Chapter 9

The Road Not Taken

Peter, Susan, Lucy and Mr. Beaver waited anxiously while Mrs. Beaver moved about the dam.

"We really should go now," Peter told her as she flung open the pantry.

"Now don't worry," Mrs. Beaver soothed. "she'll not be here for a time yet." She pulled out four loaves of bread, and Susan took a jar of raspberry preserves.

"Do you think we'll need jam?" she asked, and Peter rolled his eyes.

"Only if the witch serves toast!" he retorted. "Mrs. Beaver, please be reasonable. Even if she won't be here for a time, we'll want to get a head start, won't we?"

Mr. Beaver nodded in anxious agreement, trying to hurry his wife along again. Mrs. Beaver handed Peter a stack of clean handkerchiefs, before muttering to herself whether it would be too much if she brought along the old sewing machine.

"Yes!" Mr. Beaver shouted. "It would! Come on, Mrs…let's go!"

As annoyed at the delay as he was, Peter was grateful for the fresh handkerchiefs, and blew his running nose with one.

"One more thing, then," Mrs. Beaver announced, and they all groaned loudly.

Indeed, though, it was the very last thing, and after passing a bundle to each of them, Mrs. Beaver encouraged her husband to lead them through the secret tunnel that would bring them outside. "This should lead to Badger's place," Mr. Beaver explained, and Mrs. Beaver gave him a slightly annoyed look.

"I thought you said it lead to your Mum's!"

And, much to their desperation, they began to crawl through. If it was narrow for beavers, it was exceptionally uncomfortable for human beings. Peter desparately wanted to sneeze from all of the dust and damp, but he held his breath whenever he felt one creeping up.

They suddenly heard barks and howls, and everyone gasped in terror. "Oh no!" Susan hissed, pausing midway through the tunnel. "She's already here!"

"Well not her," Mr. Beaver whispered, as he beckoned for them to move onward. "Her police." They suddenly reached a dead end, and everyone looked at each other with pure panick on their faces.

"They're in the tunnel," Susan gasped, as the growling and barking grew louder. She grabbed Peter's arm and drug him along, as the beavers continued arguing with each other.

"You should have brought a map!" Mrs. Beaver snapped, and Mr. Beaver raised his paws in irritation.

"There was no room next to the jam!" he finally motioned for them to climb up the stone wall, which contained an opening just large enough for them to pull themselves through on their stomachs. They crawled out onto a snowy courtyard, and realized they were standing before another home. Lucy gasped…there were several animals turned to stone surrounding them, one including a badger.

Mr. Beaver walked close to the stone statue of his good friend, and Peter felt his stomach clench. He knew exactly how Mr. Beaver felt, loosing someone you were close to. Mrs. Beaver put a paw on her husband's back as he touched the statue with the tip of his nose, lowering his head.

"I'm so sorry, dear," she whispered, and Susan crept up beside Peter, watching the all too familiar emptiness fill his eyes again. Peter had lost his best friend, Ethan Hunt, to the same attack of measles that had almost taken his own life as well. Even though two years passed since the tragedy, Peter occasionally felt periods of cold and emptiness inside, an ache that never seemed to leave him.

"He was my best mate," Mr. Beaver said sadly, and Peter gulped.

"Oh!" Lucy cried out as she tripped backwards over something hard, and she gasped in pain as she fell. She was sitting on a pile of stone birds, and a single tear fell from her eye and splashed onto the frozen beak.

"Peter," Susan encouraged, squeezing his hand, and they suddenly heard the growling and barking from the tunnel. Peter let out a yell of anger, grabbing one of the barrels and slammed it against the tunnel's entrance. He stood breathing hard.

"What happened here?" Peter breathed, afterwards, and there was a sudden response:

"This is what happens to those who cross the white witch."

Everyone gave an alarmed cry, and Mr. Beaver lunged for the intruder.

"Don't you move, you traitor, or I'll chew you to splinteres!"

When the Pevensie's looked up, they saw a fox standing on top of the tunnel, it's bushy tail swishing back and forth. It merely hopped down, and paced back and forth. "Relax," he spoke. "I'm one of the good guys!"

Mr. Beaver gave a growl, just as Peter sneezed, managing to muffle it partially into his coat sleeve. "HehMmmmph!" Susan linked her arm through his, and watched as the fox didn't move.

"Well, you look an awful lot like one of the bad," Mr. Beaver growled, and the fox sighed.

"An unfortunate family resemblance," he admitted. "but we can discuss breeding later. In the meantime, we have to move."

They heard furious scratching against the barrel, and the fox ordered the group up into one of the nearest trees. Peter hadn't climbed a tree trunk in ages, but the skill came back to him with surprising ease. He lifted his sisters in after him, and the three of them snuggled together on one of the highest branches.

The barrel suddenly burst forth, and a pack of grey and black wolves appeared, their teeth bared and drooling hungrily. The fox stood in the center of the pack, watching as they circled him, sniffing the snowy ground.

"Good evening, gents!" the fox greeted, trying to sound cheerful. "Did we loose something?"

"Don't patronize me," the one wolf said, and Peter guessed these must be the secret police. He remembered seeing a paw print on the letter hanging from Mr. Tumnus' wall, and shuddered violently. Susan wrapped an arm about his shoulders, and Lucy cuddled up to his chest. "I know where your loyalties lie. We're looking for some humans."

"Humans in Narnia!" the fox exclaimed. "What valuable information!"

Before anyone could blink, the head of the secret police, Maugrim, snatched him around the middle with his sharp, gleaming teeth. Lucy started to cry out in alarm, but Peter clasped a hand over her mouth. She stared at him, her eyes wide as saucers.

"Your reward is your life," Maugrim growled. "it's not much. But still. Where are the fugitives?"

There was a long silence, and much to Peter's frustration, his nose chose this time to start itching. He gave it a quick rub with his wrist, though that only made matters worse. Susan listened as his breath quickened, and she and Lucy stared at each other, horrified. She quickly pulled Peter's face into the folds of her coat, trying to muffle the sound.

"Peter, no!" Lucy mouthed, and the beavers were watching him.

"Heh…Kshhhh! HuhKshhhh!" Peter felt his eyes water, and was grateful when the fox let out a few barks to echoe his sneezes, trying to disguise the noise.

Maugrim bit harder on the fox's flesh, and the poor animal let out a yelp of pain. "North," he croaked, when he managed to find his breath again. "They went north."

The wolf continued to hold the fox in his jaws, as though deciding whether the stranger was telling the truth. At last, Maugrim gave a grunt and tossed the fox aside, and bared his teeth again. "Smell them out," he ordered his pack, who gave him grins of satisfaction, and they began to disperse. When they were far out of sight and could no longer be heard, Mr. Beaver whispered that it was safe to come out of the tree.

"You had to sneeze," Susan sighed, and Peter looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"It wouldn't have made any difference," the fox gasped, and they could see blood splattered on the snow where he'd been injured.

"It's not that bad of a bite, dear," Mrs. Beaver said, peering closely at the fox's side. "I'll be able to mend it in a jiffy."

"We'll set up a camp fire and make a bit of dinner," she added, and everyone smirked.

"Won't they see the fire?" Peter croaked, still feeling rather sneezy and miserable.

"They're far enough away," Mr. Beaver said. "but we'll move to a clearing deeper in the woods where they'll be sure not to find us."

"Keshsshshh!" Peter sneezed again, and everyone stared at him.

"Bless you," Susan and Lucy told him, and the animals merely shook their heads.

"Let me carry you," Susan offered as the fox attempted to get to his feet, but they slipped out from under him. "if you wouldn't mind." The fox didn't, and thanked her when she carefully did so.

Lucy let out a yawn, and Peter smiled softly at her. "and I suppose I'll carry you, eh?" he asked, and she blinked, shaking her head.

"No," she told him, as he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her against his hip. Susan lifted the injured fox carefully into her own arms, and the children trecked after the beavers to find a safe camping ground.

When they found a suitable spot, Susan sat with the injured fox, while Peter helped Lucy get comfortable.

"Remember when we would sleep under the stars at the summer cottage?" she asked as he tucked the fur jacket tightly around her small body, and then went to help Mr. Beaver find wood for the fire. They collected bundles of it, and soon had a comfortable blaze burning. Mrs. Beaver immediately set to work on the fox's injury, using a needle and thread to stitch the broken flesh.

"I wish I could say their bark was worse than their bite," the fox admitted, and let out a loud, "OW!" for the third time after Mrs. Beaver continued stitching him. Peter cuddled Lucy, who was very sleepy in deed, though she nibbled on a piece of bread.

"Oh, honestly…you're worse than Beaver on bath day!" Mrs. Beaver scolded as she tried to hold the fox still.

"Ouch!"

"Are you going to be all right?" Susan asked, and he gave a small grunt of annoyance.

"Either way, this is all the cure I have time for," the fox replied, struggling to his feet. "I've been sent by Aslan himself to gather more troops for the battle."

There was dead silence, and Mr. Beaver suddenly breathed, "you've seen Aslan!"

"What's he like?" Mrs. Beaver added, and the children waited anxiously for the fox's response.

"He's like…" the fox paused. "everything we've dreamed he would be, and more."

Susan and Peter glanced at each other, and she said, "Excuse me, but…we weren't planning on fighting any witch."

"But surely, your highness, King Peter…"

Peter looked at the fox, his eyes still a bit sad. "We just want our brother back," he said softly, and Lucy let out a low sob.

"Oh Peter," she whispered, and he kissed the top of her head. "we're going to rescue him," he whispered into her ear, and the fox sighed.

"The only way you'll be able to rescue your brother is by going to Aslan," the fox told Peter. "you have to understand that."

"Get plenty of rest, dears," Mrs. Beaver encouraged, and Lucy snuggled down on Peter's lap, nestling her cheek against his fur coat. Peter held her close, and began to sing an old, family lullabye:

"Come Josephine in her flying machine

going up she goes

up she goes…"

Susan's ears pricked as she heard her brother's voice, and she felt tears immediately spring to her eyes. She hadn't heard Peter sing in years.

"Up, up…a little bit higher,

O' My! The moon is on fire…"

Susan crept beside her oldest brother, and leaned against him as well. The bavs were watching with small smiles on their faces as the three siblings eventually lay down on the ground, exhausted enough at last, to sleep.