“He sacrificed himself for the Twins. Sleekfoot and Lightfinger wouldn’t be with us if it weren’t for him.”
Clutch looked down at his feet. He hoped the gesture would be mistaken for modesty. In fact, it wasn’t modesty he felt – it was confusion about his sudden change of fortune. Even the senior male above fighting age who was portioning out the clams and water plants for the line of waiting raccoons regarded him with awe. Fortunately, the two warriors who had intervened in the chicken raid weren’t here to provide their account. But what would happen when they returned to Creek Town? He needed to act fast. “Tell me, mate. Where is the One Who Can’t be Named?”
“Better use his preferred name for the day,” the elder male advised. “He is using the name: The Protector. Be sure to say the. We think he’s in the city.”
“The Protector,” Clutch repeated.
A raccoon in the line-up was limping. Sleekfoot. And Lightfinger supporting him. Clutch walked over to greet them. As he approached, the whispering in the line rose to a chatter.
“The Great One’s Son!”
“I want to touch my nose to his.”
“Don’t do that. You’re not permitted to touch him.”
“Who says so?”
“Custom says so.”
“He’s speaking to someone – I think it’s Sleekfoot.”
“Hello, Sleek. Lightfinger, dear. I’m glad you’re free.”
“This,” Lightfinger whispered, “is not free.”
“I know. But at least they’re not starving you to get you to talk.”
“Talk? You can be sure I talked,” Sleekfoot said grinning. “I trust you’re enjoying the result.”
“I never thought Raccoons were so given to rumour.”
“We aren’t,” Lightfinger said. “But if we are forced to sleep in clumps and work in shifts, we have nothing to do but pass on news.”
“They say rumour is even more rife in the city.”
“Next.”
They had reached the front of the food line. Clutch stepped back to let his new kinsfolk take their food – he would eat last. The custom was to swallow the clam on the spot, then carry away the water vegetables in their mouths to eat in the trees. Everywhere there were raccoons in twos and threes eating together. Mostly mothers and daughters, Clutch noted, as he watched the empty food bins being tipped over on their side in the lake. They would be submerged and invisible until the next communal feeding. They were small recycling bins filched from the Primates. It was dawn, before the Park filled with early morning joggers, cyclists, and droolers on leashes. The Creek Towners slept for the rest of the day, then resumed food-gathering after the last of the swimming children and soccer players went home.
Later, hidden in an ancient weeping willow that hung over the beach, Clutch, Light and Sleek resumed their collusion.
“The fighting-age males are away in the High Guard securing the Southern Frontier,” Sleek explained, answering Clutch’s puzzlement about the absence of young males.
“Though some went over in the City to plan No Name’s arrival,” Light said.
“Is it safe to talk here?” Clutch asked.
“Yes, but we’d better plan quickly,” Sleek said. “Because when the news of your esteem reaches the Great Nothing’s ears, he’s going to come back here and sort you out.”
“He’s busy in the City,” Light said. “Gossip has it that he’s arranged an occasion. He’s going to name himself The Protector of the City. But Sleek’s right. No Name would postpone his coronation just to make sure he doesn’t have a challenger.”
“To him, a powerful son is a threat.”
“He prefers dumb sons.”
“But that’s not how it works,” Clutch said. “Custom says that sons and daughters inherit a territory through their mother’s lineage.”
“Nameshifter has forgotten Custom. He has no sense of it.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“I don’t know,” Clutch answered. “All I can think of is dump the bins in the lake and run like our tails are on fire.”
“You have the respect of everyone here. Even the senior males. You’re equivalent to a Clan Father.”
“I’m not a natural leader.”
“There’s no such thing as a natural leader. Leaders are created by circumstance,” Sleek said. “Look at you. You became a leader when you hurled yourself at a Drooler.”
“That circumstance happened because I didn’t have time to think.”
“You don’t have time to think now.”
“I know. But I need to be alone and gather circumstances into myself. Maybe I’ll figure something out.”
A raccoon at the bottom of the tree was gesturing vigorously. It was Silverheels. What was the matter? Clutch waved her up to climb the tree.
“My companion, Lickfoot – she fled.”
