Chapter 17 – At 'Weasels'

In the City, the corridors of power are trodden by many feet; they range from those of cleaners and porters to the esteemed holders of the great Offices of State. A few of those feet also make their way, on occasion, to a little, back-street establishment known as 'Weasels.' Most know or assume that the proprietor is a Mr Weasel, but very few have any inkling that Mr Weasel was once a weasel and that all his staff are from the Wild Wood. Weasels is a private drinking club and not a particularly salubrious one; its clientele are mostly working men; few gentlemen go there, though it is rumoured that Mr Sherlock Holmes has been seen there in one disguise or another. This rumour is, of course, ridiculous, because Sherlock Holmes is the fictional creation of a Mr Conan Doyle, but there is a nugget of truth to it in that Weasels is a place where spies and investigators of all sorts gather, and secrets are sold and exchanged.

One regular customer was a small and inoffensive character always dressed as a clerk in a cheap dark suit and celluloid collar. Most evenings this individual would politely purchase a glass of porter, and retreat to a corner table to read his newspaper. He 'kept himself to himself' and spoke only when spoken to. Some thought it odd that such an outwardly respectable and timid person should frequent such a place, for Weasels could be a rough house, but many knew exactly who he was and he was left in peace. One evening he arrived to discover a tall, rough-looking man already seated at his usual table. But instead of finding another table, he sat next to the stranger and began talking to him in low whispers. One or two other customers nodded to each other in silent agreement: the agent had met his 'handler.'

Nor were they wrong, for the stranger was none other than the outlawed 'foreign agent' Radagast von Braun. His contact, the little clerk from the Ministry, was there to pass on information. However, the clerk began by asking Radagast for news of home.

"Well," said the wizard, "If you frequent this place you must have heard about the Stoats leaving the Wild Wood and Ma Ferret dying."

"Yes, of course, and about the new Chief Weasel. But what about the River Bankers?"

"Ah. The Water Rats are now fully human; I have great hopes for them both. That young otter, Portly, is human too, though there is something special about him I haven't divined as yet – keep that to yourself if you please. His father was all but fully human last time I saw him; he asked about you by the way, seemed quite worried."

"Good old Otter! What did you tell him?"

"I was vaguely reassuring, said you were bound to reappear sooner or later."

"Thank you. I trust Otter in most things, but not in keeping his mouth shut. What about old Badger?"

"Badger is as physically well as can be expected for his age, but he hasn't yet come to terms with the 'Change.' If it was a wrench for you to leave your little underground home, think what it must be like for him."

"I suppose there is no way for him to stay put?"

"No, and the sooner he moves out the better. He could go to Toad Hall or to The Earth, or move in with the Otters until something better can be arranged. …"

But their cosy chat was interrupted by one of the bar staff who had come across. "Gents, we've just had a tip off that a police raid is imminent; I guess you would not wish to be found together."

Radagast stood up, noticing for the first time that most customers had already gone. "They must not find me at all; I'll leave by a less-known exit if I may?"

"There is a private room," said the weasel, "If you want to continue your discussion un-interrupted." They both nodded. "Follow me." And they were gone, slipping out through a hidden door few knew existed and up steep and narrow stairs to an attic room.

"When all is clear I'll give the usual signal," said the weasel. "Otherwise, there are three ways out of this room: the way we came up; a second stair from the next room that goes directly down to the cellars; or through that skylight and across the roof. I would not recommend that in the dark."

He lit a candle on the only table and left them.

The little clerk was quite excited. "You must think me very childish, Radagast, but I do get a thrill from all this cloak and dagger business!"

"Mole, you are involved in the affairs of wizards; you must realise that what you are doing is serious! Now, are we safe up here?"

"I trust the staff, and they know your, um, status. But one of the drinkers might give us away."

"Too true, I will put a closing spell on that door as a precaution. If we do need to leave in a hurry then it's across the roofs for us. I can produce a little wand light, while that stairway to the cellars could leave us trapped."

"Shouldn't we split up if the police come?"

"You are right Mole; the cellar might be the better for you, and you are not wanted by the authorities."

"Not yet Radagast, but if I am found with you the game will be up! Here is a dossier of notes and papers I've managed to compile. Let me talk you through them."

Radagast took the little brown-paper packet and hid it inside his coat. "No time Mole, judging by all that noise below. First: anything known about Toad and his ministry 'contacts'?"

"Toad has so many 'friends' in the Ministry! I've compiled a list of over twenty, it could be any of them."

"Then tell me what you know about those military manoeuvres. Who ordered the army out on the hilltops? How did they choose which hills?"

"I'm still working on that, but I do know that the troops were stood down after just one night. The original orders were to occupy the high points until further notice."

"Were they? Well all the elves from Toad Hall got away that first night without the troops on the ground knowing much about it. Whoever is in charge must have some other source of information. Find out who gave the recall order, that's most important."

At that point a loud banging came from the door they had come in by. "Time for us to leave! My spell can't hold them for long. One last question: have you come across the name Saruman? No? He might be using a false name, look out for his sign: The White Hand. Beware of him, he is most dangerous, just let me know by any means you can - even if it does blow your cover - and leave the City at once."

Before Mole could draw breath to reply the wizard had reached the skylight and opened it wide. With amazing agility he was out onto the roof, glowing staff in hand. Mole grabbed the candle from the table and went through into the next attic room, closing the door behind him. All the while bangings and muffled shouts came from the other door. It took him anxious seconds to find the concealed entrance to the cellar stairs. He closed it silently behind him and - partly to make no noise but mainly because the stair was vertiginous – began to make his way down slowly, one hand on the wall (for there was no handrail) and the other clutching the candlestick. It took him many minutes, or a least it seemed so, to reach the bottom stair, all the while his mind whirling in an attempt to decide what to say should he be apprehended.

Once in the cellar he practically collapsed, heart beating rapidly, and waited. But there was no sound of pursuit and no one entered the cellar. He left the candle burning for otherwise he would have been in total darkness.

One of the weasels found him hours later fast asleep on some empty sacking and covered head to toe in dust and grime. They brushed him off and dusted him down as best they could and fed him with coffee and bacon. The whole capper seemed to amuse them immensely and Mr Weasel himself gave Mole an admiring description of how the wizard had drawn off all pursuit across the roof tops before giving the police the slip. "It was him the police was after Mr Mole, you seem to be in the clear. You know your business I'm sure, but might I suggest you choose somewhere else for your confidential business in future?"