“That’s good news, isn’t it?”
“No,” Silverheels cried. “She’s run to the city to tell the Almighty Anon that you’re starting an Insurrection.”
29
Clutch was surprised by how quickly the people of Creek Town transferred their loyalty to him. Having no clan families to belong to anymore, the population had become like algae in a lagoon, a suspension of particles swayed this way and that by currents of gossip and attracted to the only social structure available – one man rule. No Name had created an autocracy by dissolving the boundaries of the hunting grounds on which the traditional families depended, then substituting himself as the central authority assisted by a group of alpha males with the rank of clan family head but no actual family. This system was kept intact by creating a state of fear, with daily campaigns of disorienting gossip mainly about Invasions of Migrants Bringing Disease.
Clutch, without intending to, took over the headship of this power structure. The act was a temporary measure only, to get Creek Town through the coming struggle. After victory had been won, he would restore the Clan Mothers to their family hunting grounds while he went off to do what he enjoyed best, which was being alone with his own thoughts. He recalled a quotation of Uncle Wily’s from raccoon oral sayings: In solitude, be to thyself a throng. Perhaps he would contribute a saying to raccoon literature himself one day.
But he couldn’t be certain he would bring about a victory for his present throng who were looking up to him for direction. Sharing his uncertainty with Sleekfoot and Lightfinger, he was dismayed by their quixotic enthusiasm.
They were lying at No Name’s headquarters in the part of Creek Town that Primates had left in a wilderness state. Here, in the fork of a massive elm that had somehow escaped disease, the Nameless One would pronounce new Customs at nightfall, then enforce them by punishments the following dawn.
A cool morning breeze blew a promise of autumn across the river from the city. But it carried no information out of the ordinary. They would have to rely on scraps of gossip.
“One of Nobody’s scouts came in last night,” Sleek said. “His loyalty did a back twist when he saw we were running the show. I told him we were enforcing No Name’s punishment for treason. That made him talk.”
“What’s a scout?”
“Someone who does special missions. A spy. A secret agent. An assassin. He said Nameless assigned him to slip into the city and spread disinformation in the gossip network about an attack by Migrants. Then, when Nameless installs himself as Protector of the City, he’s going to say that the City Fathers asked him to protect the city from the invasion.”
“I see.”
“After the Great Nothing is installed, this scout’s mission will be to sniff out traitors to the new regime hiding in the city population. And Migrants.”
“What else did the turncoat tell you?”
Lightfinger took over the report. The twins had the habit of speaking alternately, finishing each other’s sentences.
“The Big Tail is going to host a feast. It’s timed to coincide with some outdoor celebration planned by the Primates. There will be heaps of meat and spirit sugar. When he’s gathered them all together, he’s going to give it out and announce to the hungry, frightened masses that he’s their Protector.”
“Against himself,” Clutch said. No Name had a unique ability to create a problem and then offer himself as the solution. The problem in this case was too many migrants. The solution … what was the solution? It was probably to increase the population of raccoons in the city by extending its territory to include the East Bank. The bonus for Creek Town would be free movement across the river and the acquiring of primate food. For the City dwellers, access to crayfish and clams.
He didn’t know much about the city and its folkways. It had always been a mystery to him – not a beckoning wonder as it was to Bandit and Touchwit. He needed to know more about the Occasion.
“I must talk to the scout. What’s his name?”
“Clawface. I’ll go get him.”
“When is the Occasion happening?” he asked the scout, once he was produced.
The warrior was a fighting raccoon with a wound mark down the side of his face. But his eyes were unimpaired and keen.
“Judging by the arrival of food trucks, it will begin tomorrow night. We can smell raw meat, potatoes, and corn in the trucks, and we’ve figured out how to break into them. The Primate feast is a two-day event. After they depart the first evening, we will pillage the organic waste bins and then break into the trucks.”
It was an old raccoon trick, but on a grand scale – to take a primate picnic and graft a raccoon feast on top of it. He had to admire the Nameless One’s cunning.
“What does he want Creek Towners to do here?”
“Just stay put and keep the Invaders at bay.”
That piece of information was significant. No Name didn’t have enough fighting raccoons to subdue the city and hold the frontier against Southerners at the same time. He had divided his forces on two fronts. Remember that, Clutch.
“Is there likely to be trouble on the frontier?” Light asked.
The spy looked to Clutch for permission. Should he answer a question from a subordinate?
“Go ahead.”
“No, sir,” Clawface said. “The Invaders never begin the battles. We’re the ones who start them. Whenever we need to stir up trouble.”
Clutch could tell by Clawface’s reticence that this was a state secret. “Thank you,” he said, not knowing how he would use it. There was another piece of information hidden in this secret. What was it?
“How do you get to the city?” he asked.
“Our usual route. Down to the highway bridge just south of us. Then across to the park where Primates bury their bodies. Then up the lakefront into the downtown.”
“Why don’t you just swim across from here to the burying place?”
“Some of us do. But not No Name. He doesn’t like it when his tail looks wet and limp. He wants it fluffed out. Same with his ruff.”
“Can he swim at all?”
“When he has to.”
Remember that too, Clutch. The powerful leader with the buoyant ruff and tail may surprise you by swimming.
30
