CONTENTS
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Map
Epigraph
Book One: Six Tears for an Abbot
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Book Two: Westward the Warriors
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Book Three: When Tears Are Shed
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
About the Author
Also by Brian Jacques
Copyright
About the Book
Far away, on the Isle of Sampetra, the evil Emperor Ublaz sends his lizard army on a murderous mission to Redwall. Meanwhile, Tansy the hedgehog and her fellow Abbey dwellers race against time to unravel the fiendishly difficult riddles leading to six rose-coloured gems – the Pearls of Lutra.
The Tales of Redwall
Lord Brocktree
Martin the Warrior
Mossflower
The Legend of Luke
Outcast of Redwall
Mariel of Redwall
The Bellmaker
Salamandastron
Redwall
Mattimeo
The Pearls of Lutra
The Long Patrol
Marlfox
The Taggerung
The Pearls of Lutra
A Tale of Redwall
Brian Jacques
Illustrated by Allan Curless
O curse the name Mad Eyes
Say woe to the day,
When he tried to steal
Tears of all Oceans away.
All corsairs and searats
Whose messmates lie dead,
Saw blood and hot flame
Turn the seas flowing red.
Though northcoast lies far
And the ocean is wide,
Run from the green arrows
Of vengeance, and hide.
For the price of six tears
Through the dreams of us all,
Walks the fear of a Warrior
From the place called Redwall.
Now the life of our Brethren
Who followed the sea,
Will ne’ er be the same
For such rovers as we.
’Twas the greed of a tyrant
That brought us to shame,
Six tears for a crown –
Curse the Emperor’s name!
Verses taken from an old corsair ballad
BOOK ONE
Six Tears for an Abbot
1
THOUGH TANSY WAS still only a young hedgehog, she was known to be a veritable rock of good sense by the elders of Redwall Abbey. Because of this, she was one of the few youngsters allowed outside the Abbey walls, mainly to gather materials for Sister Cicely’s remedies. Fine spring sunshine, tinged light green from the semi-transparent new leaves, filtered down through the high canopy of Mossflower Wood, and somewhere off deeper in the woodlands a cuckoo sang its repetitive aria to the growing season. Tansy put her basket down upon a mossy knoll and began setting out food: a little chunk of yellow cheese, small farls of soft nutbread, a few candied chestnuts and a flagon of elderberry cordial. Fussily she dusted out the insides of two wooden beakers on her apron, then she peered about at the surrounding tree trunks.
‘I know you’re there, Arven, now come out this instant, or I’ll eat all this lunch an’ you won’t get a crumb!’ she called.
The tiny squirrel leapt from a nearby elm, landing neatly in a sitting position right next to her. Tansy stifled her surprise at his sudden appearance, and busied herself unfolding two clean serviettes as she lectured her charge severely.
‘What’ve you been told about wandering off? D’you know I’m responsible for you? Just look at those mucky paws, wipe them off on the moss before you touch a single thing, you maggot!’
Arven scrubbed his little paws on the clean linen smock he wore, leaving two muddy patches across it. He smiled winningly and grabbed a candied chestnut. ‘Am never wandled oft, no need t’be asponsible f’r Arven, not gett’n lost, ho no, too starven t’be losted!’
Tansy tried to hide a smile, but found herself unable to. Chuckling, she poured out a beaker of cordial for her friend. ‘You’re a little maggot! What are you?’
‘Me a lickle starven maggit, heeheehee! But Arven eat all lunch, then me be big maggit an’ go hohoho!’
The little squirrel was never still. As he ate and drank he hopped around the knoll chanting, ‘Miggity Maggity hohoho! Tanzee panzee toogle doo!’
‘I’ll Tansy pansy you if you make yourself sick jumping round while you’re eating,’ Tansy muttered, more to herself than Arven, as she checked over the plants she had collected. ‘Hmm, old hogweed stalks, young angelica shoots, let’s see, what else did Sister Cicely want . . . Wintergreen, there may be some by the rocks.’
She glanced up at the sky. It had been gradually clouding over as they ate, and now a few tell-tale drops on her face caused the young hedgehog to tut with annoyance. ‘Tch tch! Rain! There was no sign of it earlier, sky was clear as a bell. Come on, Arven, help me to pack this lot back into the basket. You can finish your lunch while I search among the rocks, there’s good shelter there.’
Swiftly the two friends repacked their basket and set off east, deeper into the woodlands. A chill wind sprang up, buffeting the treetops, whipping the increasing downpour until rain found its way through and began thrumming against the loamy earth. Tansy shielded Arven with her cape as he railed against the unpredictable mid-spring weather.
‘Firsta sunny thena rainywet, it’sa maggit!’
The rocks were dark red sandstone ledges, tilted at a crazy angle in a small scrubby clearing. They pushed up out of the ground, piled against each other like a row of books gone askew on a bookshelf. Gaps caused by erosion formed many small shallow caves, and Tansy and Arven huddled under the nearest one as the wind chased the rain.
Arven went into a little dance, shaking himself vigorously. Tansy shielded her face by holding up the basket.
‘Be still, you rogue. I’m quite wet enough without you splashing rain all over me. Oh look, wintergreen!’
Reaching out into the rain, she plucked a tiny plant with pale green, spear-shaped leaves.
Arven was more interested in warmth. ‘Lighta fire, Tansy, make Arven dry’n’warm,’ he whimpered.
Tansy studied the strong-smelling seedling, which had been crushed underpaw by
them as they entered the cave, explaining to the little squirrel as she did, ‘I don’t have flints or tinder with me. Besides, old Rollo the Recorder says that only grown and experienced beasts are allowed to light fires in the woodlands. Fire is a very dangerous thing if it gets out of control.’
Arven was not impressed by old Rollo’s words. ‘Huh! Fire very dangerful, kuffwarh!’ he said as he hopped out into the rain. ‘Any’ow, Arven wet now, can’t get more wetted, me gonna play.’
He bounded off out of view, with Tansy calling after him, ‘Stay close to the rocks, d’you hear me? Don’t go wandering off, and keep that new smock in one piece, or Mother Auma will tan your tail good an’ proper!’
When Arven was out of sight, Tansy sat miserably, watching the rain pattering off the rocks and staring at the ground in search of other wintergreen shoots. The day out that she had planned for herself and Arven in Mossflower woodlands had been ruined by rain. It wasn’t fair, especially after she had begged and pleaded with Auma to be allowed to take Arven with her. The morning had started off bright and sunny; she had made up the lunch and packed it herself, listened carefully to Sister Cicely’s instructions, then set off holding Arven with one paw and the basket in the other, feeling very grown up and responsible. Wullger the otter was on gate duty, and he had winked and tipped his tail to Tansy as he let her out of the main wallgate.
She smiled to herself, remembering how Viola bankvole had been watching from the rampart steps. That snippy Viola! Mincing about and giving herself all kinds of airs and graces, always making smart remarks. But Viola was too flibberty-gibbet to be allowed out alone. The young hedgehog had made a special point of waving at her and calling aloud, ‘Just popping out to Mossflower, see you later, Viola dear!’
The prissy bankvole had turned nearly purple with envy. Hah! that’d show her!
‘Tanzeeeeee!’
Arven’s scream brought Tansy back to the present like lightning. Tossing aside the basket, she hitched up her smock and went dashing out into the rain, scrambling up the rocks as she charged forward to the sounds of the screeching babe.
‘Tanzeeee! ’urreeeeee!’
Hurtling along the uneven top of the sloping sandstone mass, Tansy yelled into the wind and rain, ‘Arven, where are you? Keep shouting, keep shouting!’
‘Fell downer ’ooooooole! ’elp, Tanzeeeeeee!’
Speeding to the spot where the sound came from, Tansy threw herself on all fours, reaching her paws down into a broad crack in the rocks. She felt Arven’s tiny damp paws latch onto hers and breathed a swift sigh of relief.
‘Hold tight, I’ll have you out o’ there in a tick!’
Before she could start lifting him, the nimble little fellow had scrambled up over her paws, stepped on her nose and onto the back of her neck, and leapt clear, shouting, ‘Lookalooka! Down there! Eeeeeeee!’
Lying face down, Tansy gazed into the rift. With a gasp of horror she found herself staring into the eyeless sockets of a skull. Gap-toothed and grinning, with rain pattering on it to produce the most dreadful hollow sound, it stared back at her. Bleached bones and the ragged remnants of clothing clinging to them comprised the remainder of the skeleton, trapped in the jaws of the narrow rift. Thunder rumbled as a vivid flash of lightning lit up the stark scene. A scream of terror tore itself from the hedgehog maid’s throat.
Forgetting plants, basket and picnic lunch, heedless of pelting rain and wind, Tansy grabbed Arven’s tiny paw. Together they leapt from the sandstone rocks, rolling, stumbling and bounding down onto the wet grass. Both creatures sped off as if the skeleton had risen from the rift to pursue them. Blindly they rushed through the storm-lashed woodland, footpaws slapping the ground, hearts racing madly, as they sought the path back to the warmth, peace and safety of their home, Redwall Abbey.
2
FAR ACROSS THE heaving deeps of restless ocean, some say even beyond the place where the sun sinks in the west, there lies the Isle of Sampetra. At first sight, it’s a lush tropical jewel, set in turquoise waters where seasons never change from eternal summer. But a closer look would reveal that Sampetra is rotten as a flyblown fish carcass. It is a crossroads of evil, haven to the flotsam of the high seas. Corsairs, searats and all manner of vermin wavescum make their berth at Sampetra, the domain of a pine marten, the mighty Emperor Ublaz!
He is also known as Mad Eyes, though none ever called him that to his face and lived. He dwells in a palace built on a flat-topped escarpment at the island’s southwesterly tip. Any ship entering the harbour must pay tribute to Ublaz, and captains who do not choose to anchor at Sampetra are considered to be foes of the Emperor. It is his decree that their ships and even their lives are forfeit; they are fair game to his followers.
Mad Eyes is cunning, all-powerful. Like a spider at the centre of a great web, he rules Sampetra. No trees grow upon the island, but Ublaz has a vast timber stock in his courtyard. Wood for ship repairs is given only to those who pay him heavy tribute. The island is a good place for vermin from the seas to rest and roister: there are taverns dotted about the harbour area. Ublaz is served by a regiment of rats who carry long tridents as a mark of their rank; his Trident-rats patrol the harbour night and day. However, the most fearsome of his creatures are great flesh-eating lizards known as the Monitors, who have inhabited Sampetra for as long as anybeast can remember. Only the mad-eyed Emperor can control the dreadful reptiles, with the power of his hypnotic stare.
Conva the corsair captain was not a happy stoat as he watched his steersrat bring their craft, the vessel Waveworm, into the bay of Sampetra. On the jetty Conva could see lizards and Trident-rats waiting, and he knew what they were there for – to take him before the Emperor. Had the corsair known any pleas or prayers to the fates, he would have said them right then, hoping that Mad Eyes might have forgotten the treasure called ‘Tears of all Oceans’. But then he recalled his meeting with Ublaz before the voyage, and the eyes, the strange mad eyes that had compelled him to return.
Sounds of singing, fighting and feasting drifted up from the taverns by the jetty as Waveworm hove alongside. Conva was relieved of his curved scimitar and marched off between two Monitors and two Trident-rats. The remainder of the guards boarded the ship, to make sure the crew stayed in their quarters until they received permission to come ashore.
As he was ushered into the throne room of the Emperor, Conva glanced around. It was the peak of barbaric splendour. There were silks, marble, rich velvet cushions and satin hangings, and the air was heavy with the scent of strange aromatic herbs smouldering in wall braziers. The Emperor was seated on a great carved cedar throne.
Though Conva feared Ublaz, he could not help but admire him. A big creature, this pine marten: strong, handsome and sleek, with fine brown fur from head to bushy tail, complemented by a creamy yellow throat and ears. He was clad in a green silk robe with a gold border; blue sapphires twinkled from the handle of a slim silver-bladed dagger, thrust into a belt of shark’s skin. The face of Ublaz was immobile. Savage white teeth showed slightly through a thin, almost lipless mouth, and above the curled perfumed whiskers and light brown nosetip, two jet-black almond-shaped eyes stared at the corsair captain.
All was silence. Conva stood riveted by the eyes; they pierced him to the core. Silent and mysterious Ublaz sat, transfixing the corsair with his gaze until words began flowing from the hypnotized captain.
‘Mighty One who knows all, your commands were carried out. We raided the den of Lutra the otter on the far north shores. They were taken by ambush and slain, every one of them, and all that they possessed was loaded aboard my ship.’
For the first time Ublaz spoke, his voice scarce above a whisper. ‘Tell me what you took, everything.’
The corsair repeated a list of spoils. ‘Beakers set with coloured stones, platters also, carved bone tail- and pawrings, one gold neckband, a box of small purple pearls and another box made from a hinged scallop shell. This shell contained six large, rose-coloured pearls.’
The Emperor drew in his breath sharply. ‘The Tears of all Oceans, you have them!’
Conva began to shiver visibly. He collapsed to the marble floor, his voice trembling with fear. ‘Mighty One, they were stolen!’
Ublaz sighed deeply, slumping back on his throne as if the bad news came as no surprise to him. ‘Tell me how this thing happened.’
Two Monitors entered the throne room bearing a litter containing the booty from Conva’s ship Waveworm. At a nod from Ublaz they set it down in front of him.
The corsair continued his narrative in broken tones. ’Two moons after we slew the tribe of Lutra I charted a course following the coast south. I knew a stream of freshwater runs out across the beach near an area named Mossflower. We dropped anchor there and took on fresh water. When Waveworm was ready to get under sail again, two of my crew, both weasels, Flairnose and Graylunk, were discovered missing. So were the rose pearls in the scallop shell – they’d stolen them and jumped ship. I gave chase, tracked them, leaving behind only three to guard the ship. We found Flairnose wounded sore three days later. They had quarrelled over the pearls, and Graylunk had stabbed him. We searched Flairnose – he had no pearls, though before he died he told us that he’d given Graylunk a bad skull wound when they fought.
’Two days on, following Graylunk’s trail, we came upon a big building called Redwall Abbey. I had my crew scout around it in a wide circle, but the only track of Graylunk we could find went straight to the main door. This Redwall is a large, well-fortified place, with many creatures living there. We did not let them see us; their numbers were tenscore more than ours.
‘Graylunk is inside Redwall with the pearls, or if he has died from his wound then the pearls are still within the walls of that Abbey. I could do no more, Mighty One, not with the numbers I had. I made it back to my ship with all speed and hastened here to bring you the news.’
Ublaz moved smoothly around the booty on the litter, sifting through it with his silver-bladed dagger. ‘Dented beakers, bone tailrings, gold neckband, huh, more like brass,’ he said to himself. ‘Small purple pearls, worthless musselseeds. Except for the rose pearls, the tribe of Lutra had nothing of value – they were poor as beggars!’