He was jerked back to reality by the sounds of steel upon steel and roars of conflict as paws stamped around the deck outside. Matters had finally reached a head; the fighting had begun. Either Romsca had attacked Lask Frildur or vice versa.
Pushing a table in front of the cabin door, Durral sought about for any other furniture that might block the entrance. Meanwhile the sounds of battle grew outside on deck, accompanied by the occasional scream and splash as somebeast went over the side. Pulling the grimy blanket from Romsca’s bunk, the Abbot huddled in a corner. He wrapped himself tightly and sat miserably in the dim cabin, hoping that Romsca would triumph over the hated Monitor General. The sounds of fighting seemed to go on endlessly as day drew gradually to a close.
Durral closed his mind to everything, even thoughts of his own life or death. Eventually he fell into a doze, his mind lulled into slumber by the vision of a mousemaid singing sweetly to him.
‘High o’er the hills, far o’er the seas,
Fly with the small birds, follow the breeze,
Go with your heart, where would you roam,
Back to the rose-coloured stones you call home.
Where faded summers will echo again,
Brown autumn trees, or the spring’s gentle rain.
Shadows are falling ’cross woodlands you know,
Rest, weary one, in the warm firelight glow.’
It was fully dark when Abbot Durral came gradually awake. Creaking ship’s timbers and the endless wash of waves against the vessel’s sides were the only sounds he could hear. The din of conflict had ceased altogether. Holding the musty blanket around him, the old mouse groped his way cautiously across the cabin floor. With no light to guide him and the absence of his eyeglasses denying him clear sight, Durral fumbled his way forward until a table leg came into contact with his paw. At least the cabin door was still securely blocked, he thought. He sat with his back against the table, not knowing what to do next, longing for contact with some other living creature, providing that it was a friend.
Dawn came gradually, cloaked by grey skies and soft drizzling rain. It was warmer, though humid. Faint gloomy light began pervading the cabin from a small dirty window, too high for Durral to reach. A sound caused him to become alert – somebeast was scratching at the cabin door from outside. Not knowing whether it would be friend or foe, but fearing the worst, Durral crept back to his corner and sat waiting, watching the door. The scratching gave way to a thumping noise, faint at first, but growing heavier. The Abbot of Redwall sat filled with apprehension as the door began to shake under the blows, then suddenly there was a sharp, splintering crack and a cutlass blade thrust its way through the rifted wood. Durral watched fearfully as the blade was withdrawn, only to slash through again a moment later. Shrinking down into his blanket, he watched, horrified, as the blade hacked and sliced at the quivering timber, splintering the door in its onslaught.
The old mouse could stand it no longer. ‘Who’s there, who is it?’ he cried out.
Krrrakkk!
An entire panel burst and the huge reptilian head of Lask Frildur was thrust through the broken aperture.
36
FROM THE SHELTER of the little canvas tent on the ice floe, Viola was first to see the intruders. She gave a shriek of alarm and instantly the sword was in Martin’s paw. Shoving the canvas awning away from him, he came upright ready to do battle.
Clecky, who had clapped a paw across Viola’s mouth, stared about in astonishment at the mass of creatures surrounding the logboat. ‘Great seasons of salad, where’d this mob of nautical nightmares come from, wot?’
Snub-nosed, stiff-whiskered and dark-eyed, the huge beasts crowded around, staring curiously at the little logboat and its occupants. Martin raised the sword threateningly to warn them off.
Grath Longfletch moved cautiously to the warrior’s side, murmuring, ‘Put up that sword, Martin, they’re the sealfolk. Don’t make any sudden moves or they’ll bull us into the sea and drown us.’
Martin lowered his blade, keeping his eyes fixed on the sealfolk. ‘What do we do next?’ he whispered to Grath.
The otter relinquished her bow and arrows to show she was unarmed. ‘Leave this to me. Sealfolk used to visit the holt of my kin. They don’t speak our language, but I can understand them a bit.’
Grath climbed from the logboat and approached the foremost seal. He was a great bull, dark grey in colour and mottled with heavy spots. The big beast watched Grath impassively, head held majestically high, round black eyes unblinking.
Grath crouched upon the ice, taking care not to raise her head higher than the lead bull. Holding her paws out level, she clapped them gently together several times and said, ‘Feryooday, Haaaawm!’
Immediately the seals around began making a sort of coughing barking sound, in surprise that Grath could speak their language.
As the big leader bull silenced them with a haughty glare, Martin joined Grath and murmured to her, ‘What did you say to the big fellow?’
‘I gave him a greeting, feryooday, just like saying good morning, then I called him Hawm, but long, like this – Haaaawm. It means great leader or king; the longer you sound it, the greater your respect. Sshh! He’s going to say somethin’.’
The seal looked regally down his wide flattish nose at them. ‘Thessez m’hoil, ommin Haaaaaaaawm floooooe!’ He moved his head about in a wide circle as if indicating the iceberg where they were standing.
Grath held up her chin and closed both eyes as she answered, ‘Haaaaaaaaaaawm floe yaaanh!’
It seemed to satisfy the leader. He raised a massive flipper and slapped it loud and wetly once upon his sleek chest.
Grath explained, ‘I can’t unnerstand it all, but best as I c’n make out he said, this is my island, I am king of this ice floe. All I could think of to answer was to tell him he was a mighty king and this surely was his floe.’
‘Do you know how to say not mine?’ Martin asked Grath swiftly.
Grath thought for a moment. ‘Er, you just say ommino, I think.’
Martin stepped forward, aware of the vast number of seals watching him. He spread his paws and brought them together, clapping softly as he had seen Grath do. Then he slapped one paw hard on his chest as the seal king had done.
‘Haaaaaaaaawm Martin! Ommino floe. Ommino!’ Martin said.
This seemed to amuse the king greatly. He pointed a powerful flipper at Martin and said, ‘Ommino! Omminooooo!’
The seals fell about, rolling on the ice, slapping their flippers loudly and emitting great barking merriment.
The great bull seal towered above Martin. Raising his flipper high, he brought it down gently on the mouse warrior’s head and patted him. ‘Haaaaaaaawm Ma’tan Haaaaaaaaawm!’ he rumbled.
This caused even greater jollity among the sealfolk; they shook their heads and blinked rapidly as they honked with laughter.
Clecky climbed out of the logboat to join Martin and Grath. ‘I say, good thing these wallahs have a sense o’ humour, wot!’ The hare slithered boldly over the watery ice to face the king. Straightening his long ears, Clecky brought them together several times as if clapping. Pursing his lips comically he mimicked a seal. ‘Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawm old chap Haaaaaaaaaaaaawm. Howzat!’
This time the hilarity was unbridled. Even the king rolled his gargantuan bulk over and over, tears streaming from his round dark eyes as he held both flippers to his sides, shaking helplessly with laughter. This drove the hare on to further efforts. Lying stomach down and holding himself up with his front paws, Clecky looked majestically down his nose, bobbed his stubby tail about and let one ear flap down hard across his brow. Then, in a perfect imitation of the seal king, he called out, ‘Haaaaaaaawm Clecky, that’s me chaps, Haaaaawm Clecky!’
Some of the seals were laughing so hard they fell off the iceberg into the sea.
Martin pulled Clecky upright. ‘You’d better pack it in now, we don’t want to be held responsible for any of these creatures laughing themselves
to death, especially the great Hawm there, he looks fit to burst.’
It took quite a while for the laughter to subside, but it had worked wonders. Some of the little seal pups slid out of the pack and nuzzled up against Clecky. The king pointed a flipper at Grath and looked questioningly at the other seals as he barked out a single word, ‘Waaylumm!’
There was a moment’s silence, then every seal began waving a flipper towards the otter and echoing the word, ‘Waaylumm! Waaylumm!’
Grath was mystified. She looked at Martin and shrugged. ‘I dunno wot they mean.’
Further discussion was cut short as the friends found themselves lifted up bodily by the seals and tossed back into the logboat. Knowing the sealfolk meant them no harm, they sat in silence, watching the procedure. With a mighty smack from his flipper, the king broke the stake holding the headline of the logboat. Other seals came flapping up with cables made from thick rubbery seaweed. These they proceeded to attach to the vessel from stem to stern until the little craft was festooned with woven seaweed ropes. Half a dozen stout young seals slid the logboat off into the water.
Viola looked over the side. All the seaweed fastenings were held in the jaws of at least three seals to a cable; the king alone held the headrope in his teeth.
He let out a sharp bark. ‘Gittarra!’
The logboat’s crew fell over backward as the craft sped off into the fog, sending up a great bow wave. Plogg and Welko scrambled up to the for’ard bowsprit. They watched fascinated as the sleek forms of the seal pack sped their boat through the seas at a breathtaking rate of knots.
Clecky settled back, winking at Viola. ‘Just the ticket, m’gel. Beats sailin’ an’ rowin’, wot? Absolutely top hole, hope these chaps know where they’re jolly well goin’!’
Grath blinked spray from her eyes as they shot out free of the clinging fogbanks. ‘Oh, they seem t’know where they’re bound, all right. Harr! ’tis good t’see clear day an’ sunlight again, though!’
Martin agreed wholeheartedly. ‘It certainly is, friend. Well, at least we’re out of trouble with icebergs and I’m sure the sealfolk mean us no harm. Only problem is, they don’t know where we want to go and we don’t know where they’re taking us.’
Clecky began rummaging about in the remainder of their supplies. ‘Well, wherever we’re jolly well goin’, I ain’t travellin’ on a bally empty tummy. Let’s see what the tuck situation is, wot!’
‘Yeeeek, look, look!’ Viola was pointing out to sea. All eyes followed her paw.
Martin could not believe his eyes.
‘Wh . . . What are they?’
Grath had seen them once before in her lifetime. She took a deep breath. ‘On the far north coast where I was reared we saw those sea creatures once. It was spring an’ they swam almost up to the beach. My mother said they were called whales an’ no creature in all the seas is as big as ’em. They blow water out o’ their heads, straight up like a big fountain. Their tails are like the spread o’ two large oaks. See!’
They stared, stunned by the size of the creatures. One of the whales raised a mighty fluke and slammed it down on the face of the ocean, causing an enormous white explosion of water.
Martin watched the leviathans of the deep as they sported and played, each one like a black island rearing from the main. ‘Great seasons! I could imagine old Rollo laughing at me if I told him I had seen fishes as big as Redwall Abbey!’
Plogg and Welko were inclined to agree. ‘Hah! The Guosim’d say we’d been asleep an’ seen the whales in our dreams, or they might say we’d eaten too much of Clecky’s cooking.’
The hare looked up, his face smudged from blowing on the ashes of the fire to get it rekindled again. ‘Oh, they would, would they? Base ingratitude! I’ve a jolly good mind to let you chaps get the scoff ready for that! I say, how about askin’ old Hawmface to steer over that way, so’s we can catch one of those whale type chaps. I wonder what they’d taste like cooked up. Hmmm, y’d need a blinkin’ big pan . . . Yagh!’
The hare shook himself as the rest of the crew shot water at him with their paws. He twisted his ears to wring them out. ‘Yah boo rotters, y’ve gone an’ put me flippin’ fire out!’
Towards evening the weather started to become mild and warm, though they were still feeling the breeze, owing to the fact that the tireless sealfolk never once slackened their breakneck pace. The logboat hissed through the water, bouncing across the waves like a runaway arrow.
Then Martin became worried. ‘See, the sun is setting in the west, over that way. We’re being taken northward!’
Clecky had finally managed a small fire. He passed them each a slice of toasted shrewbread and some warm oat and barley cordial. ‘Nothing we c’n do about it at the moment, old lad. They’re obviously takin’ us someplace, though. Let’s wait until we get there an’ figure out our next move from where we land, wot?’
Grath stared out across the uncharted seas. ‘Aye, like as not the fates’ll send us where they want.’
On the western horizon the sun dipped beneath the sea like a crimson fireball, shooting rays of scarlet, pink and gold onto the underbellies of purple and cream cloudbanks. Viola snuggled down in the stern, nibbling a crust of shrewbread and thinking how different it all was from sitting in Great Hall and dining off the sumptuous fare commonplace to Redwall Abbey, far from the lonely sound of waves upon open sea.
37
A FULL SUMMER moon shone down on the path to Ninian’s, casting pale flickering shadows upon three grim-faced creatures pounding through the woods purposefully at the head of a mixed band of shrews and otters, each one armed with either sling, javelin, rapier or bow and arrows. Bravely Skipper kept pace with Log a Log and Rangapaw, bearing his injuries stoically. From between the trees they glimpsed the half-ruined spire of the ancient building.
Log a Log gritted his teeth, clasping his shrew rapier tight. ‘Soon be there now!’ he said.
‘Friend, is that you?’
Momentarily they halted and looked around. Again the voice sounded out into the night. ‘I’m in the ditch, friends. Help me!’
Throwing themselves flat at the pathside, Skipper and his burly daughter delved through nettles and reeds that grew up the bank.
‘Got ’im. Git the other paw. Up y’come, Rollo sir!’
His face smeared with mud and his garments rent and torn, the old Recorder was hauled swiftly up onto the path, where he sat gasping out his story.
‘We were attacked, or I should say the young maids were. It was jackdaws, a whole colony of the wicked birds. Gerul heard them screaming when we arrived at Ninian’s; they were inside. Gerul told me to stay outside and charged in – there were awful sounds, screaming and cawing. Next thing I knew, Tansy and Craklyn were flung out through the door by Gerul, and he shouted for them to bring help from Redwall. So they could travel fast they lowered me into the ditch, telling me to hide and keep out of harm’s way. I don’t know what happened after that, until I heard one of you speak as you ran by.’
Log a Log saw that Skipper was breathless and his wounds were bothering him; the shrew Chieftain sat the otter down on the path next to Rollo. ‘Stay here and guard him, Skip, you’ll only slow us up. We’ve got enough here to do the job, me’n this big ’un of yores.’
The Skipper of Otters nodded, he understood. ‘If’n our friends are hurt, then give those birds blood’n’vinegar. Go on, mate, git goin’!’
Without a backward glance they charged through the rotting doorframe of Ninian’s. Jackdaws scattered everywhere as they tried to escape from the warriors who teemed in roaring the Abbey battle call.
‘Redwaaaaaaallll!’
Scruvo their thieving leader and another of his band had Gerul on the floor, tearing savagely at him with their wicked beaks. Rangapaw hit Scruvo across the head with her otter javelin, the force of the blow shattering the weapon’s haft and slaying Scruvo instantly. The other jackdaw gurgled its life out at the thrusting point of Log a Log’s rapier. Other birds had fal
len to the deadly nemesis of otters and shrews, though some of them fled, winging off into the night, never again to be seen in Mossflower.
Skipper and Rollo hobbled up to the gate in front of Ninian’s. Log a Log and several other shrews were binding Gerul with strips from their tunics and ditch mud mixed with herbs to staunch his dreadful injuries. Skipper hastened to his friend’s side. He stared down at the owl’s homely face. ‘Is he alive?’
Log a Log shrugged, totally at a loss. ‘Aye, mate, there’s still life in this owl, though why that should be I don’t know – the bird’s taken enough to kill any three of us! I counted four jackdaws in there that he’d slain. I’ve seen some tough ’uns in my seasons, but none like yore mate Gerul!’
A heart-rending cry, like that of a dying beast, escaped Rollo’s lips. Rangapaw strode slowly out of Ninian’s carrying a forlorn little bundle in her hefty paws. Log a Log held Rollo back as he tried to intercept the big otter. The old Recorder’s body was racked by sobs.
‘No! No! Not Piknim my little friend! Say she lives. Please!’
Tears rolled openly down the sturdy face of Rangapaw. She clasped the limp form to her as if nursing a babe. ‘Pore young maid, she’ll always live in the memories of ’er mates.’
As Rangapaw walked off towards Redwall with her sad burden, Rollo tore free of Log a Log’s grasp. Straightening himself up, he wiped his eyes upon his habit sleeves and turned to the other Chieftain. ‘Skipper, will you help me to do something?’ he said.
The otter grasped Rollo’s frail old paw. ‘Anythin’, matey, just ask!’
Rollo pointed to the doorway. ‘Go in there and find a large pink pearl. It will probably be in the nest of the leader of those birds.’
Skipper was not long gone. As he emerged, everyone held their breath. He opened his paw to reveal the fourth pearl nestling in his palm. He handed it to Rollo, who clasped it tightly.