Otter Chaos! (3 page)

There was a long silence during which the frowning beaver seemed to consider the otter's suggestion to move. He looked at the four adult otters in front of him; he looked at the two young otters hiding behind an overhanging tree branch, and then he looked up at his dam.

“No,” said the beaver, and made his way back inside the den.

“Ooh, let me at 'im!” growled Grandpa Bruno, already swinging his paws, but Grandpa Jack held him back until the moment passed.

Suddenly, the beaver reappeared, followed by five other beavers.

“This is my wife, Twiggy,” he said, motioning to the eldest female, who had obviously heard everything and was scowling at the otter intruders. “And those are my daughters, Holly, Willow and Hazel – also known as the Saw Sisters.”

“The sore what?” asked Papa Brown.

“The Saw Sisters,” the beaver repeated proudly. “They can fell a tree in thirty seconds and have won prizes for bark-stripping, stick-stacking and branch-breaking. You name it – they've won prizes for it.”

The three grown-up daughters ground their huge teeth menacingly.

“My name is Chuck,” the beaver concluded, and folded his arms defiantly. “And after we spent the whole night building a brand-new dam and cosy lodge to live in,
we're not going anywhere
!”

“You forgot one!” yelled Woody from behind the rustling branch.

It was then that the head beaver frowned and remembered the youngest member of his family. The kit was standing behind his sisters, scratching in the muddy ground with a stick.

“Oh,” said Chuck with obvious disappointment. “That's Chip.”

The young kit lifted his head at the mention of his name and smiled at the adult otters. Then he saw the otter pups behind the tree and waved at them.

“Chip was meant to be a chip off the old block and take over my dam-building business,” growled Chuck, clearly comfortable sharing his parental sorrows with perfect strangers. “But all he does is scratch around in the mud.”

“He does his best,” sighed Twiggy, patting Chip's head.

“Hmmm,” grumbled Chuck.

“Now look here!” growled Papa Brown, thinking that the head beaver was trying to get his own way by changing the subject. “We were here first, so according to river rules that means—”

“Don't you live in Grinder Grime's old place?” interrupted Chuck.

“Well, we didn't know his name, but it
was
an abandoned beaver lodge,” said Papa Brown. “That's not the point, though. Cottonwood Lodge is
our
home now and—”

“Beavers were here first, then,” said Chuck, thumping the muddy ground with his wide, flat tail. “So maybe it's the otters who should move instead!”

“I'll show you who needs to move, and I'll even give you a hand!” growled Grandpa Bruno, swinging his right hook before Grandpa Jack could hold him back.

Twiggy and the Saw Sisters joined Chuck and started thumping their tails in steady, war-like drumbeats that were obviously intended to warn off attackers. And it appeared to work. Having promised their wives to stay out of trouble and look after the old boxers, Papa Brown and Papa Black exchanged a few mumbles and retreated, tugging Grandpa Jack and Grandpa Bruno away with them before they charged the dam.

The beavers looked very pleased with themselves as they bundled back inside the lodge. All except Chip, who paused to prod the dam with his stick, frowned at it, and then followed his family inside.

Woody and Sooty left their overhanging branch and hurried after their elders, who were swimming back downstream. Their fathers were up front, with their grandpas close behind still grumbling about honour and bravery and wanting to give Chuck the beaver a knuckle sandwich. The two young pups trailed behind everyone, looking and feeling completely deflated.

“I can't believe our dads backed down,” said Woody.

“I think the beavers are very selfish,” retorted Sooty.

“Shellfish!” gasped Woody. “No more clams and mussels!”

“And no more crayfish,” gasped Sooty. “No more fish at all!”

“I don't think we'll be able to stay here if there're no fish,” sighed Woody. “And I like living together. It's so much more fun than when our families lived in separate dens.”

“You don't think we'll have to split up, do you?” asked Sooty.

“I don't know,” said Woody. “But I doubt there are many other dens that two families would fit in so comfortably.”

The young pups looked ahead at their fathers, who they thought must be feeling pretty awful after their confrontation with the beavers ended so badly. Just then Papa Black and Papa Brown looked back and caught the looks on Sooty and Woody's faces.

“Cheer up, otters!” smiled Papa Black, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Last one home's a bubbly fish fart!” smiled Papa Brown.

Both otters winked at their pups before diving down with a splash. They soared underwater at high speed, taking the lead as they raced everyone home. The grandpas, always keen to show how fit they still were, also joined the race.

“Our dads seem strangely cheerful,” frowned Sooty.

“That must mean they've got a plan!” exclaimed Woody, and the two friends shared a happy high-five, before diving underwater with a double splash and zooming after the others.

ll otters gather in the central chamber!” yelled Papa Brown, leaping out of the river and on to the mooring pad, with Papa Black following close behind. The rest of the returning group clambered after them and hurried into Cottonwood Lodge.

When everyone was assembled, Papa Brown called for quiet and then addressed the two families. Sooty and Woody sat at the back and couldn't wait to hear their fathers' plan of action.

“Our meeting with the new neighbours did not go well,” said Papa Brown gravely. “In fact, it went very badly indeed. The beavers refuse to move their dam and we don't know what to do about it.”

The otters all gasped and stared, wide-eyed, at him.

“However …” prompted Mama Brown, elbowing her husband.

“Huh?” said Papa Brown, who was always bad at giving speeches.

“The good news is that we all have different skills and talents!” Mama Brown continued, opening her arms wide. “And if we all put our furry heads together, we're sure to come up with something brilliant!”

“HOORAY!” cheered the otters.

Papa Black stepped forward and began to scratch on the mud wall with a stick.

“There are six beavers in total,” he said, drawing six beaver-shaped blobs in a line and in order of size. “And the dam stretches the entire width of the river, blocking the flow of fish to us,” he added, drawing a wiggly line with a bend in the middle and two thicker lines cutting across the top.

“Where are we?” asked Nutmeg, raising her paw.

“Don't you know where you are?” chuckled Chestnut, mocking his twin sister as usual. “Nutmeg doesn't know where she is!”

“I meant in the diagram, nitwit,” Nutmeg groaned.

“We are right about
here
,” said Papa Black, following the river bend with his stick and drawing a cross to mark the location of Cottonwood Lodge. “And the water flows in
this
direction, from
here
to
here
,” he added, drawing a curved arrow from the dam to the lodge.

“Now we just need to find a way to make these go away,” said Papa Brown, pointing at the pictures of the beavers. “Or to make
this
go away,” he said, pointing to the dam.

“Turn the beavers into toads!” giggled Storm.

“Or turnips!” giggled Shadow.

“Turnip toads!” they giggled together.

“Thank you for your input,” sighed Papa Black, shaking his head and casting his eyes over the sea of black and brown fur. “Does anyone have any non-magical solutions?”

“Can't we ask them nicely to go away?” whispered Beanie.

“I'm afraid we've already tried that, my darling,” smiled Mama Brown. “Though, I suspect if the female otters and female beavers got together, we might still arrive at a sensible solution.”

“Hear, hear!” said Mama Black.

“You didn't see the female beavers!” said Grandpa Jack. “I think they were more into chomping than chatting. What did they call the three daughters?”

“The Saw Sisters,” said Papa Brown. “They were pretty scary.”

“Well, I think we should set a pack of wolves after them!” growled Grandpa Bruno. “The only danger there would be making sure we didn't get eaten ourselves.”

“That's a little extreme, even for you,” frowned Grandma Maple. “Having beavers in our back yard is bad enough; we don't want wolves at the door as well.”

Papa Brown was beginning to look rather worried. “Does anyone have any other suggestions at all? What about Coco and Berry?”

“We can't concentrate with those two whispering!” growled Coco, pointing an accusing finger at her little brother and his friend at the back of the chamber. “Otherwise we probably would have come up with something really, really clever.”

“Woody and Sooty,” said Papa Black. “Do you have any thoughts you'd like to share?”

“Holes!” said Woody, jumping up excitedly.

“Excuse me?” said Papa Brown.

“We can make lots of little holes in the dam,” said Sooty, also jumping up and down. “That way the beavers can stay where they are, but the fish can carry on swimming down the river as usual.”

“And the beavers probably won't even notice,” added Woody.

“Holes …” pondered Papa Brown, scratching his chin. “I like it!”

Papa Black turned back to the wall and started prodding the drawing of the dam with the end of his stick, making little holes all along its length. He then added lines showing water flowing through and drew baffled expressions on the blobby beavers' faces.

“Holes!” he said cheerfully.

“Holes!” confirmed Papa Brown.

“HOLES!” cheered the otters.

“All we need now is a crack team of dam busters and a cool name for the operation,” said Papa Brown, obviously excited to be taking action at last. “Any suggestions?”