Nordo took up the story from his father. “You must understand our ways, Mara. The importance of the Blackstone is great in our tribe. Without it my father leads only by his strength; if he possesses the stone then he is leader not only by his toughness, but by Guosssom law. . . . But let me tell you my story. “One of the tributaries of the Great South Stream leads out on to a large lake, so big it is like an inland sea. I drifted out there in a little logboat that my father made for me—actually I fell asleep and the logboat took its own course. The oars were lost overboard as I slept. I drifted around on the big lake for more than two days, then I sighted an island near its center. Paddling with my paws, I made it to the island. There I searched the woods, looking for suitable wood to make oars so that I could row back home. Having no knife or sword, I could not cut wood. I searched all day without success. When night fell I went to sleep in the woods. It was like a dream. I was suddenly wakened by a dreadful roar. A huge white creature stood over me. It was terrifying, more ghost than fur or blood. It had hold of the Blackstone. I screamed and ran off, leaving the Blackstone and the broken thong that it had hung from. The ghost had it. I made it back to my little logboat and drifted round until the evening of the next day, when I was found by my father and a search party who were scouring the lake with the big logboat fleet. Since then no shrew has been near the big lake or the island where the ghost lives. But with you along I might be able to get the Blackstone.”

“I don’t understand. Why must you have me along?” Mara scratched her head in puzzlement.

Log-a-log spoke then, keeping his voice low. “Because you are a badger, and the ghost that haunts the island of the big lake is a badger also, a huge white one without stripes!”

20

Samkim and Arula sat in the late afternoon sun peeling the mud from themselves. Spriggat had proved correct: the stings came out with the mud. The young squirrel picked the last of it from his tail bush.

“That mud is marvelous stuff, Arula. Look, there’s not a sting on me and scarcely a lump. I feel great.”

“Ho urr, an’ oi loikwoise. ’Tis champeen mud, as ’ee say. Oi wunner whurr Maister Spriggat be agone to?”

They had been so preoccupied with bankmud and stings that neither of them had noticed the curious hedgehog’s disappearance.

Samkim rubbed his back energetically against the rough bark of a hornbeam tree. “Ooh, that feels good. I expect old Spriggat’s about somewhere. No need to worry over him—he can take care of himself all right.”