Lucky Read online

  To my family

  … and other animals

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  The Albion Park

  1 Cloudfoot Avenue

  2 Mazie Trimble

  3 The Albion

  4 Finlay

  5 Northenders

  6 Amber

  7 Cadet Troop

  8 Tag

  9 Tarragon

  10 Patrolling

  11 Wrestling

  12 Ratter

  13 Trial

  14 Enemies

  15 The Plan

  16 Taken

  17 The Final Run

  18 Rescue

  19 Second Daughter

  20 Betrayal

  21 Major Fleet

  22 Dogs and Foxes

  23 Night Watch

  24 The Meeting Drey

  25 The Albion Gates

  26 Fight Like a Cloudfoot

  27 Fallen

  28 The Sixth Chestnut

  29 The Challenge

  30 The Word of Ma

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  “Lucky?” It was a soft voice, a kindly voice, pulling him out of the Darkness. “Lucky squirrel, you’re shaking again. Are you awake?”

  Awake? I don’t want to be awake, he thought. It’s happened again. This isn’t my home-tree. I’ve woken up on Cloudfoot Avenue—again!

  “It’s all right, Lucky, you’re safe with me.”

  I’m not going to open my eyes yet. I’m going to breathe slowly and stop shaking. It’s happening again today, but maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up back home. But will I? Ever?

  Lucky had lost count of how many times he’d thought this. Every day he hoped he’d be back in his home-tree again, snug and safe in his own drey-nest. Yet every day he woke up in an alien world with this creature who called herself a squirrel.

  She said he was safe—she said she was his mother now. But she wasn’t right. She didn’t even look like a squirrel, with her horrible gray fur that smelled of smoke and dust.

  He knew she wasn’t right. He knew he’d had a mother before this “First Daughter” squirrel, brothers and sisters too. For a fleeting moment, just as he woke, he could remember them. Then they slipped away, replaced by memories of shrieking wind, splintering wood, and sharp talons.

  Then, thankfully, the Darkness came again.

  Maybe my family are just a dream, he thought. But I know I’m not named Lucky, and I know you’re not my mother!

  He never said it to First Daughter. She was kind to him and it would hurt her feelings.

  “Lucky, I know you’re awake!”

  He opened his eyes obediently and looked up at the strange squirrel who wanted to be his mother. She smiled and nuzzled him out of the warm moss-lined bed at the base of her drey-nest. He uncurled and stretched. First Daughter towered over him. Even with nose and tail extended he was half her size. Why wasn’t he getting any bigger?

  Bud and branch, thought First Daughter, am I doing the right thing? I can’t keep him hidden in my home-tree forever, but he’s so small!

  She’d tried to feed him up. Maybe he was supposed to be this small? Perhaps this was normal squirrel size in his home-trees. His fur was a peculiar red color, and his ears … She didn’t even want to think about his ears …

  There’s nothing more I can do, she thought. I must stop worrying. So she began the morning grooming, cleaning his face and strange tufted ears with her sharp little tongue.

  Lucky wriggled and started to giggle—it always tickled! First Daughter smiled again. He’d stopped shaking and seemed happier now.

  A scratching noise outside the drey stopped her in midstroke. Lucky stiffened and wrinkled his nose. There were other creatures out there. He could smell them.

  “Stay here, Lucky, I won’t leave you for long.”

  First Daughter’s drey was a hollow ball of tightly woven twigs, a warm and dry nest. She pushed through a small hole in the curved wall, arched over the edge, and jumped out onto her home-tree, where the drey hung safely between two great spars of wood.

  I’m not going to hide in the moss-bed, thought Lucky. I’m not going to be afraid. So he crept up to the drey wall, straining to hear fragments of conversation over the rustle of leaves and unfamiliar distant rumbling sounds.

  “It’s too early for the Cadet Troop.” This was First Daughter; he knew her voice.

  “Tooth and claw, sister, why waste time?” This was not a friendly voice.

  “The Ma gave him to me and he is growing … slowly.”

  “Sister, I have heard the chatter in the trees. I’ve heard that he’s … different. A runt at best, and certainly not a Cloudfoot!”

  “I will be the judge of that!” First Daughter sounded angry now. “He will join the Cadet Troop when he is ready, like any other Cloudfoot male.”

  “Then he will fail and be Cast Down. The Ma will not have weaklings in the Clan.”

  “I do not need you to tell me the Word of Ma, sister! He is my son and I will raise him.”

  Lucky could hear First Daughter coming back into the drey and he scurried down to the moss-bed. He thought she would look angry—she had sounded very angry—but she just looked sad.

  “Different”? What did the other squirrel mean? It was First Daughter who was different, not him! They had been talking about him for sure, but what was this “Cadet Troop” he was supposed to join, and who was this “Ma”? She didn’t sound very nice—or motherly! There were so many questions he wanted to ask, but First Daughter just carried on with his grooming as if nothing had happened. Eventually she considered him clean enough and seemed to come to a decision.

  “Lucky, we are going out into the Avenue, into the Cloudfoot trees.”

  “Today? Now?” His whiskers quivered—going outside!

  “It’s time you learned about our Clan. I have kept you in my drey for too long. But you must promise to stay close and do everything I say. Understand?”

  Lucky nodded solemnly. He was far too excited to be afraid. There was a world outside the drey-nest and somewhere, somewhere in that world, was his real home. I’m going to find it, he thought. My family is out there somewhere!

  First Daughter squeezed through the gap in the woven twig wall. Lucky followed, small enough to slide through easily. He took a deep breath and dove over the edge of the drey, landing on a thick branch high up in a densely leafed tree.

  His nostrils instinctively flared, tasting the air. Was this like his home-tree? He had a memory of its scent: clean pine, carried on sweet air. The air in this tree had a bitter, smoky tang. This did not smell like his home-tree.

  First Daughter started to spiral up the thick tree trunk to the next branches. Lucky set off after her, circling the trunk, but she was really fast and soon disappeared among the huge green leaves. Lucky froze in panic, his claws pressed into the rough tree bark—he’d already lost her!

  “Lucky!” First Daughter hung from the branch above him. “Come on, you must keep up!”

  Lucky clawed up the rest of the trunk, trying to go as quickly as he could.

  Bud and branch, thought First Daughter, he’s too slow. He’s never going to survive at that pace!

  The two squirrels set off along the branches, leaping from tree to tree. This was better. Lucky was light and agile and he found thin branch pathways that First Daughter was too heavy to use. He was keeping up with her quite well now.

  I’ve got to build up his stamina for climbing, she thought. I’ll have to. No slow squirrel survives for long.

  They were passing a large, beautifully woven drey in a chestnut tree when a female squirrel appeared. She looks just like First Daughter, thought Lucky. Waddling behi
nd her, with a sour look on his face, was a young male.

  Lucky was stunned. He’d expected to find some squirrels that looked like him, but all these Cloudfoots were strange. The young male didn’t just have stubby small ears and dirty gray fur, he had a massive stomach too. This squirrel was bigger and fatter than any squirrel ought to be.

  “Sister! Finally out with your son, I see.”

  Lucky recognized the voice and felt First Daughter stiffen. This had to be the other squirrel from outside the drey, the one who’d said he was different.

  The other squirrel shoved the sullen male toward them. “Nimlet, say hello to First Daughter and her son.”

  Nimlet looked at Lucky and wrinkled up his nose in disgust. “You stink.”

  “You stink too!” said Lucky before he could stop himself.

  The fat squirrel’s mother tried not to laugh. “Nimlet!” she exclaimed. “The poor thing can’t help how he smells—or what color he is.”

  First Daughter was furious. “Lucky, we are going now.”

  They traveled some way among the branches before First Daughter stopped.

  “Sorry,” said Lucky quickly, before she could tell him off. “But he started it!”

  “I know. He has no manners and neither does my sister, Second Daughter. I’m sorry too, Lucky, but be careful what you say, otherwise you’ll get into fights.”

  “I’m not afraid of getting into fights!”

  Good, thought First Daughter, but you’re not big enough yet to win them. “Fighting is no good without strategy, Lucky. In our trees the Cloudfoot Daughter Generals use their wits to win battles. It’s called the Knowledge. They are the cleverest females in the Avenue.”

  “I can be clever too!”

  First Daughter was taken aback. It had never occurred to her that a male might be clever. Males followed the Daughter Generals’ orders and defended the Avenue—they didn’t need to think for themselves. But Lucky wasn’t big and strong like the Cloudfoot males, and it didn’t look like he was ever going to be, so he would need to be able to think for himself—if he was to have any chance of survival.

  I could teach him the Knowledge, she thought. If he could plan for the future, understand strategy, and think logically, he’d have an advantage over the other males. It would be worth a try … She looked down at his big bright eyes and trembling whiskers. “Would you like to learn to be really clever?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Come along then; we will start with some geography.”

  They spiraled higher up the tree trunk, leaving the densely foliaged, safe Mid-levels behind. Lucky tried to stay close, but it was hard work and the trunk seemed to go on forever. When they finally got close to the Canopy, the highest branches, he was panting and struggling for breath in the foul-smelling air. The branches had thinned out and leaf cover was scarce at the very top of the trees. The squirrels were exposed to the vast sweep of the sky.

  “First rule: Check the airways,” said First Daughter. “Always check the airways. The sky is dangerous—look!” She pointed to the black shapes circling above.

  Lucky squinted upward as First Daughter listed the hunting birds that saw squirrel as a tasty snack. Thuggish crows and ravens. Thieving magpies, fast and clever. The silent swooping owls at dusk; they would happily pluck a squirrel from the trees if they could.

  “Know the shape of your enemy, Lucky, so you can avoid them.”

  They went up higher, scanning carefully for incoming birds, and finally First Daughter led him out onto a viewing branch and showed him her world.

  Lucky looked at it in horror: a long line of huge trees, stretching into the distance, as far as the eye could see. None of them had the shape or smell of any tree he knew.

  “This is the Cloudfoot Avenue.”

  One side of the Avenue was bordered with strange shapes, square and pointy at the same time, that covered the whole of the landscape. Lucky had never seen anything so ugly.

  “Houses,” explained First Daughter. “Human dreys.”

  The other side of the Avenue was a vast flat sea of green, then more houses and towering white blocks on the horizon.

  “That is Albion Park.”

  Lucky fought a rising tide of panic. I’m trapped! he thought. Trapped between these “human dreys”! He wanted to run. This wasn’t a real wood or a forest—this wasn’t a proper place for squirrels!

  He frantically scanned the trees for any other squirrels like him. Any hint, any clue, anything he might recognize—any way back.

  “I can’t see my home-tree,” he whispered.

  “This is your home now,” said First Daughter.

  Lucky struggled hard to hold back his tears.

  Mazie Trimble scurried along the Mid-levels, leaping expertly from branch to branch, trying to look busy. This wasn’t difficult; she was in the Foraging ranks and foragers were always busy collecting and storing food. But she didn’t want any Senior Daughter stopping her with an errand to run—not today.

  First Daughter wanted to see her!

  At first Mazie had thought she might be in trouble again—she wasn’t very good at taking orders from the stupid females who outranked her. But this didn’t seem likely. First Daughter would be the next Ma one day; surely she wouldn’t bother with a humble forager like Mazie?

  It was a puzzle, and she was normally good at puzzles. She’d gotten the highest grade in her class for Strategy and Tactics. Everyone knew she was clever. Mazie knew she was clever.

  But being clever wasn’t enough for a female in the Cloudfoot Avenue. Mazie had discovered that you needed connections—the right breeding, or support from the powerful Daughter Generals—to be promoted in the ranks. There was no chance of that for a Trimble.

  I should be a Daughter Attendant, she thought bitterly. I’d be brilliant! But I’m stuck finding food.

  But now it seemed her luck might have changed. Her heart thumped against her chest as she entered First Daughter’s drey. Could this be it? Had First Daughter recognized her talents? She bristled with excitement. Please, please let this be the day!

  “Ma’am, you sent for me?” Mazie bobbed formally.

  First Daughter could hardly disguise her shock. The last time she had seen Mazie Trimble was at the end of the Knowledge Trials. Then, she had been glowing, happy, and triumphant, with a Special Commendation for her achievement.

  Now the young female’s face was pinched and she was twitching nervously. It was a hard life in the Foraging ranks.

  “Miss Trimble, my current Attendant will soon be promoted and there will be a space in the branches of my home-tree.”

  The young squirrel’s face lit up—yes!

  “Of course, that space would only go to a Daughter who was completely loyal and had won my trust, you understand?”

  Mazie nodded frantically in agreement—of course she understood.

  “Word of your skill in foraging has reached my ears,” continued First Daughter, “and I wondered if you’d like to take on a pupil?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am!” exclaimed Mazie. “I am at your command.”

  “Do I have your word on that?”

  “Absolutely,” said Mazie firmly.

  “Good,” said First Daughter, “then I will introduce you to my adopted son.”

  Lucky stepped out from behind First Daughter’s tail and did a little bob of greeting as she had taught him. It was hard to ignore the look of horror on Mazie’s face, but Lucky had discovered that most Cloudfoots looked at him like that at first, and he was getting used to it.

  Mazie’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish’s. She had no idea what to say. She’d heard the chatter in the trees that First Daughter’s baby was different, but nothing had prepared her for this. She would be the laughingstock of the Clan if she were seen with this … this mutant!

  First Daughter had obviously read her mind. “Lucky must not be seen learning to forage—so you will need to do this secretly.”

  “Of course,
ma’am,” said Mazie. That, at least, was a relief. “When shall I begin?”

  “You will begin now, Miss Trimble. Lucky will be joining the Cadet Troop very soon and we have not a moment to lose.”

  The Cadet Troop? thought Mazie. No chance! That male’s crow bait for sure! But she kept her thoughts to herself, and declared again that she was at First Daughter’s service and would do her very best. Then she took Lucky to the most secluded part of the Avenue and began the task. After all, how hard could it be?

  Lucky was keen to learn and First Daughter had told him that Mazie was clever and could teach him a lot. But being clever doesn’t always make for a good teacher, as Mazie soon discovered. Everything she knew as a Cloudfoot-born-and-bred was new to Lucky. She would have to start from scratch.

  “We’ll begin with the trees.” They were perched on the branches of a graceful silver birch overlooking the Park.

  “Lesson one. This is a good tree,” said Mazie.

  “Why?”

  “What d’you mean, why?”

  “Why is it a good tree?”

  “Because it is,” said Mazie. “Everyone knows that.”

  “But I don’t know! Is it because the trunk’s a funny color?”

  “No, stupid,” she said crossly. “It’s because it’s the first to bud after the time of No-Growth.”

  “Why is that a good thing?”

  Mazie was completely exasperated now. “It just is,” she said crossly. He knew nothing! Wait until he’s shivering and starving in the bare branches through No-Growth, she thought. Then he’ll understand. Any tree that heralded the start of Bud-time was a good tree.

  “So what’s a bad tree then?” asked Lucky.

  “The oak,” said Mazie promptly, “because—”

  “It’s the last to bud?”

  Mazie stopped and gave him a hard stare. Maybe he wasn’t so stupid after all.

  They moved down to the lower levels. “Those are good bushes,” she said, pointing.

  Lucky looked hard at the undergrowth below them—they all looked the same to him. “Why?”

  “Because they have berries, of course!”

  “But they haven’t got any berries.”

  “Well, no, not yet, but they’ll have berries soon.”