Текст книги "Nostradormouse"

Автор книги: Chris Tinniswood

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Chapter Three

Friendships are made amongst mist;

Much trust is put into rumour,

The philanthropic herb is pillow-bound,

And the serpent takes root in readiness.

On the third night of his travels, the young dormouse came to the edge of a glade. There was a light mist over the ground, and moonlight peered cautiously through the branches of the tall pine trees that towered over him. The smell of pine needles was a new delight. He had travelled a long way so far, but he knew there was much further to go. He had slept fitfully, in short bursts, and his slumber was always accompanied by dreams. They came in confusing shapes and symbols at first, but he had begun to make sense of them. Someone needed his help, and he knew it would test his mettle. He didn’t feel at all ready, but the time was close at hand.

Suddenly, he heard a soft shuffling in the undergrowth. ‘Who goes there?’ said a timid voice.

This is it, he thought grimly. He took a deep breath and then spoke.

‘I have yet to earn my name,’ he said, ‘But yours… is Pitamus.’

‘It is?’ asked the voice from beneath the mist.

The dormouse nodded, then felt a little foolish; if he couldn’t see Pitamus, chances are Pitamus couldn’t see him nodding.

‘Pitamus,’ it repeated, as though it were trying the voice on for size before buying it. ‘I like it! How do you know me, stranger?’

The dormouse replied, ‘Em… I don’t. But, you’re in need of help, aren’t you?’

‘Help? How did you know I needed help?’ said the voice in the mist, gradually gaining a little more confidence as it spoke.

‘I… I just did,’ said the dormouse. This isn’t going very well,he thought. Concentrate. This is where the dreams have led you.‘I know that your family aren’t well, and you fear that nothing may save them.’

‘You do?’ said Pitamus, ‘have you been talking to my cousin?’

  ‘Er… no,’ said the dormouse. I’ve got to sound more confident, or he won’t trust me,he thought. He took a deep breath and said, ‘fear no longer, Pitamus, for help is at hand.’

The young dormouse could almost hear the hesitant thoughts that swam around in Pitamus’s head. Then, just to his left, he glimpsed the dark grey head of a vole emerge out of the mist, with tiny ears and eyes, ideal for living underground. Pitamus twitched his nose and looked suspiciously at his new acquaintance.

‘I do need some help,’ said Pitamus, ‘but how do I know that I can trust you?’

‘Em…You don’t,’ said the dormouse. ‘Sorry.’

Pitamus sniffed the air, then cautiously made his way over to the dormouse. He sniffed again, and looked him up and down.

‘You smell trustworthy,’ he said, ‘and my family isvery ill.’

The Dormouse smiled. ‘Then let me help.’

‘Hmm,’ said the vole, ‘okay. Follow me.’

Pitamus led the young dormouse into a maze of tunnels just below the surface. Fortunately, he was not yet fully grown, and so had no trouble fitting through even the narrow sections of passageway, and eventually they arrived in Pitamus Vole’s burrow. It was a snug affair; there was a stove in one corner, which radiated a pleasant warmth and the smell of burning pine wood. A table with several wooden chairs stood next to it. On the walls, hung on the ends of tree roots, were all manner of copper pots, pans and utensils. Pitamus’s wife and children were curled up in bed at the far end of the main room, looking the worst for wear. When they saw the stranger emerge into their home, they shrank away from him in fear.

‘What are you doing, letting a mouse into our home?’ said the vole’s wife.

‘He’s here to help us, dear,’ answered Pitamus.

‘Help us? A little mouse? What can hedo?’

Before Pitamus could answer, the dormouse came forward. ‘Pardon me, but I think I can cure your ailment.’

‘Think?’ said the vole’s wife, and then coughed. ‘Do you hear that? He thinkshe can cure us!’

Pitamus sat on the side of their bed and held his wife’s hand, then he whispered something in her ear. This seemed to sooth away her worries, and she allowed the dormouse to examine her, and then examine her children. He made various ‘um’ and ‘ah’ sounds as he felt their temperature and looked into their eyes. The truth was, he didn’t have the slightest idea what he was looking for, but he had to have faith in his instincts.

Presently, he stood back from the three forms, huddled together in their bed, and stroked his whiskers thoughtfully.

‘Can you help us?’ asked Pitamus, afraid to know the answer.

The dormouse looked at him, then back at the three voles, and tapped his nose three times with his fingers. He smiled and nodded his head. Pitamus came forward and extended his hand. ‘Thank-you,’ he said, as the dormouse shook it.

‘I must go out into the woods and gather the right ingredients for my nostrum,’ he exclaimed, and with that, he turned and left, re-tracing his steps.

‘What’s a nostrum?’ said one of the children, when he was gone.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Pitamus, ‘perhaps it’s medicine.’

‘I’m still not sure if I trust him,’ said his wife, ‘even if he is the mouse we’ve been hearing about. Go and make sure he doesn’t pick anything poisonous, would you dear?’

Pitamus looked alarmed. ‘He wouldn’t, would he?’ he said, and scampered back up the tunnel after the dormouse.

The mist had cleared from the glade, and the dormouse stood on his hind legs and peered cautiously at his surroundings. His whiskers twitched, as they always did when he was nervous. Look for a plant with jagged edges, came the voice of Find, and pick them carefully, or they will sting you. Ever since he had woken from his long sleep, the voice in his head had been advising him, and sometimes it seemed a little overwhelming. When he spoke those riddles, for instance; he heard himself saying the words, but he couldn’t quite believe it was him saying them. He went hesitantly over to a plant that had large, dark green leaves with jagged edges.

He was about to pick one, when Pitamus came out of the tunnel and shouted, ‘Careful! They’ll sting you!’

The dormouse was so surprised, he fell onto the leaves.

‘Ouch!’ he squealed. ‘Ooh!’

Pitamus scampered over to him and helped him up. The dormouse danced around in pain, rubbing at his arms and legs, his whiskers twitching madly.

‘Sorry!’ said Pitamus, trying not to laugh. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you!’

The dormouse bit his lip to stop himself from squealing.

‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ asked the vole, between giggles.

‘Yes, thank-you!’ said the dormouse, even though he didn’t. Listen to that voice,he thought to himself, it’s the only way.He went back to the plant, and heard Pitamus suck in his breath. Then the voice spoke to him and he knew what to do.

‘You’re a nettle, aren’t you?’ he said, and the plant shook its leaves in reply. ‘Would you spare me a few of your leaves, please?’

The nettle shook itself, and several leaves broke free and floated to the ground. Carefully, the dormouse gathered them up by the stem, being careful not to touch the fine hairs on the underside of the leaves.

The dormouse looked at Pitamus, who was staring with his tiny eyes wide open in astonishment. The dormouse winked at him, and Pitamus scurried back into the tunnel entrance.

When the dormouse had finished gathering the plants he needed, he brought them back into the burrow and arranged them neatly in piles on the table.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Pitamus.

‘I am going to make a nostrum for your family,’ replied the dormouse. ‘It will cure them of their illness in no time.’

The dormouse picked up a tall, slender plant with a deep green stem and bright yellow flowers. He picked some of the larger leaves from it. He glanced at Pitamus, who was watching him intensely, and said, ‘Would you like to help?’

Pitamus answered, ‘Me? Help? Oh, I… Well, of course…’

The dormouse instructed him to collect some water and boil it in a pan. Pitamus frowned, his confusion deepening, but did as he was asked. He collected a copper pan and scurried off down a tunnel.  He came out beside a river bank and quickly dipped the pan into the water. As he brought it back out, he heard a splash to his left and dropped the pan in fright. A large head came towards him, bobbing up and down in the river.

‘Who goes there?’ it said.

‘Cousin?’ exclaimed the vole, ‘Is that you?’

‘Why, hello!’ came the reply. ‘Of course it’s me! I live here!’

Pitamus’s cousin climbed out of the water onto the bank. He towered over his smaller relative, but Pitamus was no longer afraid. His cousin was a stout friend, and would do him no harm.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

Pitamus quickly explained his predicament.

‘I see,’ said the larger vole, ‘and you say this stranger is the mouse prophet we’ve all been hearing about?’

‘I think so,’ said Pitamus, picking up the now empty pan and re-filling it with water. ‘At least, he seems to know what he’s doing, and my family are so ill.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Pitamus’s cousin, ‘so he’s making you a… what?’

‘A nostrum,’ said Pitamus, turning to make his way back. ‘I’m not sure what it means, but that’s what he’s making.’

With a swish of his tail, Pitamus Vole disappeared back into his tunnel.

‘Always in a rush,’ mused his cousin, slipping back into the water.

In the centre of The Great Woods, there was a slithering in the undergrowth. A long, slim, brown creature came out of the grass at the edge of a clearing. She had round eyes and wriggled along the ground (for she had no limbs with which to walk). She looked at the large, dead tree in the centre of the clearing, and smiled wearily. At last, her long journey was over and she could rest. She slithered over to the base of the tree and wound herself amongst the roots. 

She lay there, still and silent. If any creature had passed by, they would not have known she was there, for her skin had the texture of bark. But the clearing was deserted, and she was grateful for the brief peace it gave her. 

An owl hooted. One eye blinked open, looked around, and then closed again. She was resting, but never off-duty. The first of the guardians had taken up their post.

When Pitamus Vole arrived back in his Burrow, he discovered that the stranger had been very busy in his absence. All the plants he’d collected were now chopped, ground and neatly arranged in small heaps.

The dormouse was beside the bed, checking his patients. He looked up when Pitamus came in, and smiled warmly. ‘Ah, you’re back,’ he whispered, ‘and you’ve got the water. Splendid! Now make sure it’s heated in double quick time.’

Pitamus looked at his wife and children, and for a moment feared that it was already too late, but the dormouse reassured him.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘they are in a deep, restful sleep. They will remain like this until such time as the nostrum is ready.’

‘How do you know this?’ asked Pitamus. ‘Have you cast a spell over them? Are you a cunning mouse?’

The dormouse realised that Pitamus needed reassuring. So, even though he needed some reassurance himself, he knew that he had to appear to be confident.

‘I do not make magic,’ he said. ‘Everything I do is purely natural. Look.’

He beckoned Pitamus to come forward, and lifted a corner of one of the pillows. Beneath them lay several of the long, slender plants from which he had earlier been picking the leaves.  Pitamus looked up at him, surprised, and for the first time saw his eyes. They seemed to change. At first, they were kind and quite young. Then, they shifted, and somehow gained wisdom.

The dormouse let go of the pillow and said;

‘If this plant is laid beneath the patients’ troubled head,

They shall fall into a sleep as if they all were dead;

They shall not open either eye; they will not stir or waken,

Until from underneath their heads, this slumber plant is taken.’

Pitamus seemed satisfied by this explanation, as if the rhyme somehow made things make some sort of sense. He busied himself at the stove, boiling the pan of water. The young dormouse watched him, waiting patiently until the water was of a sufficient temperature to add his herbs.

Presently, Pitamus proclaimed that the water was boiling, and the dormouse asked him to remove it from the heat. He then brought the herbs over to the pan and placed them into the water.

‘Would you fetch something to stir this with, please, Pitamus?’ he asked.

Pitamus scurried away quickly, and hurried back with a spoon. The stranger asked Pitamus to blend the mixture, and so the vole stirred until the dormouse put a hand on his arm and said, ‘Rest now, Pitamus. You’ve earned a break!’

Pitamus sat down at the foot of the bed and almost immediately fell asleep. The dormouse smiled, as if he had known Pitamus would do so all along.

Chapter Four

A golden crown alights the arbour-king;

The giver of Nostrums, in silent gratitude, 

Receives his title from an unexpected quarter

And resumes the path that destiny has chosen.

T he sun rose at the edge of The Great Woods. An enormous golden-feathered bird soared on the breeze. Its majestic wings gave one powerful beat every now and again, just to keep its altitude. It gazed down at the woods below him with beady eyes.

It had been searching for some time now, and soon it would be forced to rest, for even birds as strong as he have to sleep occasionally. It had flown for many moons, pausing only to catch a quick meal, and then soaring upwards to view the wooded landscape once more, ever probing, ever piercing the terrain beneath him.  

Then he caught sight of something which stirred feelings of longing in his breast. With a triumphant cry he swooped down towards the tree-tops, alighting on the top-most branches of an ancient leaf-less tree. 

He surveyed his surroundings, and gave a series of eager chirps, to let The Great Woods know that the second guardian had returned to his station.

Pitamus Vole awoke a good many hours later, feeling refreshed despite having slept in an awkward position. It took him a few moments to recall who it was stirring his best copper pan on the stove, and when he did remember he cursed himself for allowing sleep to overtake him.

He rose to his feet and checked on the sleeping forms of his wife and two children. They looked so peaceful, snuggled up in bed together. How he missed their excitable chatter. The place seemed un-naturally quiet without it.

‘They’re on the mend,’ a soft voice said from behind him. Pitamus turned to the young dormouse; he was standing just behind his left shoulder, hands behind his back.

‘They are?’ he asked. The dormouse just smiled and nodded, then brought his hands out from behind his back. He held up a bunch of the long, slim plants that he had previously put under their pillows to keep them asleep. With his other hand, he pressed one finger to his mouth.

‘Let’s just say they won’t need these any more,’ he said.

The Vole’s mouth trembled and tears welled up in his eyes. Smiling, he let out a sigh of relief. ‘How can I thank-you?’ he said.

‘No need,’ said the dormouse, ‘Just take good care of them and make sure you give them regular doses of my nostrum. You’ll have to coax the elder of the two; he’s not partial to the taste.’

Pitamus chuckled and held out a hand. The dormouse shook it warmly. ‘You have a good family,’ he said, with a tinge of sadness edging his voice, ‘They are lucky to have a father like you.’

‘But I did nothing!’ exclaimed Pitamus, guiltily, ‘and I seem to have slept through their entire treatment!’

‘Ah… I may have had something to do with that,’ said the dormouse, and nodded his head briefly towards the foot of the bed. Pitamus followed the stranger’s gaze and his eyes fell upon a bunch of the same herbs that his new friend still held in his hand. He looked back at the dormouse, who had an awkward look on his face.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I had to do something, otherwise you would have succumbed to nervous exhaustion, and then where would we be?’

A sigh from the bed interrupted their conversation, and Pitamus went over and sat on the edge, unable to disguise his happiness and relief. His wife opened her eyes and smiled.

‘Hello, sleepy-head,’ he said, stroking her face tenderly.

‘I could say the same to you!’ she answered, chuckling to herself. ‘Fancy falling asleep at the foot of the bed, leaving a complete stranger to nurse-maid us!’

Pitamus went a deep shade of scarlet, which for a dark grey vole is quite an achievement. He began to stammer an excuse, but then saw that his wife was stifling her laughter. He grinned, and turned to wag his finger at the dormouse, but he was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where did he go?’ he said. ‘I didn’t get a chance to apologise!’

‘Apologise for what?’ asked his wife.

‘For not trusting him.’

‘I already did that, so don’t worry. Anyway, he said he would slip away when he wasn’t needed any more. I don’t think he likes saying goodbye.’

A big yawn came from beside her, and the eldest of the two young voles awoke. His Mum gave him a kiss on the forehead, but when he saw his Dad, he summoned up the strength to clamber from his bedclothes and climbed into his arms.

‘Where’s Nostra, Daddy?’ he asked.

‘Where’s who?’ said Pitamus.

‘You know!’ said the young vole, ‘The Dormouse!’

His wife chuckled again. ‘During your forty winks,’ she explained to the puzzled Pitamus, ‘Our friend tried telling our curious son here what he was giving him to drink. Didn’t he, Piney?’

The youngster nodded. ‘But I was half asleep…’

‘You certainly were,’ she said, ‘and so, bless him; he thought that “Nostra” was his name! I think our friend rather liked that idea.’

‘Well, it definitely suits him,’ said Pitamus, putting his son back on the bed. ‘And I suppose “Nostra” named our son “Piney”, did he?’

His wife looked slightly guilty. ‘He might have,’ she said.

Pitamus looked sternly at her. ‘And what did he name you?’ he said.

‘Lina,’ answered his wife, fearing her husband would be angry.

‘Lina,’ repeated Pitamus.

He paced the floor for a few moments. Lina watched him anxiously. Eventually he smiled and Lina relaxed.

‘I suppose there’s a sort of symmetry to it all,’ he said, then went over to the stove and looked at the contents of the pan. He took a sniff and his eyes immediately began to water. He blinked in surprise and looked back at the bed. Piney pointed at him, giggling.

‘Does it taste as… lovely as it smells?’ he asked, wincing.

Piney mimed throwing up. His Mum grinned, shaking her head. ‘Oh, it’s not that bad!’ she said, ‘Once you get used to it.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Pitamus, and then frowned.

‘What is it, dear?’ asked his wife.

‘Just something he said to me when we met. He said, “I have yet to earn my name.” Almost as if he knew what Piney would say…’

‘Maybe he did,’ she replied. ‘Maybe he really can tell the future!’

‘Yes,’ agreed Pitamus, stirring the pan, ‘I think he probably can.’

Outside, the young dormouse reached the river bank. He stopped to have a drink, and caught the reflection of the moon in the water. He began to follow the winding trail of the river through the woods, when he became aware of someone or something swimming alongside him in the darkness. He could hear the quiet lapping of the water. Panic took hold of him. What if it were some creature that wanted to eat him? He shivered involuntarily, and was about to run, when Find’s voice sent a wave of calm through him and he knew who it was.

‘What can I do for you, Arvic?’ he asked, without stopping.

There was a splash from behind him and a spluttering sound. He turned towards a large vole, who was struggling out of the water, an astounded look on his face.

‘What did you call me?’ he said.

‘Arvic,’ replied the dormouse. ‘It’s your name.’

‘It is?’ said the vole. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. Say it to yourself and see.’

Arvic considered this for a while; he felt a warm glow whenever he thought the name.

‘How did you know?’ he asked, and added, a little sheepishly, ‘…when I didn’t?’

‘I know many things, Arvic. I know, for instance, that you will meet a lovely young Vole called Clethrion, fall madly in love and have a large family. I know that you will soon need the help of your cousin, Pitamus, and that your debt to him will lead to you travelling a long way. I know, also, that this will not be our last meeting.’

‘Oh,’ said Arvic, thoughtfully, ‘Well, that told me, didn’t it?’

The dormouse smiled. I’m getting the hang of this prophet lark,he thought, and turned back to continue his journey.

‘So how come this Clethrion already has a name?’ asked Arvic.

The dormouse continued walking, but raised an eyebrow, and said, ‘because I just named her.’

‘But,’ said Arvic, determined to catch him out, ‘she won’t knowit’s her name, will she? She wasn’t here to hear you say it!’

The dormouse still didn’t stop, but quite enjoyed the challenge. ‘She’ll know in her heart, just as you did.’

‘So, what’s your name, then?’ asked Arvic, ‘So I may greet you properly when we meet again?’

‘My name?’ said the dormouse, halting in his tracks. He turned his head and looked the Vole in the eye. ‘My name… is Nostra.’

‘And what manner of creature are you?’ continued Arvic.

‘I am a dormouse,’ he replied, ‘the first of my kind.’

‘I see,’ said Arvic. ‘Well, then, Nostra Dormouse, I bid you farewell until we meet again.’ And with a quick flick of his tail, Arvic Vole slipped silently back into the river, leaving his new acquaintance to continue his solitary path.

For a while, he was content to listen to the sounds his feet made on the soft earth, and the gentle whisper of the wind in the willows, until presently he stopped and peered at his reflection in the river. He bowed, as if meeting someone important for the first time, and said to his watery alter-ego, ‘Good Morrow, Sir. Permit me to introduce myself. My name… is Nostradormouse.’

He chuckled to himself, and then continued on his way.