Free Eulalia! by Brian Jacques Page A

“Measly little rations, they’re prob’ly having a great lunch back at the Abbey, out in the orchard, like they always do in summer. All kinds of trifle, an’ pudden, strawberry fizz, an’ all that. Hmm, what’s this?”
    Opening a small package, which he had not noticed before, Orkwil was delighted to find about a dozen candied chestnuts. He chuckled happily. “Good ole Granspike, bet she slipped them in for me!” He was stuffing them down when he felt a sharp pain in his back. “Yowch!” Orkwil turned and saw a magpie, about to peck him again. Angrily, he lashed out at it, shouting, “What d’ye think yore doin’, be off with ye, bird!”
    The magpie, a handsome black and white fellow, merely hopped back a pace, and stood with its head on one side, staring impudently at the young hedgehog.
    Orkwil raised a clenched paw threateningly. “Ye cheeky wretch, I said be off!”
    The magpie leapt forward, pecked at Orkwil’s paw, and skipped nimbly backward. The young hedgehog was furious.
    â€œI’ll give ye such a clout…I’ll…”
    The bird gave a mocking cackle. “Raaaahakarr!”
    Orkwil retaliated then. He grabbed the staff, which his bundle had been tied to, and swiped at the magpie. It hopped out of range, and Orkwil ran at it, swinging the staff. “Ye hard-faced featherbag!”
    The magpie flew up, then hovered, cackling raucously, but staying just out of the staff’s reach. Orkwil sought about and found a pebble, which he flung at the bird. This time it dodged to one side, then flew across the path, into one of the trees bordering Mossflower Wood. Orkwil brandished the staff at it.
    â€œYou start pesterin’ me again an’ I’ll break yore beak!” He turned back to his lunch, only to find it all gone. The plain oat scones, and the remains of his candied chestnuts, were missing. Only the kerchief his bundle had been wrapped in lay on the ground. The uncorked flask had been tipped over, and all the pennycloud liquid had spilled into the ground.
    Orkwil was furious, more so when he was greeted by a chorus of harsh cackles from the nearby trees. A group of about nine magpies was perched in the branches, gobbling down his supplies. He waved his staff and ran at them, thwacking away lustily. The scavengers merely flew up to higher branches, where they continued eating their plunder and mocking him. Chattering with rage, the young hedgehog hopped and leapt, trying to reach them with his staff.
    â€œYe scum-beaked thieves, ye patch-faced robbers, just let me get my paws on ye!”
    Safe in their high position, the magpies performed little strutting dances, adding to Orkwil’s anger. This did not improve matters. He redoubled his efforts, hurtling himself at the tree trunks, throwing pawfuls of earth, and any stones he could find.
    It was a futile exercise, though it took Orkwil some time to realise this. He ended up flat out on the path, huffing and blowing for breath, completely worn out. The magpies continued their derision, even dropping leaves and pieces of twig down on him.
    After awhile, Orkwil wearily stood up and walked away from the scene, with the birds’ scornful cackles echoing in his ears. The ditchmud had set hard between his spikes, it was heavy, uncomfortable, and itched him unmercifully. He became sullen and morose again. How far was it to this river ford, he needed a long soak, and a good bath. The nerve of those birds, too, stealing all his supplies like that. Thieves and robbers, that’s all they were! Then he recalled that the same thing had been said of himself, only a day ago at the Abbey.
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    Noontide shadows were lengthening when Orkwil saw the ford, running across the path up ahead. Stumbling and staggering with exhaustion, he tottered forward, grunting with the effort of placing one footpaw in front of the other. On reaching the ford, he lay on his stomach in the