” He opened his bill wide and yawned.

  “It’s out?” She released a deep breath. “But what about the wombats? Where are they?”

  “Went upriver.” He stood on the bow, giving her a closer look. “Say, what’re ya doin’ here? Yer too young to be out on yer own, ’specially with a predator on the loose.”

  “I came to get help. I need to get a message to my uncle, who lives in Dore. That devil is going to sell the wombats for gold coin.”

  “Blimey. Never heard such a thing.” The platypus scratched his bill tiredly. “Who’d pay gold coin for a cage full of wombats? A bowl collector?”

  “I don’t know.” Lola shuffled in place, ignoring his annoying little jab. “But I’m going to find out. So can I please have a ride on your ferry? So I can get to the trading post?”

  He held out his webbed paw, palm up, and waited. Lola’s shoulders sank. “I don’t have any coin.”

  “I’m not in the habit of givin’ free rides.” He pointed to her backpack. “Whatcha got in there?”

  Lola shuffled through the contents until she found the bowl. “My dad made it.” The platypus smirked at her before snatching it from her paws to examine it.

  “That’s a nice carving job,” he said, seeming a little more jovial. “I could keep me snackin’ worms in here. Okay, it’ll do. Climb aboard.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Lola climbed into the boat. It tilted from side to side as she tried to find her balance. Once she was seated, the platypus moved to the stern, grabbed the rope, and began pulling them across. Lola’s gaze flicked to his ankle spur.

  “Name’s Captain Jeb, by the way. Platypus Delivery Service, Northern Forest Ferries Division. What’s yer name?”

  “I’m Lola. Lola Budge.”

  “I don’t usually chat with the wombats who ride me ferry. They’re not much for conversation.” He stood upright, keeping himself balanced with his flat tail. “But ya seem different.”

  “Yes, I guess I am.” She wrapped her arms around her backpack as he pulled the rope, paw over paw, the ferry moving as slowly as a tortoise. “Can I help you?” she asked. “Maybe I can pull it faster?”

  He stopped pulling and whipped around so quickly his hat fell off. “Help me? Help me?” He glared at Lola. “Ya think I need yer help? I’ve been pilotin’ these waters most of me life.” He grabbed the hat and plopped it back on his head. “I won the Golden Platy a few years back. Best ferry boat captain in the union. Never lost a passenger. Never lost a vessel.”

  “Congratulations,” Lola said. Platypuses were definitely a testy lot, and just how common was this “Golden Platy” anyway? “It’s just that I’m in a hurry. I need to get to Fairwater so I can hire a messenger pelican. How much do you think that will cost?”

  “I haven’t seen any pelicans in these parts in weeks.”

  “Oh no.” Lola clutched the backpack tighter. “What am I going to do?” She had one plan, only one. “What about you? Could you swim there and take a message to Dore?”

  “Swim there?” A watery snorting sound shot out of his bill. “This river doesn’t lead to Dore.”

  “Then how can I—? How, how…” Her lower lip began to tremble.

  Captain Jeb’s grumpy voice turned soft. “Ya poor thing.” He waddled over to her and patted her sho
ulder. “I’ll get ya to Fairwater and then we’ll figure somethin’ out.”

  Maybe the cranky old critter wasn’t so bad after all. Lola wiped a tear from her eye and nodded.

  Once the ferry was docked, Captain Jeb helped Lola disembark. “C’mon,” he said. He put the carved bowl in his house, then led Lola up the road, waddling in his odd platypus way. Lola’s steps felt heavier, weighed down by a brand-new worry—what chance did the wombats have if she couldn’t get a messenger pelican?

  “C’mon, c’mon,” Captain Jeb urged. The road climbed a grass-lined hill. When they reached its crest, Jeb halted. “We’re standing smack-dab in the middle of where the river forks. That’s the eastern fork and that’s the southern fork. The trading post lies between.” He pointed.

  Lola looked down the hill. There were two structures—a small, split-log cabin, made from saplings and young branches, and a much larger log building, two stories high. A third structure was now a pile of ash—the remains of the storage shed. She shuddered. Then she looked past the buildings, toward the surrounding woods and along the river, but found no signs of a gold-toothed devil, the rats, or the wombats. She took another deep breath, yearning to smell her mum’s peppermint perfume and her dad’s whisker cream. But the breeze only carried the scent of smoke.

  Captain Jeb led her down the hill to the little log house. Jeb stepped onto the welcome mat and opened the little round door. He stuck his head inside. “Josie? Rupert?” His voice echoed. There was no answer. “Those two pincushions are around here somewhere.” Lola followed him along the path that led to the larger building. Lola was so busy looking around that she didn’t notice the strange ball of spikes lying directly in her path.

  “Ouch,” she said as she accidentally brushed against it. What was that thing? Some kind of plant? She reached her paw cautiously toward the spiky surface, but just before she touched it again, it shuddered. Startled, Lola jumped back.

  Then the ball slowly uncurled, revealing the odd critter it was.

  6

  CUPPA BAD NEWS

  The small echidna rolled upright and looked at Lola. She blinked her beady black eyes, then made a snuffling sound with her long gray snout. Her spikes were brown and tipped with specks of white and yellow, contrasting with the gray skin beneath. Even though Lola was not yet fully grown, she still towered over the critter.

  “Ah, there ya are, Josie,” Captain Jeb said. “Whatcha doing all curled up?”

  “I heard footsteps and got scared,” Josie replied in a quiet, squeaky voice. She started to tremble.

  “Nothing to be scared about. That night monster is gone.” Jeb looked around. “Say, where’s Rupert?”

  Some shuffling sounds drew everyone’s attention as the ground nearby heaved upward, the tips of spines sticking up from below. Within moments a small elongated head poked out of the dirt. “You sure it’s gone?” a new squeaky voice asked as Rupert revealed himself. His spikes were a darker brown than Josie’s. He wiped flecks of dirt from his snout but ignored the large patches between his spines.

  “Long gone. Way up the southern fork by now.” Captain Jeb held out a paw to help Josie to her feet and then, more carefully, pulled Rupert out of his hole. “This here’s Lola. She’s come from the burrows. It’s her family that was taken by the Tassie devil.”

  “And all my neighbors,” Lola added.

  “I’ve never heard anything so sad.” Josie’s eyes pooled with tears and she continued to tremble. “I’m so sorry. What a terrible upset for you, to be orphaned at such a young age.” Rupert handed Josie a handkerchief. She shook dirt from it, then used it to dab her tears. “So very terrible. So very terrible indeed.”

  “I’m not an orphan. My parents are alive and I’m going to find them.” The echidnas and the platypus looked at Lola in disbelief, as if she’d just told them she was going to grow a pair of wings. “I’m going to do everything I can to save them. I walked all the way here and I’ll keep walking if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes. I will see them. I will.”

  “Yes, yes you will, my dear,” Josie said tenderly, using the handkerchief to blow her snout. “My, my, you do talk a lot for a wombat. Please forgive me for blubbering. I’ve never been so frightened in all me life. Never ever.”

  Lola didn’t blame Josie for crying, having shed many tears herself over the last two days. “Did … did your family get taken, too?” she asked.

  Rupert shook his head. “Our puggles are long grown and moved away. Captain Jeb and us, why, we’re the only critters who live here.”

  “Lived here most of me life,” Captain Jeb said, scratching beneath his hat. “And I’ve never seen swamp water rats act that way before. They’re usually harmless critters. They come here and collect garbage and molding food, then go back to their swamp. But they were followin’ the orders of that Tassie devil. She told them to help themselves to food and drink, then she set the shed on fire.”

  Lola looked over at the charred remains. “Why did she do that? Fire is forbidden here.”

  Captain Jeb shrugged. “Tryin’ to scare us, I guess.”

  “It worked,” Josie said, her spines trembling anew. “All I could do was curl into a ball.” As she began to sob, Rupert put his arm around her. His paw flowed through her spines without hesitation or worry, gently stroking her back.

  “There, there, love, we’re unharmed. We can rebuild. Come on, let’s get you inside for a nice cuppa.” He smiled gently at Lola. “Would you like a nice cuppa? When the other wombats come here to trade, they always like a nice cuppa.”

  Lola did love tea, but there was a much more important matter to attend to. “I need to get a message to my uncle in Dore,” she said with urgency. “Do you know where I can find a pelican?”

  “We haven’t had any pelicans in weeks,” Rupert told her.

  Captain Jeb made a little smacking sound with his bill. “That’s exactly what I said.”

  “Is there any other way I can get a message out?”

  “You could have sent one on the paddle-wheel boat,” Rupert said. “If it hadn’t been stolen. It’s the only boat that travels this river.”

  No messenger pelicans and no boat? Lola’s legs suddenly felt wobbly. Her hopes had been swept away like chips of wood. Had she come this far only to find a dead end?

  Rupert motioned for her to follow. “Let’s go inside, get a cuppa, and maybe we can come up with a plan.”

  Rupert and Josie ambled toward the larger building. From behind, it looked as if they were wearing thorn-covered capes, one much dirtier than the other. “C’mon,” Captain Jeb told Lola. “With some grub in us, we’re bound to think of somethin’.”

  A sign hung above the building’s door: FAIRWATER TRADING POST. Passing through, Lola realized that the doors had been made large enough for the wombat customers. There were three tables with matching chairs, some small enough for forest mice, some large enough for wombats, but most had been knocked over. Pretty red-checkered curtains framed the windows, but many of the glass panes had been broken. A painting of the queen lay on the floor. Rupert picked it up and rehung it on its nail.

  The kitchen was also a disaster. Most of the cupboard doors had been torn off their hinges, the cupboards noticeably vacant. As Lola looked around, a gust of wind blew in, suddenly knocking a dish onto the floor. At the sound, Josie squealed and curled into a ball. It took a few minutes for Rupert to calm her down and unfurl her.

  While Rupert shuffled into the kitchen, Lola helped set four chairs upright. Then Josie set four bowls onto the table along with four spoons and four teacups, each carved by wombat claws. Lola, Captain Jeb, and Josie sat. Rupert returned with a tin in his hand. “The rats ate most of the food,” he told them, “but they missed the worms.” He set the tin on the table, then opened the lid. The contents squirmed. “Mealworms and earthworms,” he said, scooping a heaping, wiggling spoonful into each bowl. Captain Jeb clacked his bill expectantly.

  Lola looked at the slimy, tangled mass in he
r bowl and cringed. Worms were not wombat food. But the truth was even if it had been a lovely salad of mint and parsley, she couldn’t have eaten a bite. Her stomach was all in a knot. “Don’t worry, my dear,” Josie said as she reached into her apron pocket. “I always keep a few of these on hand for snacking.” She slid a biscuit across the table. “Acorn and oatmeal.”

  “Thank you,” Lola said, and truly meant it.

  Rupert picked up a teapot that had been sitting in a beam of sunlight. “Lucky for us, rats don’t seem to care for sun tea.” He carried the teapot to the table and began filling the cups. The sweet scent of peppermint filled Lola’s nostrils.

  Table manners did not seem to be a consideration for Captain Jeb, who slurped loudly as he dipped his bill into the bowl. Josie and Rupert had a different method of eating. With snouts poised, their long, pink tongues snaked around their bowls, picking up worms one by one. Lola desperately wanted to use this perfect occasion to ask them questions about their lives, but her head spun with images of the gold-toothed devil, the caged wombats, and the singing rats. Her task was paramount. “Where are the pelicans?” she asked.

  Rupert shrugged. “We dunno. They just stopped coming. Captain Sam, the platy who owns the paddle-wheel boat, usually shows up a couple times a month to pick up the wombat carvings so he can deliver them to fancy shops. He brings all the things we need at the trading post. But Sam hasn’t been here in weeks. We’re all out of wombat whisker cream and we don’t have any tail conditioner for the forest mice.”

  “How did that monster get Captain Sam’s boat?” Lola asked.

  Rupert slurped a long worm. The thing wriggled desperately before disappearing. “She stole it, I reckon.”

  Captain Jeb looked up from his bowl and narrowed his tiny eyes. “Or Sam rented it to her.”