Chapter Two: THE DANCING DOG
Feeling very important and quite pleased with himself, Trundle went straightway to the
Dancing Dog.
The pub, known by the locals as the
Double D, was a well known “beastie pub”. The tables and chairs were the right size to cater to the smaller folk, but were hardly the safest place to be. It seemed that every other day a local rowdy was conked with “the persuader” and tossed into the back alley to repent.
Things seemed peaceable enough when the badger walked in. Most folk didn’t bother to look about, and those who did subtly nodded and turned back.
At the bar sat a couple of foxes with one drink between them. “The problem with you,” one said, “is that you don’t understand vixens.”
“And I suppose you do?”
“Oh yes. You just have to follow three simple rules….”
“Agreed. But they change the rules every day!” The second fox downed the last swallow in the glass.
“Hey!”
Behind the bar was a meek looking hare swabbing down the woodwork and a rough looking wolf going about barking orders to the kitchen crew. It was clear to Trundle who wasboss, and swallowing heavily, he drew close, note in paw.
The wolf glanced up. “May I help you?”
“Good sir, would you point out Proudfoot for me?”
That got the wolf’s full attention. “It depends on who’s asking and why.”
“Well, yes, I suppose it does.” Trundle was flustered for a moment, then he gathered his wits and held out the note. “This is why.”
The barkeep gave the note a cursory glance as if it were a mere trifle. “One of those, hmm? So you found us, Stripey Dog. I suppose you’ll be wanting your reward.”
Trundle straightened indignantly. “Reward? Oh…that bit at the end. Of course not. Money takes all the joy out of it.”
“So why
did you bring it in?”
“The poor chap’s in trouble, and it’s the right thing to do.” Trundle looked back into the wolf’s intent gaze. “Are you Proudfoot?”
The wolf subtly shook his head. “There ain’t no Holly Tremble, and there ain’t no Proudfoot.”
“I beg your pardon, sir…”
“See for yourself.” The wolf opened a small drawer in the bar and dumped out seven identical copies of the message.
Trundle stared at them in shock. Had he been a man he would have blushed, but he was not so his ears went back. “Are you saying this is some sort of trick? A nasty jape?”
“No, it’s a test, and a very good one.” The wolf looked him up and down. “And you are?”
“Trundle, sir.”
“Well, Sir Trundle, what do you do for a living?”
“It’s just Trundle. And as if it were any of your business…”
“Well??”
The badger withered under the wolf’s baleful stare. “I…I’m a carpenter.”
“Wife and kids?”
“Someday.”
At this one of the two foxes said, “Haw haw, that’s a good answer! I wish I’d thought of that one!”
The wolf shot the foxes an icy stare. “You’ve finished your drink, now off with ye!”
After the two foxes stalked out, Trundle scratched his cheek. “I didn’t think sharing a drink was allowed.”
“Ordinarily it wouldn’t be.” The wolf leaned forward and said, “Every day the Rufus twins buy two drinks and split each one down the middle. I think they’re a bit soft in the head.”
“Perhaps,” the badger said, looking a little dubious. “Maybe they’re just lonely.”
The wolf’s expression softened a bit. “You seem to be the understanding type.” He looked over at the hare and nodded. “I think you’ve found him.”
The hare brightened, came over, and took a small purse of silver coins from his belt, spilling them out on the counter. “Bravo, Trundle, Son of Earth! You have passed every test. If you make the grade, there’ll be more, and it will be gold.”
The badger stared at the coins. He wasn’t so crass as to count them but guessed there had to be at least fifty of them. “Why thank you. Thank you very much. But who are you, and what’s all this about tests and making the grade?”
“I am Sir Joseph of Brockhurst, and whatever else you may be, you are the true friend sent to me by Aslan.” He quickly and cautiously turned back the corner of his apron to reveal a gold and diamond brooch with a crimson lion on silver. It was the most beautiful and most fearful thing Trundle had ever seen and he stared at it transfixed.
“You’re a Knight of Narnia.”
Sir Joseph nodded gravely. “Come with me to the office. You shall hear my awful tale and all things will become clear.”
***
[CONTINUED]
