Watership Down - Adams Richard George - Страница 73

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Other patrols had been sent out at once, but all that they had established was that the rabbits from the north had crossed the iron road and disappeared southward. It was intolerable that they should have passed so close to Efrafa and gone their way without being apprehended. Even now they might possibly be caught, if only there were a really enterprising officer to put in charge of the search. It would certainly need an enterprising officer-Captain Campion perhaps-for patrols seldom crossed the iron road, and the wet country beyond-the country near the river-was only partly known. He would have gone himself, but with the recent disciplinary troubles in the warren he could not take the risk; and Campion could hardly be spared just now. No-infuriating as it was, the strangers were best forgotten for the moment. The first thing was to replace the Owsla losses-and preferably with rabbits who knew how to deal ruthlessly with any further signs of dissension. They would simply have to promote the best they had got, draw their horns in for a time and concentrate on training until things got back to normal.

Woundwort greeted Captain Chervil rather abstractedly and went on turning the problem over in his mind.

"What are your sentries like, Chervil?" he asked at length. "Do I know any of them?"

"They're a good lot, sir," replied Chervil. "You know Marjoram: he's been on patrol with you as a runner. And I think you know Moneywort."

"Yes, I know them," said Woundwort, "but they wouldn't make officers. We need to replace Charlock and Mallow: that's what I'm getting at."

"That's difficult, sir," said Chervil. "That sort of rabbit doesn't hop out of the grass."

"Well, they've got to hop from somewhere," said Woundwort. "You'd better think about it and tell me any ideas that occur to you. Anyway, I want to go round your sentries now. Come with me, will you?"

They were about to set off when a third rabbit approached-none other than Captain Campion himself. It was Campion's principal duty to search the outskirts of Efrafa at morning and evening and to report anything new-the tire marks of a tractor in mud, the droppings of a sparrow hawk or the spreading of fertilizer on a field. An expert tracker, he missed little or nothing and was one of the very few rabbits for whom Woundwort felt a genuine respect.

"Do you want me?" said Woundwort, pausing.

"Well, I think so, sir," replied Campion. "We've picked up a hlessi and brought him in."

"Where was he?"

"Down by the arch, sir. Just this side of it."

"What was he doing?"

"Well, sir, he says he's come a long way on purpose to join Efrafa. That's why I thought you might like to see him."

"Wants to join Efrafa?" asked Woundwort, puzzled.

"That's what he says, sir."

"Why can't the Council see him tomorrow?"

"Just as you like, sir, of course. But he strikes me as being a bit out of the ordinary. I'd say, a distinctly useful rabbit."

"H'm," said Woundwort, considering. "Well, all right. I haven't got long, though. Where is he now?"

"At the Crixa, sir." Campion meant the crossing point of the two bridle paths, which was about fifty yards away, among the trees. "Two of my patrol are with him."

Woundwort made his way back to the Crixa. Chervil, being on duty with his Mark, remained where he was. Campion accompanied the General.

At this hour the Crixa was all green shade, with red gleams of sun that winked through the moving leaves. The damp grass along the edges of the paths was dotted with spikes of mauve bugle, and the sanicles and yellow archangels flowered thickly. Under an elder bush, on the far side of the track, two Owslafa, or Council police, were waiting; and with them was the stranger.

Woundwort saw at once what Campion had meant. The stranger was a big rabbit, heavy but alert, with a rugged, seasoned appearance and the look of a fighter. He had a curious thick growth of fur-a kind of topknot-on the crown of his head. He stared at Woundwort with a detached, appraising air which the General had not encountered for a very long time.

"Who are you?" said Woundwort.

"My name is Thlayli," replied the Stranger.

"Thlayli, sir," prompted Campion.

The stranger said nothing.

"The patrol brought you in, I'm told. What were you doing?"

"I've come to join Efrafa."

"Why?"

"I'm surprised you ask. It's your warren, isn't it? Is there anything odd about someone wanting to join?"

Woundwort was nonplused. He was no fool and it was, he could not help feeling, extremely odd that any right-minded rabbit should choose to walk into Efrafa of his own accord. But he could hardly say so.

"What can you do?"

"I can run and fight and spoil a story telling it. I've been an officer in an Owsla."

"Fight, can you? Could you fight him?" said Woundwort, looking at Campion.

"Certainly, if you wish." The stranger reared up and aimed a heavy cuff at Campion, who leaped back just in time.

"Don't be a fool," said Woundwort. "Sit down. Where were you in an Owsla?"

"Far off. The warren was destroyed by men, but I escaped. I've been wandering some time. It won't surprise you that I heard of Efrafa. I've come a long way to join it. I thought you might have some use for me."

"Are you alone?"

"I am now."

Woundwort considered again. It was likely enough that this rabbit had been an officer in an Owsla. Any Owsla would want him. If he was speaking the truth, he had had wits enough to escape the destruction of his warren and survive a long journey through open country. It must have been a very long journey, for there was no warren within the normal range of the Efrafan patrols.

"Well," he said at length, "I dare say we might be able to find some use for you, as you put it. Campion here will look after you tonight, and tomorrow morning you'll come before the Council. Meanwhile, don't start fighting, do you see? We can give you plenty to do without that."

"Very well."

The following morning, after the Council had discussed the predicament of the warren due to the recent losses, General Woundwort proposed that, for a start, they might do worse than try the big newcomer as an officer in the Near Hind Mark, under the instruction of Captain Chervil. The Council, having seen him, agreed. By ni-Frith Thlayli, still bleeding from the Mark gash inflicted in his left haunch, had taken up his duties.

"And then before the Mark silflay," said Chervil, "I always have a look at the weather. The previous Mark send a runner, of course, to say when they're going down, and he reports on the weather, but I always go and have a look for myself as well. In moonlight we put the sentries fairly close in and keep on the move ourselves to make sure no one goes too far. But in rain or darkness we send the Mark up in small groups, one after the other, and each group has a sentry in charge. In absolutely desperate weather we ask the General's permission to postpone the silflay."

"But do they often try to run away?" asked Bigwig. During the afternoon he had been up and down the runs and crowded burrows with Chervil and Avens, the other Mark officer, and had thought to himself that never in his life had he seen such a cheerless, dispirited lot of rabbits. "They don't strike me as a very difficult bunch."

"Most of them are no trouble, it's true," said Avens, "but you never know when trouble's coming. For instance, you'd have said there wasn't a more docile lot in Efrafa than the Right Flank. And then one day they get four hlessil wished on them by the Council, and the next evening Bugloss isn't very quick in the uptake for some reason, and suddenly these hlessil play a trick on him and bunk. And that's the end of him-to say nothing of poor old Charlock, killed on the iron road. When something like that happens, it happens like lightning and it isn't always planned: sometimes it's more like a frenzy. A rabbit tears away on impulse and if you don't knock him over quick, the next thing you know three more will be off after him. The only safe way is to watch all the time when they're above ground and do your own relaxing when you can. After all, that's what we're here for-that and the patrols."

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